#just aid being a sloppy drunk

[charlie-artlie]

needed to get this out of my system. dont come for me abt the timeline. its true in my heart

[mostly-imagines]

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge. 

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go. 

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.” 

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens. 

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before. 

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long. 

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?” 

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this. 

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion. 

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up. 

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works. 

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt. 

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.” 

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits. 

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily. 

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey. 

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least. 

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.” 

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?” 

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.” 

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing. 

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you. 

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago. 

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you. 

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it. 

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him. 

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?” 

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this. 

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking. 

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter. 

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room. 

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air. 

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it. 

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water. 

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence. 

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You stare at him incredulously. 

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer. 

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment. 

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him. 

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind. 

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck. 

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you,  “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it. 

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official. 

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨

[lady-ashfade]

Keep Quiet, My Prince.

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Drunk!Lucerys Velaryon X Fem!Reader [Drabble]

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 479

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: Short, Lukes First Time Drinking, He’s A Lovely Idiot, They Are In Love, Luke Being Drunk.

The giggles spilling from his lips when his feet tripped over themselves as you tug him along the halls of the hidden pathways. His hand grips tightly on yours even though they are moist and sweat covered. “Maybe-” he hiccups, “you’d like to share another drink?”

Rolling your eyes at the drunken prince you shake your head, “Lucerys, it’s time to rest now.” he whines like a pup and you’re sure he looks like one. Getting to the hidden door you push it open and let him step inside his chambers, but he stops just a few inches and waits for you. It startled you when you face him, his eyes staring right at you as his body sways to kept itself balance.

“Is something the matter?” your amused smirk does nothing to him, usually he hides in embarrassment when you tease him. But all he does is stare at you and take in every detail of your face, and a spark in his dazed eyes you’ve never seen before.

“I must say you are very beautiful,” his hands flys up to your cheek and poked at the skin, “have I ever said it before? Because when I look at you I feel nervous- Flies swimming around my stomach and my heart bounds.” when he leans a bit to the left you catch him with your arm.

He pushes you off slightly to walk away like his words didn’t make your blush and swoon, he’s never been confident enough to say much. Luke walks, sloppy, and takes his night shirt off the chair where he left it the morning before but his haste movements almost knock something off the table beside him. You rush to aid him and make sure nothing is broken or makes much noise.

“Keep quiet, my prince. We mustn’t let anyone hear you.” He just shrugs and takes off the formal shirt to replace it with his evening shirt, you look away from him as he does.

“Well, I do feel quite tired,” you go to reply until his hands tug at your own and pull you toward his bed, making you fall on the soft mattress with him with a huff.

“I shouldn’t stay-” you try to convince him to let you go but he pulls you into his warm embrace.

“Stay with me,” his nose hits yours, “i wouldn’t have the courage in the morning to look you in the eye, just let me be brave with you for a little longer?” He pleads his case with his grip still latched onto you, how could you say no to his puppy eyes.

“You’ll have me until the sun rises.” he grinned and moves to get more comfortable in bed, his body turned against yours and hugged you from behind. A few silent seconds later and he fell asleep with his nose buried in your neck.

[nhlclover]

𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 | 𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐇𝐄𝐊𝐀𝐉

summary: arber comes home after a late night out

warnings: fluff, arber being drunk

word count: 0.61k

You had been on the verge of drifting off into sleep when a clamour from just outside your front door ripped you awake. The clock on your bedside read 2:47 AM. You groggily shuffled to the door, the noise growing louder and more erratic. You peered through the peephole, spotting Arber gently swaying side to side, struggling to fit the key into the lock. You sighed to yourself, unlocking the door and opening it.

“Arber?” you asked, your voice thick with sleep. “What are you doing here? It’s so late.”

Arber looked up at your face with glassy eyes and a lopsided grin. “Hey honey, I’m home.” he slurred. Arber leaned in pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips. “‘M sorry for waking you. I couldn’t unlock the door.”

You rubbed your eye with the back of your hand, letting out a soft sigh. “That’s because the key you’re using is for your apartment, not mine.”

“We don’t live together?” Arber asked, squinting at the key in his hand.

“No, honey.” you reply.

You and Arber had talked about moving in together. It came up often and you were both excited about possibly taking the next step in your relationship. However, the timing never felt right. Hockey kept him busy during the winters, with practices, games, and workouts filling up his schedule. The summers were not less hectic when he would visit back home in Hamilton or travel the country. Finding a moment where you could both settle down in one place felt elusive.

Arber stumbled forward as you moved quickly to steady him. “Okay, let’s get you inside.” you say, guiding him into the apartment. Arber’s movements were heavy and unsteady, his swaying making it difficult to keep him upright.

As you guide him to your bedroom, the words begin to drunkenly flow from Arber’s mouth. “I don’t get why we don’t live together already. Like… we already spend so much time together. And I hate when we’re not together. And I love you so much babe! It doesn’t make sense why we don’t live together.”

As he falls to your bed, you can’t help but let out a soft laugh at your intoxicated boyfriend. “You’re really drunk right now. I don’t think you’ll remember any of this.”

“I’m not drunk… you’re just super blurry.” Arber replied. He pulled off his shoes, climbing back on your bed.

“No, no.” you say, shaking your head. “C’mon you’re getting changed first.”

You grabbed Arber’s hand and pulled him from the bed, grabbing clothing from the drawer you’d dedicated to Arber. As you aided him in changing, he continued to ramble about the night he had as well as your future together. His words were a mix of incoherent thoughts and heartfelt sentiments, which made you smile and roll your eyes at the same time.

You were finally able to coax Arber into bed, but not before placing a tall glass of water on the nightstand and a trashcan on the floor next to him. Arber pulled you into his arms, wrapping the both of you in your covers. Silence enveloped the room, the both of you beginning to drift off into sleep. Arber’s breathing lulled to a slow pace, and you began to think he’d quickly fell asleep, only to hear his deep voice mumble in your ear.

“I just… adore you.” he said softly, his voice barely audible.

Your heart melted at his sincerity that you could see even through the haze of alcohol. You rolled over in his arms to face him, brushing your fingers through his hair gently. “I adore you too, Arbs.” you say, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. “Now get some sleep.”

[fourmoony]

hiiiii! so i was thinking you could write something about the boys bringing drunk james home and him and reader live together and when he sees her he's so happy and lovey. he just keeps muttering "you're so pretty" and she gets him to drink water and eat something and then gets him to bed. i feel like it would be sooo cute, him being all obsessed w reader!

thanks for requesting, lovely!!

james potter x f!reader | masterlist - 727words

cw - alcohol consumption, smoking, drunk james

James is three sheets to the wind when Sirius drops him off at the front door. Like, literally drops him. Sirius is slim, sleek like a cat, and James is all broad shoulders and brick-like muscles, so you're not surprised when the smaller one huffs a relief when you swing the door open, and then promptly allows James to collapse in a giggling heap right in the door way.

Remus is half-way down the garden path, cigarette to his mouth. He waves half-heartedly, not looking the least bit sorry that he's been less than helpful in aiding James home. It's clear Sirius has carried his best friend the entire way from the Leaky - a ten minute walk from your house.

"He's all yours," Sirius tells you, heaving breaths as though he'd run all the way here with James on his back, "Enjoy."

With that, he turns on his heel and drags Remus off into the night, still smoking his cigarette. You look down at James, who's got a warm hand wrapped gently around the exposed skin of your ankle. He's still giggling quietly to himself, a joke he's yet to let you in on, lying face up over the door jam. It can't be comfortable. Heaving a sigh, you place your hands on your hips and attempt your most stern look, "You need to get up, James."

James groans, his merry giggling coming to an end. He looks petulant, like a child, "Can't."

"Jamie, I can't carry you. Like, physically, I cannot carry you." You worry your lip, James' thumb takes up stroking gently against the ball of your ankle. It's warm, feels nice. Feels like home.

"Okay," He heaves a sigh, rolls onto his stomach and uses the door handle to pull himself up.

He wobbles, almost takes a tumble, but with a hand on the wall behind your head, you steady his balance. You walk rather clumsily to the sofa, your arm around James' waist and murmuring silent prayers that he doesn't topple over because you'd truly have to leave him there for the night, and you'd feel rotten about it.

James collapses onto the sofa with enough might to send it pushing against the wooden floor, an awful scraping noise followed by his murmured, half asleep apology. You leave him with the promise of returning with water, but you think he barely registers it. The door closes with a soft click, and you make your way to the kitchen. James has managed to turn on the television by the time you return, and is clumsily pressing buttons, eyes squinting even with his glasses on.

You make a mental note to scold Sirius for returning him to you in this state.

"Here, swap." You hold the glass out for James, voice soft.

Your boyfriend smiles, giddy and elated, as though he'd forgot you were home, "Thanks, pretty girl."

Even in his inebriation, James Potter is able to bring a flush of pink to your cheeks. You click your tongue, eyes focussed on the TV as you put on James' favourite show. He settles in to the couch, half the glass of water gone, most of it dribbling down his chin. You bite back a laugh, settling in next to him. He smells like beer and cigarettes, but under it all, he still smells like sea foam and bergamot, like your Jamie.

Instantly, his arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into him and you go. You'll always go where James pulls you, ever trusting, ever loving. His lips press to the side of your head, movements jerky and sloppy in his state, but he murmurs so softly into your head, you swear it's engrained in his soul to remind you, "You're so pretty, baby."

Your head shifts, gentle eyes meeting his. They're a little glassy and unfocussed, but the love-sick look is there. You press your lips to his, soft and gentle, careful not to move too quickly lest James become nauseous. He returns the kiss with equal gentleness, though his lips taste like beer.

Your nose is wrinkled as he pulls away, his right index rather harshly trying to smooth out the lines. You laugh.

"Love you." You whisper, lips against his cheek.

You feel his lashes flutter, his hand rubbing at the skin of your hip, his lips upturn, "Love you, too."

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Drunk & In Love: Arthur Morgan x Reader (NSFW)

Contains: Ambiguous gender for reader, sex, creampies(?)

A fire sat warmly deep within both of your beings. Alcohol sat heavy in your guts, the poison dulling your minds and numbing your sights and movements. Sluggish steps up a flight of creaking stairs with the man behind the counter rolling his eyes and attempting to bury himself with books and such alike as he knew what sort of debauchery would happen soon.

You both snatched at each other’s loose clothing, hands grabbing fistfuls of cotton and denim and leather of each others splayed open coats. Some alcohol had sploshed onto the fabric, staining light fabric to be a muddy brown under the dim lighting of the narrow hallway.

You both could hear the other rooms wake up to the sounds of you both staggering down them, inhabitants scoffing or stilling to listen for any chance to pray you both would just pass out instead of make them want to smother you with the pages from their Bibles.

But as Arthur pressed heated kisses to your neck, sloppily licking and nipping at the skin, even in your drunken state you knew that in the morning you both would have glares and harsh words spat towards you.

So you both had decided to enjoy this time while you still could.

The door had been thrown open without a care in the world as Arthur yanked you inside. Barely managing to kick the door closed behind him, he grasped at the sides of your head and drew you in for a sloppy kiss, a trail of saliva between your lips as you backed up just enough until the backs of your knees hit the lumpy, old mattress and covers. You snatched at the collar of Arthur’s lop-sided jacket, yanking the man down with you until your chests smacked together. He groaned, his hands on either side of your head, barely keeping him above you.

But even as he gazed at you with half-lidded eyes, the man seemed to undress you with those forest green eyes.

The man groaned, feeling his constraining pants tighten up, tenting, forcing to hide his growing erection you could feel starting to poke at your person.

Standing up to only drunkenly claw at his own clothing, Arthur grunted and slurred curses under his breath, dropping his belt and pants to the floor, kicking them off with his muddy boots in tow. He eyed you like he were some predator as he snatched at the buttons of his shirt, allowing the shirt and his jacket to roll off by their own heavy weight, leaving the man naked before you.

And God, if you didn’t love it when he was naked.

Arthur swayed where he stood, eyes fluttering before opening, suddenly more aware of what was happening as he now aided you in pulling off your clothing. He pulled at the waistband of your pants, dragging them down with your underwear, pushing up your shirt to kiss at the bare skin of your stomach, down to your navel, right on your pelvis before he stopped to fully pull off your pants.

Tossing them carelessly behind him, he cared no longer to take off your shirt as he lunged at you like he were some wild animal.

He had caught you as you tried to sit up on your elbows, forcing you to turn around as he pinned you to the bed. Your face smushed into the old covers that smelled of weird powders, your hands curling around the stiff quilty fabric as Arthur had slowly sank into you. You both found yourselves crying out, backs curling, hips shaking. Arthur snatched at your hips, blunt fingertips digging into your naked sides as he dragged you in closer, slowly filling you up more, driving himself as deep as he could go before he found himself choking at how tight you were around his thick cock.

Pistoning his hips, Arthur’s head lulled to the side, the man groaning as if he were in bed with an illness, losing himself to his drunken pleasure as he found himself now ramping up in speed. He forced you down against the bed, keeping you pinned there with no escape.

You groaned into the sheets, drooling and sobbing as Arthur had now started to pound relentlessly into you. The bed creaked and squeaked and groaned under your weights, at how fast he was thrusting in and out of you. The floorboards were creaking underneath you both, the bed knocking against the walls and shaking the lights.

Even in your drunken pleasures, you still heard their shouts for quiet, but Arthur merely grumbled under his breath.

“I ain’t stoppin’,” he muttered.

He gasped, suddenly finding himself coiling. Fire burned in his belly as he found himself twitching inside of you.

“Arthur!” you cried.

You had yanked at the quilt, shoulders shaking as you gasped to breathe. You could feel your own climax ramping up. Arthur had slowed his thrusts, drawing out lewd moans from both of you, crying out like you were animals in heat.

You found yourself suddenly rocking with pleasure as your body shut down, crying out as you came apart under Arthur.

The man snatched at your limp hips, slamming against you once, twice, three more times before a comforting heat filled your insides, leaking out to coat your naked asscheeks and spill onto the bedsheets between you both.

You gasped, looking back to Arthur, slurring on about how much you loved him only for him to look down at you. That fire inside of him continued to burn on like coal in an engine. He was a well-oiled machine, and from how he rolled his shoulders back and snatched at your aching waist once more, you knew he was already prepared for a second round if the sudden prodding at your ass was any sign.

Something told you that you wouldn’t be spending any more time in hotels for a little bit.

[roachrotting]

It's EJ time.

Eyeless Jack was never one of my ultimate favorites...so I turned him into something that could be. >:D

More headcanons under the cut, if you want to see what speculative changes I'm making to his backstory: (Graphic Horror Ahead)

Jackson Nichols, born in 1987, is currently enrolled at Pacific Northwest Medical School in the 3rd year of his program in human endocrine medicine. He was a fairly average college kid, if not a bit nerdy and antisocial.

On a cold February night in 2012, Jackson had received a good grade for an exam he was very stressed about. To celebrate, Jackson's close friends brought him to his very first party, with the intent to get drunk and have a good time.

Late in the night, Jackson meets a beautiful woman. She was a little gothic, and seemed like a bit of a wallflower, but he felt a deep connection with her. He doesn't quite catch her name before he felt a slight pinch in his side. In fact, he doesn't catch the rest of the night at all.

He wakes up on a stranger's bathroom floor, naked and pouring with sweat. He's cuffed to the bathtub faucet. The lights are off, there are no windows. There's a padlock and chain keeping the door shut. He can't breathe, there's something stuffing his mouth, a kitchen towel soaked in blood. And the blood - it's everywhere. Some of it looks new, but most looks old. Way too old. It's not his. He blacks out.

He wakes up again, in another room, this time restrained by his hands and ankles on what feels like a washer and dryer, pushed together to form a sort of makeshift table. It was so dark. He couldn't see anything. He hears voices, and realized he was no longer gagged. Screaming for help proved useless very quickly.

After a few wasted moments of screaming and thrashing, he starts to hear low chants, in some sort of ancient language. He hears the word "graeae" whispered among the omens in hushed tones by the leading voice, and before he can ponder on its meaning, he feels a sharp stabbing pain.

One after another, he can only scream as he feels each one of his abdominal organs being carved out of his body. First, his kidneys, then his liver, then his intestines and stomach, then his heart and lungs, taken in quick succession by sloppy human hands with seemingly no medical expertise. As his body twitches with the last shots of electricity from his blood-starved brain, he feels his eyes being ripped from his skull, and a warm, wet-feeling lump being shoved into the gaps they left behind.

Almost like the shell of his body is being puppeteered by something he can't understand, Jackson suddenly flings the hollow shell of his body off of the table, breaking his chains with ease. He busts through the chained door keeping him in, paying no mind to the imbeciles who had just mutilated him beyond recognition. He doesn't need them anymore. He doesn't need anything, anymore.

More General HCs:

'The Body Snatcher' is the moniker given to him by news outlets and true crime media. Nobody calls him Eyeless Jack here except his roommates in the mansion, sorry. :[

His M.O. is to target people wandering alone, primarily in alleyways or somewhere else in seclusion. He'll subdue them, harvest an organ from them with perfect precision, and then leave them to bleed out. If he chooses to take something like a kidney, you have a small chance of survival. If he chooses to take your heart...bad luck.

His conscious is submissive to the demon that has since attached itself to his brain. His emotions are dulled down to almost nothing, and he rarely makes his own decisions. Despite this, he is perfectly lucid to all of the terror and pain he internally feels while stuck in this situation, and he is acutely aware of his possession.

He's still a fantastic doctor. Jack's previous passion in medicine, with the addition of his new demonic instincts, leads him to be a fantastic surgeon and first aid nurse. At least, if you're his friend, and not one of his victims.

His lack of eyes, somehow, does not seem to impact his sight. I wonder what's in there...

[lexaknoxville]

party lover boy - Chris Pontius

“𝘄𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗲, 𝘆𝗼, 𝗶𝘁’𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲” - 𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝗥𝗲𝗱 𝗛𝗼𝘁 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗶 𝗣𝗲𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀

pairing(s) | Chris Pontius x reader

summary | just some headcanons of being Party Boys gf 😚

warnings | kissing, blood, the usual jackass stuff

REQUESTS OPEN!!! MASTERLIST!!

—————————————————————————————

• this could be me being delusional but, i think he’s actually a really gentle man

• well you know how he is normally, but i see him being an absolute sweetie to you

• plays with your hair 😫 i can see him running his fingers through it, helping with a curl routine if you have one, and he LOVES if you get it done all nice and pretty (definitely a sucker for braids)

• will randomly show up to your house as bunny the lifeguard, just to get a laugh out of you

• IMAGINE TRAVELING WITH HIM FOR WILDBOYZ!!!

• def the type to throw bugs and random shit at you, then feel bad if he actually upsets you (it’s best to act upset, if not he’ll keep doing it 😟)

• secretly a sucker for the cheesy shit like sharing a milkshake, matching bracelets, etc

• jokingly he’s not joking flirting with steve-o just to mess with you

“y/n you’re great and all but, me and steve-o have a special connection” - chris with that goofy ass smile on his face

• will see a pretty flower while he’s out wondering around and brings it back to you

“ i saw it and thought you would like it, here you go!”

• he’s so cute omg

• BEGS you to get your nipples pierced with him, i can see it now omg

“babe we should totally get matching nipple rings”

• will pull some random fun fact out of his ass, and then be shocked when you didn’t know

“chris, honey, what are you talking about…”

“YOU DIDNT KNOW?”

15 minute rant follows

• randomly pops into your room with your bra and underwear on

(constantly scolding him for breaking the clasps on your bras, so he buys you new ones)

• a REALLY GOOD KISSER

• i feel like he’s a gentle, slow kisser, really likes to take his time with it

unless he’s drunk, then it’s sloppy and fast

• comes home bloody and you have to clean him up, yall are STOCKED UP on first aid stuff

• calls you nicknames like baby, babe, angel, and the random shit like monkeybutt, and pumpkin 😭

• loves pop music, don’t play with me

• i KNOW he blasts Britney Spears in the car if you want him too 🤷‍♀️ i don’t make the rules sorry

UGHH THIS IS ALL I HAVE RN, BUT I KNOW MORE WILL COME TO ME SO BE READY FOR MORE OF THESE 🙏

CHRIS PONTIUS MY KING

for @tonymarias 🫡

[skzhocomments]

1375 - “How does he make you feel?" - Mafia AU - Jeongin (Stray Kids)

General Masterlist

Request me a story

---

Writing Prompt 1375 - “How does he make you feel?" – Mafia / Mobster / Gangster AU - Jeongin 

(Warning: Explicit)

Word count: 3.2k words

Wattpad | AO3

~

Ever since you were young, you’ve always been the perfect little goody two-shoes. Always abiding by the rules, always studying, never straying away from your path of becoming someone your parents would be proud of. And you never failed to make them proud – you’ve been the perfect child, the perfect student; you’ve simply been perfect.

Your whole life revolved around reading books and being as knowledgeable as possible, and your moral compass was so strong, making you live your life by a perfectly set framework of guidelines and principles. It came to no surprise to anyone that you ended up going to law school.

And so, your day-to-day life wasn’t too particularly interesting. You had friends to hang out with, you occasionally went to bars or clubs, but mostly, you’d spend your days locked in your apartment to study for the next big exam. It’s safe to say that you’ve always been a role model to follow.

Always, except for one time, when you accidentally allowed yourself to be less than perfect.

You went to the bar with your friends to celebrate the end of your way too long and tiring semester, and with each hour that would pass, you’d find the night becoming blurrier. You had one too many drinks when you decided to finally head home, stumbling on your own feet and barely able to get out through the door.

It was unlike you to get caught in a bad situation, and what you did that night screamed textbook danger, but your mind was too intoxicated to realise that getting out of the bar on your own way after midnight and fully drunk wasn’t a good idea. You also failed to notice the stranger following you home into the dark alleys back to your apartment.

You involuntarily let out a gasp as he grabbed your wrist and spun you around, smiling cunningly when he noticed the shocked expression on your face. You tried punching him, but your moves were sloppy and your limbs tired from the alcohol in your system.

You realised that you messed up big time, that you’ve encountered one of those criminals you’re studying hard to put behind bars eventually, and you would just become another victim, another statistic, which made you shudder.

However, moments later, just as if you were in a movie, someone who heard your screams came to your aid just at the right time. Your saviour was a man with black hair and dark eyes, he looked cold and distant, and he looked surprisingly fox-like, but despite all of this, you found out he was actually soft.

On the inside, that was, because his exterior was a ruthless person who didn’t hesitate to slam that man’s face right into the brick wall, knocking him out.

You found out his name was Jeongin as you stumbled on the way home and he followed you to make sure you got there safe, even giving you a piggy ride at some point when your legs stopped working.

You invited him in, not yet knowing about the dangerous life he was living, and he helped you sit down at the kitchen table and drink some water.

Maybe it was your intoxicated mind, maybe it was your heart still racing hard after the dangerous encounter with that sleazy man. You didn’t know what it was, but before Jeongin could leave, you decided you didn’t want the night to end that way. You grabbed his leather jacket and pulled him into you, crashing your lips against his, and doing once more something you never thought you would.

Jeongin’s eyes widened for a brief moment, but to your surprise, he leaned into your touch and kissed you back. He could taste the alcohol on your tongue and knew he shouldn’t do this, but it was hard not to give in and lose himself in your body when you seemed so damn sweet. And so, he did. He let himself be embraced by you, and you let him touch every inch of your skin, and you kissed and made love in such a passionate way, no one’s ever made you feel the way he did.

Jeongin felt the same way. You were the shiny new toy, and he could swear up and down that he’s never felt as interested in someone else as he felt in you. As he got to know you better, though, he realised that the two of you were complete opposites. While his life involved illegal late-night activities, yours was mainly regular, with waking up at 7 AM sharp and eating a balanced breakfast, grabbing a coffee on the way to Uni and paying attention in class for the whole day.

You used your evenings for studying sessions and then would go to sleep at a normal hour alone, but still, each time you’d wake up, Jeongin’s body was somehow tangled with yours on top of your sheets.

He’d always hear your alarm and groan as he’d pull you closer, squinting his eyes and not wanting to get up. You didn’t know how he’d always come in your apartment, as he didn’t have a key – that you knew of –, but you decided to turn a blind eye and never inquired about it.

You truly loved Jeongin, but it didn’t take you too long to realise that he was not good for you. He was your counterpoint, in direct contrast with you, which made you wonder how you could be so in love with him in the first place, to the point where your heart was heavy and you were willing to overlook whatever it was that he was doing, that got him to come to your apartment at 3AM covered in blood most days of the week.

You never asked, because you didn’t want to know. You knew that once he’d tell you, everything would be over, and you wouldn’t be able to stay oblivious any longer.

Thus, you kept silent, you let your relationship run its course even though you embodied the antithesis of one another, and you let yourself be embraced by him whenever he wanted to love you.

As perfect as life seemed from the outside, your world soon came crashing down. The ethical dilemma of dating a criminal when you were doing your hardest every day to learn how to put people like him behind bars began eating away at you, and in the next stage of your relationship, you decided to try and make him more like you, and less like himself.

You foolishly thought you could change him and his ways; if you’d say the right words, he would leave that lifestyle behind and start working as an honest citizen, next to you, in your perfect pink bubble. 

Of course, nothing of that sort happened; you started to notice that you were the one slowly changing instead. It started little by little, but your moral compass would wobble like crazy, unable to get stabilised anymore. Your perfect peace suddenly turned into chaos, like you were inside a snow globe and an excited child began shaking it violently, and you found yourself questioning all your beliefs.

You realised you couldn’t do it any longer. The world of organised crime and drugs wasn’t something you wanted to be involved with in such a personal manner. It was exactly what you wanted to fight, and it was hard to accept that you were a hypocrite. No matter how in love you were with Jeongin, you just couldn’t keep going like that, knowing that he did illegal shit every other day, that he lived in the world you took an oath to destroy.

It took you a few weeks to muster up your courage and break up with Jeongin, and surprisingly, he took it better than you expected after you explained your reasoning.

He let you go. He would no longer come by your apartment, and you wouldn’t meet him anywhere else. No texts, no calls, no nothing. It was radio silence from the moment he stepped out of your apartment, and you haven’t seen him since.

With no longer seeing his face every day, you found it a tad easier to force yourself to forget the little things about him, even though your heart would still long for him more often than not. No matter how much of a hypocrite you’d been, you couldn’t deny that you loved him with all your being.

It hurt to have to let go, to have to start anew after you’d gotten so used to having him around, but you eventually started to convince yourself that you got over him, and most importantly, that you did the right thing. You couldn’t be with someone like him – a mobster, a criminal, or God forbid, perhaps even a murderer.

~

Almost a year had passed ever since you’ve last seen Jeongin, and although you’ve broken up and haven’t seen each other since, certain things still stayed the same for you as if you were still together. One of them was the fact that no matter the time of day or the part of the city you’d be in, you felt safe. You could go to the bar and get blackout drunk, but no man would dare to follow you home, approach you or touch you in any way.

Your life was much the same, except for a small - actually, extremely large and life-changing - detail, which was your schedule. You were finally done with Uni, and you’d just taken a series of the hardest exams of your life to enter the magistracy.

When you found out you got in, you were so happy, you celebrated with your friends for days, and with all their nagging, you decided to also accept one of your classmates’ advances and went out on a date with him.

He was pleasant to be around; you shared an expensive bottle of wine as you celebrated your success over some high-quality food in an amazing restaurant, and once he walked you home, you realised he was also a good kisser.

His tongue danced with yours, and you were about to invite him in, however, something inside your heart clenched, and you drew away and decided to thank him for treating you, promising him that you’d see him again.

As you stepped into your apartment, though, you weren’t sure if you would.

It’s been almost a year since you broke up with Jeongin, but still, it somehow felt wrong to kiss someone else, to let another man touch you like that. You felt the need to go in your shower and turn on the steaming hot water, hoping that scrubbing your skin under it would somehow make that man’s touch go away.

Thirty minutes later, you got out of the shower a new person, covering yourself with a large white towel. You looked around and cursed yourself for not bringing your phone with you to the bathroom, but didn’t want to pat around your walls to find the light switch, so you just walked slowly and carefully in the dark until you got to your room.

As soon as you stepped in, you felt someone grab you, and you immediately wanted to scream in fear, before a hand covered your mouth.

Your body froze, but as you breathed in, you realised that you could recognise the stranger’s smell, and as he started speaking, your whole body began to relax under his touch.

“My love…” Jeongin spoke almost menacingly, his voice making you dizzy.

Your heart began thumping against your chest and you involuntarily clenched your legs together as Jeongin’s hand tilted your head to the side, giving him access to your neck. He began peppering soft kisses on your skin, and once in a while, he’d bite your neck ever so slightly, to get a reaction out of you.

“Jeongin…” You moaned his name as soon as his hand disappeared from your mouth, and he turned you around.

“Who was that you were with, hm?” He asked softly, bringing his face closer, his lips hovering mere centimetres in front of yours.

The anticipation was killing you and having him so close to you after so long, you couldn’t control yourself any longer. Much like the first night you met, you grabbed his collar and pulled him into you, and as if on cue, your towel fell to the ground, leaving you naked and exposed in front of the man you’ve so dearly missed.

“Answer me, love.” He grabbed your neck and squeezed tightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to send a message that you were not to kiss him unless you told him everything. Despite his apparently harsh action, you weren’t scared. You trusted Jeongin to never hurt you, no matter what, and that was a given.

“That was… just a colleague from Uni.”

“Hmm… is that so?” He tilted his head, and despite the room being dark, you could see the sparkling in his eyes. “Do you normally kiss your colleagues like that?”

As he asked you this accusatory question, his hands travelled around your waist to your back, moving lower until he reached your naked butt and squeezed your skin tightly.

You let out another pathetic moan, making Jeongin chuckle slightly.

“I… I don’t. I don’t kiss them, Jeongin.” You replied as if you were in a trance.

Jeongin began walking forward, forcing you to take steps back until you reached the bed, and you fell on top of the mattress, with his body right on top of yours.

“I’ve seen something entirely different, my love.” He continued again, pressing a tight kiss against your lips. “Not even an hour ago, this pretty mouth kissed someone else.”

“I…” You started, but didn’t know what to say.

Jeongin kissed your jawline, then made his way down first to your neck, then to your chest, giving your breasts open mouthed kisses as you became a moaning mess under him.

“How does he make you feel, hm?” He continued asking as he parted your legs, connecting his mouth to your pussy and licking stripes feverishly.

You tried moving away, but he was holding you tightly, and there was nowhere to go any further away from him on the mattress.

He ate you out as skilfully as always, clearly remembering exactly what made you come undone quickly, and as you came on his tongue, he asked you again.

“Does he make you feel better than I do, princess? Can he make you cum like this?”

“N-no. No one can.” You shook your head, drunk with pleasure. You missed Jeongin’s touch badly, and in these past months, you’ve convinced yourself that you’re doing just fine without him, but now, having him again, it was clear that you’ve just been lying to yourself.

“That’s what I thought.” He chuckled as he got undressed as well, and your heart once more rose in your chest in anticipation.

Jeongin entered you with ease and set up a steady pace, moving you around by your hips as he saw fit, and all you could do was moan under him as he used your body to chase his own pleasure.

You always thought missionary was an intimate position, but the way Jeongin made love to you made you feel butterflies flying erratically in your stomach. He sucked on your neck as he pumped in and out of you with precision, and you held onto him tightly, bringing him as close as possible to you.

He loved it when you were so needy, and as he let go inside of you, he raised his head and kissed you long and hard, biting your lips as if punishing you for kissing someone else.

“I missed you so fucking much, and yet what do you do?” He chuckles in an almost mocking way.

“I missed you too, Jeongin… but… you’re not good for me, baby… I...” You frowned, stopping yourself before you could say another life-altering thing. You hoped he didn't hear your blabbering near the end, but oh, of course he did.

“Finish your sentence, my love. I know you want to tell me something else.” He smirked. How well he knew you...

How well he knew that you just couldn’t stay away from him.

“I want you so, so bad, though…” You finished, and Jeongin kissed you again.

“And you can have me. What’s stopping you?”

“I… I can’t, Jeongin…”

“Didn’t this year apart teach you anything, my love? Didn’t it make you love me more?” He asked, and his voice was so convincing, you felt yourself being hypnotized.

You knew how wrong it was, how toxic he was for you, but bad habits are so hard to get rid of. Lighting up cigarettes and puffing them fills your lungs with smoke, suffocating you, making you slightly dizzy from the lack of proper oxygen, and yet, even though you swear it’d be your last one, you still end up buying one more pack and burning your insides again and again.

Jeongin was much the same to you. He was filling your heart with love, but your brain with poison, and you didn’t know who to listen to: your rational side, or your emotional side?

You and Jeongin didn’t have a future together, that much you knew. You were way too different to allow yourself to even dream of the fairytale ending for the two of you. However... you’ve spent all your life working towards that perfect, certain future, which prevented you from living in the present, except for those few months spent with Jeongin.

Would it be good to keep seeing him and feel alive again, or should you go back to your boring, regular life for good and complete your life ambition of fighting injustice?

“My love, why don’t we make a deal, hm?” Jeongin spoke after a little while, noticing you kept silent.

“A deal?”

“You’ll fight for your justice, and I’ll make sure to give you interesting individuals to put behind bars. Drug lords, criminals… I know so many of them, my darling. I’ll make sure they get caught for you, hm? You’d get rid of all my enemies. We can be good for each other, too.”

Jeongin’s words sounded extremely convincing, but you knew that it wasn’t right. Still, would it be wise to trust your moral compass and break up with him, this time for good, leaving no way for him to come back to you? Or should you let him manipulate you into believing in this soul-sucking love that would little by little consume every part of your being and rationale?

It was way too easy to fall back into those bad habits, and the goody two-shoes you once were was slowly being replaced by her arch-nemesis. But still, would it be worth it to let go of yourself once again for Jeongin?

You didn’t know. But what you knew was that the last year without him was extremely empty, with a never-ending routine where only doing the good thing grew old quick. So, perhaps it wouldn't be too bad to live next to him for a few more years, and when you’d be ready to become that perfect, role model girl once again, you would let him go.

But until then…

“Alright.” You whispered. “I… I want you, Jeongin. I want us to get back together.”

“I knew you’d make the right choice, love.” He kissed your lips again, and your heart began beating faster, filled with a mix of love an anxiety due to the uncertainty of what your life was about to become.

~

[wrathofrats]

A second part to this where zephyr gets his hands on ifrit but in the fun and sexy way, can be read alone

Or I was weird about blood (again)

Major warnings for blood play, primal stuff, zephyrs unhinged, it’s gross and strange but be honest what else are you here for.

Hope you all enjoy <3

Ifrit is jolted awake by the sound of his door creaking open. A metallic echo covers the room as ifrit attempts to sit up and rub the sleep from his eyes to see what is in his doorway.

He can barely make it out through the light behind whatever is staring at him, it casts a dark shadow on their face, only able to make out its shadowy figure.

The shining white of teeth smile at him as zephyr moves more into the scarce light. They’re still panting from the struggle, seems like whatever they got ahold of tried to fight back.

Their shirt is torn, blood still drying on the exposed skin and ifrit can’t tell whose it is based on the claw marks in the fabric. Their hair is messy, half torn out of their usual bun and parts of it still contain bits of carnage. Just absolutely ravaged.

The sight would frighten ifrit if he didn’t find it unbearably attractive. The usually prim and proper Zephyr is covered in gore, blood dripping off their fangs as they continue to smile at him with a malicious glint in their eye.

The echo gets louder as Zeph pads over to the bed with their cane. Each thump makes him a bit more terrified than the last. They look like they could just tear into something and god he hopes they do.

The cool metal pushes its way under his chin, forcing his gaze upwards to look zephyr in the eye. They hover a dripping claw over his lips practically tracing it over the top curve of his cupids bow, the sickly rich copper smell intoxicates ifrit as they allow him to suck away the blood from their finger. Ifrit is tentative at first, scared to make any move with permission but oh even just the thought of being able to lick their mate clean has him practically blood drunk and lapping it away from their skin like a man starved. He can taste the rage and violence, absolutely divine.

Need surrounds him, blurs his vision and rings in his ears. Ifrit grabs at zephyrs debauched clothing, a silent plea to rid themself of it and zephyr really only needs the small hint before their instincts kick in for them to rip the clothing off of each other.

They’re only driven by want and need, barely a concern for the integrity of the item only able to think about getting it off of ifrit as quickly as possible.

The blood still clings to zephyrs skin from where it had soaked through their own clothing, crimson liquid running down their chest and coating their thighs from it seeping into their pants.

Zephyr is slick and warm against ifrits skin when they finally decide to straddle his lap. It eases an instinctive glide from their hips, zephyr rutting desperately using the blood to slip against him.

It’s wet and messy, blood no doubt getting all over the sheets and each other. Ifrit tries to lick the blood from zephs mouth as he pulls him closer to force their hips together harder. The friction is barely enough for either of them but they can’t fall out of their rhythm to do anything about it.

Their position moves for zephyr to hover over him. It’s almost menacing, like they absolutely could just rip into ifrit and really make him their prey. Part of ifrit even wants it for a moment as zephyr leans back down to capture his lips between their teeth. It’s a lot of pushing and pulling as their kisses turn from bruising and deep to sloppy and frantic. Ifrit can’t even catch his breath like this, can’t breath with zephyr practically trying to force the air from his lungs but he'll gladly suffocate like this if that’s what they wanted.

Hips rolling, hands fumbling, ifrit manages to sneak one between them to wrap his hand around their cocks and fuck they’re both so hard. Ifrit can barely tell if he’s using the precum or blood to aid his movements but he truly doesn’t care. Zeph makes an obscene sound into his mouth as he grabs them by the hair to tug their head back and expose their neck. He drags his tongue along the hollow of their throat and bites at the sensitive skin, listening to them cry out and growl properly.

Zephyr wants to be slow and pace it, but fuck the sight of their cocks against each other, leaking and slicked with someone else’s blood has them out of their mind, they doesn’t think they can control themself. Not like this, not when they have ifrit blood drunk and willing to take anything they’d give him.

Ifrit makes the saddest little sound when zephyr has to tear their throat away from his lips, almost like if he isn’t allowed to lick every last drop of their skin he may cry. They swing their leg over to unwrap from his waist as a signal to turn over, ifrit trusts they’ll give him what he wants, needs.

Hands are back on him immediately,

“God you listen so well wildfire” zeph whispers low into his ear. A hand wraps around his throat, claws digging in to the point where ifrit starts to feel dizzy from the harsh sting and the pressure on his airway, “Are you worried about what will happen if you don’t?”

Ifrit can’t even respond by the time zephyr truly squeezes down on his throat. He strangles a choked off sound when zephyr ruts their hips down, dizzying and confusing the poor fire ghoul. It feels so good he’s almost convinced himself he doesn’t need the air anymore as long as Zeph has their hand around his throat like this

“Fucking pathetic, too bad you’re so easy, you’d make excellent prey”

The words drop off their tongue like honey and barely seep into ifrits mind before he’s being jolted back to reality by zephyr sinking their teeth harshly into the junction where his neck meets his shoulder. Ifrit is sure he can feel the hot stream of blood flow from the fresh wound, can absolutely feel Zeph lick it up and chase after it with his mouth.

Hes being manhandled again, moved to roll onto his stomach as zephyr forces his hips up.

Mouth full of blood, spreads him open letting it drip off his tongue, its warm and ifrit shudders just knowing. The mixture of blood and saliva drips down his hole where zephyr is holding him wide and ifrit can’t help but fucking whimper at the feeling of it running down his skin.

Zephyr spits into their hand and coats themself with it, watching ifrits blood struggle to mix with their saliva on their cock. God if Zeph didn’t have half a mind he’d be searching for more of it.

They don’t even bother to prep him in this state, vision and sense blurred by instinct and their own self control to not straight up tear into their partner and truly ifrit doesn’t even care at this point, wants it too much. Zephyr could carve their name into his skin and he would only beg for more.

A hiccuped sob rings through the room when Zeph finally pushes in, sure everyone else can hear but it his he doesn’t fucking care anymore. Zephyr pants against his neck as ifrits vision goes white and he goes practically boneless. Its too much, not enough he really can’t decide.

The spit and blood is barely enough to act as any sort of line. It’s definitely not enough to keep ifrit from feeling every inch of Zeph practically carve their way into him.

They don’t even go slow, gives him only a second to try and adjust before they’re shoving him down into the pillows to take what’s theirs.

Ifrits drooling into the goddamn mattress, being fucked hard and fast like a fucking animal. Zephyrs going to ache later, know ifrit will feel them for days but it’s rare that Zeph tops, let alone is rough with him like this, none of it even matters. They’re aggressive, something so tangling about having ifrit beneath them willing to do whatever they want.

“Just going to take it like a bitch aren’t you” zephyr snarls, pushing his face into the mattress as they fuck him within an inch of his life, like they can’t control themself. Ifrits sure they’re actually trying to break him.

“Pathetic fucking thing. Letting me use you like a toy, letting me fuck you with your own blood. Whore can’t get enough can he”

[shinsousshadow]

Kinktober 04/ Seo Changbin- Aphrodisiac...? / Sex Magic

Minors do not interact

CW:Mentions of CNC, Mild implications of CNC. Pet names(?)

I had just finished brewing a potion. One I always said I would never dare to brew, knowing if it fell into the wrong hands someone could end up hurt. Granted this was the perfect time to try it because we talked about doing CNC, Consensual Non Consensual, you brought it up. Told me to try it when we were both in a good head space which now was the best time to. So here I was waiting for you to walk in so I could give you the potion. Once you walked in I walked over to you and handed it to you, “here” you looked at me, seeming suspicious of the potion but still drunk it. “What was that one?” You asked clearly not feeling the effects yet, “you’ll see soon, love” you eyed me for a moment before heading to our room. I quickly followed and hugged you from behind watching you shiver at my touch. “Binnie…w-what was that potion?” “You remember our conversation?” I spoke softly in your ear. You nodded “well this will aid in that so don’t fight it” you whimpered softly turning to me and kissing me deeply. I pushed you on the bed, stripping both of our clothes off. Going at a fast and quick pace right away, I wasted no time slipping in, thrusting hard and fast. You were whining about being close in a matter of moments, I have to admit my thrusts were getting sloppy as I was getting close as well. You were pinned to the bed under me, and I was holding your hips tightly, both of us getting closer with every thrust. You were the first to cum, you tightening around me made me cum, soon after. I think we were both thankful I made it so it wouldn’t be active long. I picked you up and carried you to the bathroom, I set you in a warm bath. “I wasn’t too rough was I…?” I asked wanting to make sure you were okay, even though we didn’t delve that far into the scene I was still worried. “It was perfect baby” your sweet voice reassuring me you were okay. “I love you so much” “I love you so much too”

[lunarisdeus]

@ebresos

" Just the way you look at me is driving me wild. "

The tension was.. getting to a point where he didn't think either of them could deny wanting each other. The last few times they'd tried to, he'd gotten too caught up in overthinking everything. First try, his nerves got him. Being under Siius- yes, he knew him but it hadn't been years of built trust- who was so much more capable than him and then also not having both arms to brace against the bed, an entirely new experience that had honestly intimidated him.

He was grateful that Siius didn't seem to mind, or at least understood, when he apologized and assured him that he did want this.. but he wasn't sure how. It didn't stop them from indulgence, they wanted each other. Their slow build up never lessened the desperate urgency, if anything.. it made it all the more intoxicating.

Ervaak was all too eager to go down on him, a bit of a challenge due to size. He had a gag reflex, but it'd never been much of a concern before now. He didn't have much thought- engrossed with perhaps the largest cock he'd ever had the pleasure of being used by that was testing even his own limits. So between the sloppy, wet sounds and the occasional gag, he trembled and swallowed near fruitlessly on the Vurnoki. Whining and moaning at each throb and twitch of pleasure of his own cock that was pleading for friction to the point of weeping. He was entirely entrenched in the slow, careful push and pull of Siius' cock against his lips and tongue and his only hand occupying the parts of Siius he couldn't fit in just yet. But he was stubborn enough to keep trying.

At least until the moment his heated, cock-drunk gaze met those red eyes. He must have looked like a mess, one he'd never mind being, he'd always been told he looked perfect like this and he took every compliment as a sign he was doing it right. Entirely obedient, skin flushed and pale eyes overbright in the darkness. Eyes that didn't hide his hunger for the man he was pleasing.

" Just the way you look at me is driving me wild. "

It was immediate, he couldn't take it anymore. He nearly snarled once that length was free from he mouth, his voice heated and strained from the stretch of trying to take Siius' cock down his throat. Breathing raggedly, " Take me, make me yours. Hold me down and make me yours, " taking Siius in hand for a moment, roughly jerking him off for several strokes before turning around and baring himself to be taken. Ass up and a pillow pulled under his chest to aid in his comfort, " Fuck me and don't stop. "

[diedbrave]

@spider-self continued from this ask.

"Is it that painfully obvious?" Eddie slurred just slightly, uncertain if it was worse that he had given off the vibe that he wasn't handling himself well, or worse that he most likely looked pathetic when doing it. Alcohol had never been his strong suit. He certainly wasn't Richie Tozier, who he knew had struggled with drinking even before the return to Derry. Eddie had his own vices, some would argue much worse, but alcohol seemed like the thing that would do the trick tonight. Quick, smooth (laughable really), and fast.

"I don't mind. As long as you don't mind that I get sloppy incredibly fast when drinking." Last time he had gotten this drunk, well, had been at the Jade of the Orient. Not long ago. The others should have noticed that Eddie wasn't good at holding his liquor with the fact that Eddie Kaspbrak - the man who was literally terrified of getting AIDS through a hangnail - was asking Richie to take off their shirts and kiss in his drunken stupor.

Being the second smallest of the Losers, thank you very much, just meant his body couldn't tolerate it as much. His sheltered, almost health-nut free lifestyle didn't help matters either. He externally winced as another round was presented, not sure how much more of the gasoline-like substance he could partake in, but knowing he would do it until he was drunk enough to not think. "Awfully bold of you to buy a stranger a drink. Especially in this town." He didn't recognize the man, so only wondered how much he knew - if at all - about Derry and its history. For all this man knew, Eddie could be a murderer.

Still, it was kind of someone to offer, especially in Derry. As a kid, it felt like all the adults turned a blind eye to anyone that wasn't their own issue, completely selfish and uncaring. So it made him smile, holding up the glass in a form of salute. "Cheers."

[redemn]

a  sigh  of  relief  escapes  his  lips  as  they  duck  beneath  the  tarp  stretched  across  his  small  table  and  bed  ,      into  the  makeshift  walls  of  his  so-called  'tent'        for  what  it's  worth  ,      it's  hardly  enough  to  shield  him  from  view  ,      but  just  enough  that  he  can  convince  himself  ,      especially  in  the  throes  of  slumber      (  or  ,      perhaps  ,      while  being  aided  in  his  undressing  ),      that  peeking  eyes  can  be  easily  noticed  if  anyone  dared  .      sloppy  fingers  tug  at  similar  places  in  that  fabric  ,      brush  again  raven's  one  too  many  times  .      if  he  were  less  drunk  ,      he  would  apologize  .      to  say  nothing  of  the  palm  at  his  chest  .      he  breathes  ,      careful  ,      steadily  ,      seemingly  unable  to  parse  it  all  .      his  gaze  meets  hers  .

he  blinks  once  ,      twice  ,      thrive  ,      a  blank  look  in  whiskey-widened  eyes  ,      a  window  that  frames  the  picture  his  mind  :  thoughts  laced  together  ,      frantic  attempts  to  untangle  the  knots  that  inundate  any  line  he  tries  to  grasp  .        ❝        sure  ,      sure  .      i've  seen  a  lotta  things  i  can't  explain  .      but  i  ,      i  ain't  uh        i  ain't  smart  'nough  to  recognize  what's  really  goin'  on  anyway  .      ain't  really    …      ❞        words  stutter  out  before  he  has  the  chance  to  stop  them  ,      on  account  of  the  drink  coating  his  throat  ,      his  tongue  ,      with  an  easy  venom  meant  to  poison  .      he  sure  could  be  called  poisoning  himself  now  ,      for  what  it's  worth        the  very  fact  he's  rambled  on  about  himself  about  idiocies  and  stupidities  is  not  a  thing  most  anyone  would  hear  .

a  long  moment  stretches  .      he  reaches  up  now  ,      lifting  his  hat  from  his  head  .      with  less  easy  access  to  the  table  beside  his  bed  ,      for  want  of  raven's  space  ,      he  instead  sets  his  hat  atop  her  lengthy  black  hair  .      then  ,      as  if  he's  suddenly  remembered  he  has  a  bed  ,      the  man  drops  himself  quick  on  the  mattress  ,      forearms  rested  over  thighs  .      gaze  settles  on  the  particularly  severe  curve  of  her  shoulder  .        ❝        creatures  in  the  woods  i  can't  understand  .      neither  c'n  the  rest'a  this  lot  .        ❞        he  chuckles  to  himself  ,      lets  out  an  airy  groan  against  the  spin  of  the  world  still  insistent  upon  the  bottoms  of  his  feet  .        ❝        eh    …    n'  scares  me  plen'y  ,      miss  omen  .      all  that  stuff  .      i  don't  gotta  know  about  it  .      that  ain't  my  domain  out  there  .        ❞

the body is not her domain as is the mind,    but invisible tendrils of darkness keep his feet steady,    she won’t let him get more scruffed than life has made him.    all this safekeeping she does in secret,    and it pains her that she hasn’t been honest with him.    now is no time for confessions of what she is,    but she wonders if she could harness proof that he would care for her regardless.    it’s not fair now,    that he’s drunk,    but she can’t allow herself the elation of his presence without worrying.    even as her cheeks morph the warmth of his words into redder hues,    her smile shies away.    if only he could truly save her,    if only she could remain in the embracing feeling of his happiness as she is now and never face the evils of her kin.    these are impossible things to hope for,    as they are, friends, they can only thrive in the dark,    hiden from the burden of their foul responsibilities.   

‘ mhm,    until you fall asleep,  i will not leave you,   ’ no one seems to rise as they enter the tent,    but she’s careful to keep her voice down.    a purring whisper that speaks both of caution and tenderness,    releasing his arm to illuminate a candle with matches she stole earlier from him.    the sentimentals that permeate his space don’t go unnoticed by the empath,    one item however,    holds most of the spiritual energy,    a jarred flower.    ‘ but i do not wish to impose,    pearson does not need another mouth to feed,    ’ especially not one that will refuse to eat his stew.    she’s aware of her complexities and can only expect to carry them lonesome.    it’s easier to tend to others,    it negates the need to accept in voce that she has needs beyond sainthood.    

slowly,    she reaches for arthur’s neck,    giving him a final smile before delving into the task of helping him shed the day and rest.    fingers graze him as she works on untangling his handkerchief,    dark eyes immersed,    lingering on his chest for a second too long when she's done.    ‘ say,    arthur,    ’ here she looks up at him,    innocent, her left hand lifting to find the brim of his hat,    tone shifting from that mantric hymn to unequivocal human timidity,     ‘ are you a spiritual man    ? have you ever seen something you cannot explain    ? ’

[theharddeck]

except for maybe you, and your simple smile

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Julie Floyd (OC)

Synopsis: Hangman's girlfriend makes sure Jake is taken care of during Payback’s bachelor party, and the morning after, he decides to return the favor

Warnings: 18+, minors please DNI – starts out pretty fluffy, then it does devolve into smut and swearing, the usual (i.e. explicit freceiving!oral and PiV sex)

Length: 6.7k

A/N: I'm considering writing a holiday fic with Julie, so wanted to start bringing her over from ao3. if this goes well, i might cross-post their meetcute, so lmk if y'all want more! tldr Julie Floyd is Bob's older sister; they meet during TGM when they both go to the infirmary to check in on Bob and Phoenix after the training crash.

tagging: @peakyrogers @wildbornsiren @fuckyeahhangman @laracrofted (ik you’ve already seen it but still), @princessofglitterland @callsignvalley @daggerspare-standingby @almostgenerallyalways @jadore-andor @bioodforbiood @blue-aconite @winterrebel04 @gigisimsonmars and if you're not on the list but want to be, or the inverse, let me know!

read on ao3 instead

Which meant she alone bore tribute to the judges’ poor rationale on the GBBO.

Which meant she alone bore tribute to the judges’ poor rationale on the GBBO.

Which meant she alone bore tribute to the judges’ poor rationale on the GBBO.

Julie’s favorite baker had produced 46 macarons, just short of the requisite four dozen, which would be a valid criticism except she had made four dozen, but had startled into crushing two of them when another contestant dropped his kitchen aid on his foot. And now Xiomara was being voted off, because Paul Hollywood couldn’t appreciate the absolute genius that was a flight of macarons inspired by Camille Saint-Saens’ Carnival of the Animals , even if she was two short of perfection.

Julie was pulled out of her brooding by the vibrating of her phone on the bedside table. 

She checked the caller ID and sat up quickly, muting the TV as she answered the call. 

“Natasha? Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, babe, all good,” Natasha shouted into the phone, over the clamor of a noisy bar. “Your boyfriend’s getting sloppy drunk; we found him feeding quarters into a decorative payphone, trying to call you, so here he is.”

There was a shuffling sound, and Julie relaxed back into the pillows against the headboard. Natasha sounded perfectly sober, but Julie had heard stories about how she could drink any of the guys under the table, so her friend’s voice wasn’t a tell of how far gone the others could be.

“Julia,” she heard a moment later, Jake’s voice making her smile. He was the only one who used her full name, but she’d decided years ago that she didn’t mind.

Or maybe that was just the power of a Texan accent.

“Hey, Hangman,” Julie said into the phone. “You having fun?”

“Phoenix is bullying me,” he said, and she heard him grunt as Natasha presumably swatted at him, before he turned away from her. “I think she’s a cyborg or something, Jules; she’s downing shots like they’re water.”

Julie shook her head. “Just make sure you’re drinking water, yeah? Let’s do our level best to keep the hangover at bay.”

There was a loud sigh, so close that it shorted out the microphone. “You’re so good at that,” Jake said, and he sounded cross.

“At what?” Julie asked, trying her hardest to keep her amusement out of her voice.

“Taking care of me,” Jake said, his voice somehow still put out.

“Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?”

“S’not,” Jake said, then he sniffed. “You’re just…very good.”

He was sweet when he was sentimental, like it snuck up on him. Jake was pretty good about compliments when he was sober, but it was always affirming to hear the guileless version when he was a little tipsy.

“I hear you’re pretty good too,” Julie reassured him, thinking that Jake was probably the only person she knew who could get away with having a catch phrase in real life.

“Course I am,” Jake responded immediately, then he paused as he thought it over. “But I’m good at things, you’re just decent. Like kind and shit.”

Julie smoothed the comforter, the white down feeling soft under her fingers, rippled around where her weight crumpled it. “We’re getting you there.”

Jake hummed a little, like he disagreed but didn’t want to say it. “I like when you say we’re a we.”

Julie pushed the wrinkles back the other way on the comforter. “We are, aren’t we?”

“I know, but I like it. It’s nice,” Jake paused. “I miss you.”

Julie stopped fidgeting with the comforter, surprised by the sweet longing in his voice. “Babe, you saw me like four hours ago,” she said gently.

“What happened to my feelings being valid?” Jake asked, candor replaced by petulance. 

“They are, of course,” Julie amended quickly. 

Jake huffed. “Well I miss you.”

“I’ll see you in a couple hours more, yeah?” Julie offered. “How’s that sound?”

“Good,” he said wistfully. “That sounds good. You’re so good, Julia, I mean it.”

Julie went back to the comforter. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she told him.

“See this is what I mean!” Jake said, annoyed again. “Just take the compliment, okay? It doesn’t have to be about me too.”

Julie tipped her head. “What happened to liking ‘we’?”

“Of course I like ‘we’,” Jake said, thinking. “I love you.”

Julie smiled. “I love you, too.”

“I love you too,” Jake said, and Julie could practically see everyone around him rolling their eyes. 

“Alright, Seresin, you get back to having fun, okay?” she told him.

Jake sighed, like he was steeling himself for a daunting task.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Well, not okay, but I’ll try. The guys won’t let me play pool.”

“Bastards,” Julie said, loyally.

“It’s okay; the sticks are awful sharp, did you know? They are,” he said solemnly, and the background noise got louder as someone pulled his attention away from the phone. “Oh, hey, Fanboy. Yeah, it’s Julia. Now, wait–-”

There was a rustling sound on the other end, which Julie assumed was Mickey fighting the phone away from Jake. She waited for it to stop, and then a moment later heard the wizzo’s voice on the line.

“Julie, your boyfriend’s bringing this down,” Mickey complained. “At this rate, he’ll be tapping out in an hour.”

Julie didn’t think Mickey sounded 100% either, but she wasn’t about to say it.

“Do me a favor and keep him vertical,” she said instead, and she heard Mickey snort. 

“Anything for my second favorite Floyd,” he rejoined.

Julie shook her head, reaching over to grab the binder inside the nightstand, flipping pages till she found room service.

“Alright, I’ll take the hint and sign off,” she told Mickey. “Have a reasonable amount of fun, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey said. “Here’s Phoenix.”

There was a shuffling as the phone was passed back, and Julie heard Natasha’s longsuffering sigh before she put the phone up to her ear.

“All the men I love are lightweights,” Natasha said. “What are we gonna do about that?”

Julie laughed quietly. “Are they lightweights, or are you superhuman, Nat?”

“Now you sound like Jake,” she said, and Julie could hear the grin on her friend's voice. “At this rate, we’ll be home before 2am. Call you if anything changes, but don’t wait up, okay?”

“Okay,” Julie agreed. “Make good choices.”

“Don’t I always,” Natasha said, and she hung up. 

Julie put the phone back on the side table, a small smile on her face as she looked around the room. 

That group was special. Some of them went back to their first pass through Top Gun, some of them had first met when they were trained by Captain Mitchell, but their friendship was sweet to get to witness. Julie knew Robbie was disappointed to miss out on this weekend, but he was needed at Lemoore and had negotiated for the week of Reuben’s wedding off.

Julie checked the amount of time left in the episode, then the finale, then took a quick break to order room service. If she was going to watch more minor atrocities be committed for the sake of British baking, it was going to be accompanied by hotel-made creme brulee.

----

Julie hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but between the sugar of the dessert and the soothing accents on her screen, she blinked awake in the bright lights of the room. There was something else too…

A moment later, she heard it again, the beeping of the room key reader, as it declined entry. Julie rolled off the bed pulling her sweatshirt over her thumbs and padding over to the door, to check the peephole. 

It was nearly covered by brown hair and through the door, Julie could hear Jake muttering, coaching himself through opening the door. 

The reader beeped again and Julie waited until she heard weight shift away from the door before opening it slowly. 

Jake startled, hands coming out for balance as the hallway moved around him. He was weaving slightly, not enough for monumental concern, and Julie waited for him to gain his bearings and find her. 

“Julia,” he grinned broadly, relieved. “I think our door is broken.”

Julie looked down to where he was pressing his credit card against the hotel room door, the reader determinedly showing red as it waited for the room key. “We’ll call the desk in the morning, get them to come check it out.”

“I guess,” Jake frowned, doubtful, then looked back up at her. 

Julie held out a hand, opening the door further to pull him back into the room. Jake took her hand as he walked by her, but then he raised her arm over her head.

Julie let him lead her into a twirl, knowing they looked absolutely ridiculous in the hallway. She, barefoot in pajama shorts and a sweatshirt, Jake in a button down, jeans, and the cowboy boots he wore on principle when he was out of uniform. Smiling stupidly, moving gracelessly, but Jake looked pleased when she centered back on him, and so she was okay with it.

“Hey, darlin’,” he said, voice lower closer, proud of himself for the move.

“Sugar,” Julie teased, always amused when Jake’s Texan came out stronger when he was a little out of it.

She closed the door behind them, but Jake didn’t let go of her hand, pulling her back to him, their arms settling around each others’ waists. Jake was still weaving, but in context, it felt almost like dancing. Side to side between feet, stomachs and hips close together, quiet in the bright lights of the room. Julie tilted her head to rest her chin on Jake’s shoulder. He was just taller than her barefooted, and the boots helped a little, as they turned in a slow circle in the entryway.

“We should go line dancing,” Jake said, his voice rumbling through his chest. He was warm, his shoulders heavy and chest broad against her, and he felt soft, relaxed.

“In Chicago?” Julie asked, swaying along with him. 

“In Chicago,” Jake scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

“Alright,” Julie agreed, trying not to laugh, “location to be determined at a later date. Want to take your boots off?”

Jake looked down, seemingly surprised to find them still on his feet.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, and dropped his arms immediately. 

He moved over to an ottoman in the entryway, sitting widely and leaning down to pull off his boots. Julie stayed near the door, watching him. 

For all his arrogance when she’d first met him, this version of him always seemed the closest to real. Honest and bumbling, dutifully following instructions, twirling her because he could, dancing because he wanted to. With his thighs spread and hands tugging at the leather, Julie thought she could see him a century ago, coming home to a ranch in Wyoming, after a cattle drive. 

Of course, in that image, she’d have an apron instead of pajama shorts, and a kitchen instead of a nursing degree.

Jake lined his boots up carefully and looked back up at her.

“I smell like a bar,” he announced.

Julie pressed her lips together. “That does track, yes.”

“I’m gonna shower,” he said, nodding determinedly.

“Sounds good,” Julie said. She needed to get ready for bed anyway, so she could keep an eye on him.

“Don’t fall asleep without me, okay?”

Julie looked back at him at his simple request, worry clear on his face. 

He was drunk enough that she hadn’t planned on leaving him unattended near a running tap, or pushing for anything other than sleep. But the sweetness in his ask settled over her, and she smiled softly. 

She crossed over to him, cupping the side of his face with her hand. When he was on duty, Jake kept himself clean-shaven, but on weekends like this, or ends of weekends like this, he was a bit of a scratchy scruff going, and it was rough against her palm. One of Jake’s hands circled her wrist and he turned his head to press against the inside of it, waiting for her answer. 

“Take a shower, Dallas,” she told him. “I’ll wait for you.”

He smiled, a simple thing that turned the corners of his mouth up slightly and he nodded. He pushed himself to his feet, weaving slightly before he regained his balance and started towards the bathroom. 

Julie stopped by his suitcase to grab pajama pants and a Longhorns tshirt before following him. Her toiletries were already on the counter and she left Jake’s clothes on the commode. She brushed her teeth, keeping an eye on her boyfriend through the frosted glass of the shower doors, then washed her face. By the time she’d made it to the serum portion of her skincare routine, Jake was simply standing under the shower spray, water running over his body, his rote actions completed.

“How we doing in there?” she asked, and Jake jumped.

“Uh, good,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Good. Almost done.”

“Take your time,” Julie said reassuringly, leaning back against the countertop as she worked the serum in with a jade roller.

A couple minutes later, the tap turned off, and as Jake pulled the towel off the top of the shower door into the stall with him, Julie let herself out of the bathroom to give him some privacy. She kept the door cracked, of course, so she could hear if anything happened, but moved the creme brulee dishes and tray from the bedside table, clearing the area. 

Jake was humming Jingle Bells as he brushed his teeth, a habit he normally kept inaudible, to get him to two minutes. Julie flipped off the overhead lights, leaving on the headboard light on Jake’s side as she turned down the covers. As she slipped under the comforter, she heard Jake opt up for the final “one horse open sleighhhh”. 

A minute later, Jake stood silhouette in the bathroom light, pausing as he looked into the room. His hair was obviously towel dried, sticking straight up at the crown of his head, none of his normal styling methods implemented. It was an endearing effect, especially combined with the rumpled pajamas. 

“Come over,” Julie said, flipping the edge of the comforter open. Thankfully, her nap earlier hadn’t been deep enough that she now didn’t want to sleep, but she was sure Jake was more tired than he was aware.

Jake flipped off the light and ambled over to the bed, dropping heavily into it.

“No, you come over,” he mumbled, holding open an arm. 

Julie smiled to herself, rolling over towards him. “You’re not gonna get that light are you?” she asked. 

“What light?” 

When she looked up at him, Jake’s brow was wrinkled in confusion, and his eyes were very much closed. Julie lifted herself over him, flipping off the light before tucking herself back into his side.

“There ya go,” Jake said, sounding very pleased with himself for someone who didn’t do anything.

“There you go,” Julie repeated into his chest. Jake’s tshirt was a little damp from the humidity in the bathroom, but she could feel the warmth of him through it, and, relaxed like this, he felt so comfortable.

“Thanks for fixing the broken door,” Jake mumbled, craning his neck to press a kiss to the top of her forehead.

“Of course,” Julie whispered back. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” Jake said, breaking off in a yawn. “Drank water too, like you said.” 

Julie patted his chest consolingly. “Well done, babe.”

“Thank you,” Jake yawned again. “Night, darlin’.”

Julie smiled in the darkness, knowing he couldn’t see. “Goodnight, sugar.”

Her eyes drifted shut as she heard Jake’s breathing even out, the steadiness of his heartbeat like a simple lullaby as sleep washed over them both.

-----

Sunlight filtered softly through the sheer curtains, casting the room in a gentle warm light, and Julie blinked awake. She lay still for a moment, following the narrow beam of light from between where the two curtains almost met, a ray of sunlight across the bottom of the bed. She could feel Jake’s breath against her neck, uneven enough for her to know he was awake before she turned around to face him. 

He let go of her as she rolled over, but his hand returned to her waist when she settled. His thumb stroked lightly underneath the hem of her sweatshirt, brushing a little half moon over her skin. Julie settled onto the pillow, their noses just a breath apart, and she couldn’t help but smile at him. 

His green eyes were bright in the morning light, his mussed hair stuck up in an unkempt pattern, and Julie reached up to smooth it down. Jake’s eyes fluttered slightly when her nails met his scalp, and she ran her fingers through his hair to settle it, 

“Hey,” Julie whispered.

“Hey,” Jake said back, his voice scratchy, and Julie smiled at the rough texture of it. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” Julie ran her hand down the back of his head, curling around the back of his neck. “I think we need to get better sheets for the apartment.”

Jake smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I knew splurging on the hotel was gonna cost me more than the weekend.”

“You and me both,” Julie sighed, stretching a little. “What about you–-did you sleep okay? How’re you feeling?”

Jake hummed. “Someone reminded me halfway through the night that I should be drinking water. Saved me a hell of a hangover, I think.”

Julie scratched lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck. “She sounds like a genius.”

“Definitely that,” Jake agreed. “She also waited up to make sure I got in okay, and that I didn’t drown myself in the shower.”

“She should probably be nominated for sainthood,” Julie prompted, but then she couldn't keep up the charade. “I have a confession.”

“That’s thematic,” Jake said.

“I didn’t wait up for you, not at first. I fell asleep watching Great British Bakeoff, and woke up when the door kept beeping because you were trying to open it with your credit card instead of the room key”

Jake laughed, and Julie lifted herself off his chest to look at him. 

God, he was handsome. 

Such a classic, silly, word, but it fit him. Fit his charm and his ease, his straight teeth and stubborn chin, and how he’d just woken up and his hair was barely finger-combed, but he still looked like something gorgeous.  

He calmed down, face pressed into the pillow across from her, and under her sweatshirt, his fingers stilled. 

“Ah, Julia,” he said, his voice somehow still scratchy. “You can’t look at me like that.”

Julie rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away from his hair to press it over her eyes. “Take it up with your pretty face; it’s not my fault.”

She heard him laugh again, quieter this time, and then he pulled her hand away from her face. He didn’t let go of her wrist, circled by his fingers, and the hand on her waist pushed further under her sweatshirt, spreading over the skin there. 

“Either way,” Jake said quietly, his eyes intent. “Thank you.”

Julie licked her lips. “For what?”

Jake’s eyes crinkled, but his mouth barely moved into a smile. “You answered when Phoenix called, and we yelled at you like lunatics in the middle of Clark Street. You got out of bed to let me in, and waited up after that, to make sure I was okay.”

Julie sighed, wishing Jake understood those weren’t monumental acts of kindness, as much as they were things people did when they cared. And he knew she cared, but he seemed to forget how much. 

“That’s my job, honey,” Julie said softly.

Jake was still for a moment, and the lines around his eyes deepened before he leaned across the pillow to kiss her. Julie smiled at the first brush of his lips over hers, soft and careful, just quick appreciation. After a moment, he went to pull back, but Julie followed him. Jake’s hand tightened on her waist as her body pressed against his, and he kissed her slow and deep, until the world felt like maple syrup around them.

“Always taking care of me,” Jake murmured against her skin. His stubble scraped against her face as he nudged her chin up with his nose, tipping Julie’s head back. She swallowed heavily as he kissed her neck, a slow press of lips and a tease from his tongue before he moved on to a new spot. “I think it’s my turn now.”

“Tor what?” Julie asked, her voice sounding breathless, which Jake seemed to appreciate. He blew out a slow breath, cool air over a spot he’d just licked, and Julie shivered.

“To take care of you,” Jake said against her skin. His lips closed over her and Julie bit back a whine as she felt the pressure of his mouth and the carefulness of his words at her core.

“I told you it’s not like that,” Julie managed to say, carding her hands through his hair. When she pulled lightly, he sucked a little harder and Julie gasped.

Her hand fell from his hair to his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. She wanted his weight, more pressure, more of him, and when he let her lead him, she felt his chuckle through his chest. Jake shifted, obliging, his strong thighs on either side of hers, and the hand at her waistband moved over her stomach and down. 

“I know,” Jake said soothingly, his fingers skimming across her hip bone, over her underwear. “But I want to anyway. Will you let me?”

Julie looked up at him, his broad shoulders and his tan skin, bright eyes and morning hair, and shook her head. 

“Why’d you have to bring reciprocity into it?” she asked.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you don’t want me to…” he trailed off as his fingers dipped below the hem of her Calvin Kleins. His hand brushed over smooth skin and dense hair before his broad palm settled warmly over her core. His thumb rubbed lightly over the inside of her thigh, but his palm settled, cupping her.  

Julie’s hips canted up of their own volition, wanting more pressure, more friction. Jake didn’t move though, just stayed, waited, eyes laughing, as Julie willed her body to still. 

“Need something, darlin’?” Jake teased.

Julie scowled at him. “Why do you have to be so smug about it?”

Jake shrugged lightly, his thumb continuing its maddening pattern inside her thigh. “Why do you have to be so principled about it?”

He rolled his hips slightly, pushing his hand more firmly against her, but still not moving beyond giving her more of his weight.

“Come on, Julia,” Jake whispered. He braced himself on his elbow before leaning down to kiss her, pulling away almost as soon as she rose to meet him. He kissed her jaw, her neck, and she felt his lips curl into a smile over his teeth as he pulled back again. Julie realized she was grinding up against the hand he was insisting on keeping still, and she pulled at his hair to bring him back to her mouth.

Jake inhaled sharply as he kissed her, his lips soft and hungry and Julie loved that she could feel his chest expanding with his breath as he moved over her. He pushed his torso off of her, their noses touching, their lips a breath away, and Jake’s eyes were dark as they traced over her face. His hand lifted, his thumb moving up to brush over her clit, and Julie jolted at the contact.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Jake murmured. He moved his thumb again, and Julie shuddered as he circled over her. 

“Jake-–” she started, breaking off as he pulled back.     

“Please,” he said, determinedly, and his middle finger traced along her slit. Julie gasped as he dragged his finger through the wetness there, and Jake groaned quietly. “Let me taste you here, Jules.”

How the hell was she supposed to say no to that?  

Julie nodded mutely, rewarded by the nearly canine smile that Jake’s mouth curled into. 

“Thank you, baby,” Jake breathed, leaning down to kiss her again before pushing himself off of her. He settled back on his thighs, kneeling around hers, and his hands smoothed down her sides before grabbing the waistband of her shorts and underwear. 

“Lift,” he commanded quietly, and Julie lifted her hips off the bed so he could pull them off of her. “Good girl.”

Julie pressed her lips together, not even pretending that his praise didn’t affect her. They both knew it did, he loved that it did, and so it worked out pretty great all around.

Jake pressed her back to the bed with a hand over her stomach, fingers splayed and pressure steady. With his other hand, he reached for one of her knees, guiding it down towards the mattress, and Julie’s legs opened. Jake made a sound low in his throat, looking down at the apex of her thighs, and his hand on her stomach drifted down over her thigh to the same spot just above her knee.

“So pretty,” he said quietly, almost to himself, and Julie blushed. It wasn’t like she was bashful at this point in their relationship, but his frank appreciation still felt like it set her skin aflame. Jake slid off the end of the bed, his grip on her legs turning so he could grasp the back of her knees, and he pulled her sharply to the edge of the bed. He knelt then, his face so close to the core of her, and when he blew out a shaky breath, Julie felt it against her.

“Jake, please-–”

“No, baby,” Jake said, his voice quiet and steady. He pressed a slow kiss to one of her thighs, then the other, ignoring the place where she was aching for him. His mouth was soft and warm, his jaw scratchy from his beard, and he rubbed his chin against her thighs like he was getting comfortable. “You almost didn’t let me down here, and now you want to tell me how it goes? I don’t think that’s how it works.”

He was so close, she could practically feel his words against her skin, but he still didn’t touch her, the sweetest torture. Julie’s hips rose and Jake’s grip on her thighs tightened slightly, pressing her deeper into the mattress. 

“Say please, angel,” he said quietly, and Julie felt his words past her skin, in her blood, her breath catching.

“Please, Jake,” she breathed, and he made a sound in the back of his throat, like a purr. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, and then he leaned into her. 

God, his tongue. 

Julie’s head fell back as he licked up her center, tongue flat and broad as he spread her with it. He made that low sound again, like approval and hunger, and he licked her. Slow like he wasn’t in a hurry, like he wanted to savor her, like he knew it would drive her crazy. He pulled back, teasing her with light kisses and Julie’s back bowed away from the bed when his tongue found her clit. He sunk into her, and she parted for him, succumbed, accepted and wanted and needed him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Jake whispered against her skin, and Julie looked down at him when he pulled back. He brushed his thumb across his lower lip, “You taste damn good.”

He lowered that hand to her, teasing her opening, and Julie’s eyes fluttered touch at the lightness of that touch. As his mouth returned to her clit, his finger traced through her folds, soothing and searching. 

“Jake,” Julie moaned as his mouth laved over her, “you feel so good, please, I need–-”

She broke off as he pressed his finger into her, sitting back on his heels to look at her. His eyes were dark and he lifted his chin, panting, watching her. Julie could see his chest rising as he steadied his breathing, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and, fuck, taste her while he looked down at her. 

“I know,” Jake said, voice low. “I always know, don’t I?”

“Yes,” Julie whispered, and it was true. He eased another finger into her, slow and steady, stretching her gently. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Jake said, his accent thickening as he looked over her. “Open up for me.”

Julie shuddered when he moved his wrist, curling his fingers inside her. The stretch of him felt heavenly, grounding, and when his mouth returned to her clit, Julie whimpered. 

Jake worshipped her with his mouth, worked her with his fingers, and she heard his breathing grow ragged again as he pleasured her. Pressure built in her core, low and pulsing, driven by the stroke of his fingers and the pull of his tongue and Julie felt her thighs start to tremble.

Jake pulled back, chest heaving, his breath warm against her. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, it’s so pretty,” he murmured, his fingers pressing deeper into her and wringing a cry out of Julie. “That’s it, angel, look how well you’re taking me.”

Julie’s hips stuttered at his words, arching up into his hand as he worked her. No matter how far gone she was, Jake could always push her farther with his words, running over her like a caress, like velvet. His fingers brushed against a deep part of her and Julie’s back bowed off the bed as she cried out.

“Shit, Jake,” she moaned, reaching blindly for him. Her hand found his shoulder, and she traced up the curve of his neck, burying her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Jake groaned when she pulled, and she felt the mattress shift as his hips jerked forward, unintentional. The motion sent a jolt of clarity through Julie’s pleasure-addled brain and she opened her eyes, looking down at the man on his knees between her legs. 

“Babe,” she whispered, and Jake hummed, looking up at her. The vibration rocked through Julie, almost as devastating as his eyes, glittering and hungry, while his mouth was buried in her. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he rumbled against her, and Julie’s thighs clenched at the gravel in his tone. She bit her lip, fighting off the rising waves, holding on to him. 

It was good, so fucking good, but she wanted more, needed him closer, needed him with her.

“I want you to come with me, babe,” she said. 

Jake grunted, but he didn’t move from between her legs, his tongue tracing over her, sucking hard enough to make Julie’s eyes snap shut as she shuddered.

“Jake,” she moaned, “I want it with you, I want to feel you–-”

Jake increased the pressure of his fingers, thrusting into her and cutting off her words. And Julie knew what he was doing, wanted to see her finish first, the stubborn man, and she’d be more upset about it if it didn’t feel like the best fucking thing.  

Unfortunately for him, she was pretty stubborn, too. 

She untangled her hand from his hair, reaching down to wrap around his wrist. His hand stilled and he looked up at her through the hair falling in his face; though her body was screaming in frustration, Julie’s heart warmed when his sweet eyes met hers. 

“I need you, Jake,” she whispered, a different tactic. “So fucking bad, please.”

Jake shuddered, his shoulders tensing at her words and his hips jutted forward towards the bed. 

“Jules, I want you to–-”

The distance he needed to speak was enough for Julie to wiggle out of his grip. She slid back, quickly, up the bed, reaching into the nightstand for a condom and tossing it back down the bed.

“And what I want,” she rolled over onto her stomach, heard Jake groan as she pushed back from the headboard, “is to come on your cock.”

“Jesus, Jules,” Jake muttered, a million things on his voice. She heard the foil tearing and Julie rocked back on her hips, aching, empty.

“Ah, sweetheart, I can see you from here,” Jake groaned. “Dripping for me, aren’t you?” 

Julie looked over her shoulder, intending to say something provocative, but her words failed at the sight of him. In the time she’d been at the front of the bed, Jake had peeled off his tshirt and stepped out of his pajama pants. His legs were spread, strong thighs flexing as he rolled the condom over his length. He grunted when he reached the base, his hand pumping over himself once more, thick and hard.

Julie’s mouth actually watered.

“Come on, Lieutenant,” she breathed, swaying her hips. “Let’s have it.”

Jake licked his lips, fisting his cock once more, but he didn’t crawl up the bed. Instead, he walked around the side of it, step slow and cock hanging heavy. When he got up to the headboard, he reached across the bed, hand tracing down the side of Julie’s face before fisting the hair at the nape of her neck. He pulled and she turned to him as his mouth sought hers like he was starving. She tasted herself on his lips, on his tongue, whimpered as he thrust into her mouth. Her body hummed, still desperate from the denied high, and she moaned in relief when she felt Jake shifting to climb onto the bed.

His body was warm, taut with tension, and he let go of his grip on her hair to reach under her sweatshirt to palm her breasts. Julie gasped when his fingers found her nipples, smoothing over her as he groped her, graceless, perfect. They were past finesse, hungry for as much skin as possible, and she pressed backwards into him. Jake released her to pull off her sweatshirt, and guided her back down to the bed with a hand pressed to the small of her back. His body came down on top of her, delicious weight that made Julie want to combust, purr, dissolve into the bedding or into him. She moaned when she felt the outline of his dick against her thighs, and Jake smoothed her hair away from the side of her neck so he could suck on the skin there. 

“You ready for me, angel?” he whispered into her neck and Julie whimpered, nodding quickly. 

She needed him, could feel how desperately empty she was without him, and when he pressed his head against her center, Julie thought she might sob in relief. 

He eased his cock into her. 

It was impossibly slow, deep and inescapable, and Julie’s mouth hung open as Jake kept pushing. Refusing a rhythm, or friction beyond entrance, stretching and filling her and Julie didn’t realize he thighs were shaking until Jake pushed himself onto his elbows, reaching down with a wide hand to smooth over her legs, whispering as he pushed in. 

“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” he kissed her hair, the back of her neck, her shoulder. “Look at you, taking all of me, like this.”

“Jake,” Julie whispered, almost sobbed, heat coiling through her body. He was everywhere, over and around and in her, steady and strong and so fucking big and rocking home.

“I'm right here, sweetheart,” he whispered, jaw clenched tight as he waited for her body to adjust to him. “You’re doing so fucking good, baby, you feel perfect.”

Julie reveled in his touch, in his words, warm and dirty and perfect. She wanted more. She shifted her hips and Jake cursed as she moved, before his hands snaked down to grip her waist. He rolled his hips and he pressed deeper into her, pulling back before stroking into her, and pleasure threaded through both of them. Jake’s breath strained as he fucked into her, pulling her hips into him and driving impossibly deep.

He groaned her name, and Julie’s core clenched; this was what she’d wanted what she’d chased. Needed him this close, wanting her this bad, driving into her. She felt unmoored, starved, her fingers digging into the comforter as she pushed back to meet him, hips moving to the rhythm he set.

“Baby,” Jake choked, “you can’t...you feel...wait--” 

He reached down for her hair again, pulling, and Julie pushed herself off the bed. He lifted her against his chest, sitting back on his thighs, thrusting up into her as he reached between her legs.

Julie cried when he brushed over her clit, his forearm banding across her chest, forging their bodies together like he was just as desperate for this closeness. He rutted up into her, rubbing and pressing and as Julie felt herself going boneless, Jake growled.

“So that’s what you needed, angel, huh?” he ground into her, holding her at the highest point, breath hot against her shoulder, “to get this cock so deep your body forgets how to do anything but take it?”

Julie writhed in his lap, his words and his body driving her higher and the room swam. She was melting, tightening, desire pulsing through her and he kept on. 

“Fuck,” Julie cried, her head falling back over his shoulder. “Jake, babe, please, I’m so close…” 

“I know, sweetheart,” Jake ground, kissing her neck. His tongue laved over her skin as he rocked the bed with his thrusts. “Give it to me, come on now.”

Julie moaned and Jake bit down lightly at her pulse point and she shattered. Her vision blurred as she shivered, trembling at the force of pleasure he wrung out of her. She felt tears leaking from the corners of her eyes from the force of it, beautiful and relentless and the hot pulses of it wracked her as she lay back on Jake’s chest.

“That’s it,” Jake breathed. “It’s so good, you’re so good, fuck, baby-–”

Jake’s thrusts sped up, his thighs slapping against hers as he chased his own release. He pumped into her frantically, still working a finger over her to coax her through her orgasm and Julie felt him jerk when she whimpered his name. He came with a shout as he thrust into her, choking on his breath and Julie felt him pulsing as he came hard. Her core was throbbing, aching and satisfied but she curled her hips, milking him, and Jake moaned as she pulled out his orgasm. His chest heaved under her, and they stayed locked together, trembling, working out their pleasure in each others’ bodies. 

Julie came out of it first, slowly becoming aware of Jake’s hands smoothing over her thighs and around to the curve of her ass, soothing himself and her. She rolled her head off his shoulder, craning around to kiss his cheek. 

“Well done, Dallas,” she whispered, and he chuckled warmly, nestling into the curve of her neck. 

“Have I told you lately how perfect you are?” he mumbled into her neck.

Julie smiled softly; it did feel pretty perfect. “Not today,” she told him. “But I forgive you.”

Jake snorted, leaning back so they could stretch across the bed. Julie rolled over to face him fully, and Jake fixed her hair so she wasn’t lying on it, and then sighed as he relaxed into a pillow.

“Julia Floyd,” he said somberly, eyes closed and lips curled up into the most endearing smile. “You’re fucking perfect.”   

Julie leaned across the pillow to kiss him. He caught his breath and she felt his thumb graze over her cheekbone before she pulled back. 

Jake grinned, a smile like sunlight as his eyes crinkled. His hand curled up to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, and he sighed, something deep and happy, a sound Julie wished she could always hear with him.

“Love you,” she whispered.

Jake smiled. “Love you more,” he said back. 

It was a perpetual disagreement, but when he pushed out of bed to fetch her a warm washcloth and order room service of espresso and chocolate croissants, Julie found herself hoping that that was a disagreement they’d have for decades to come.

[missingartist]

Damned and Wretched

Another oneshot follow on from my other one shot Dazed and Confused. Smutty angst  

Steven was lying in a sweaty mess against the back of the sofa, moaning loudly as she rocked over him. The mirror next to them gave Marc a sinful view of their bodies as they moved. It was an exquisite sight, as a curvy woman peach-shaped arse that jiggled deviously with every thrust of her hips. Her tits were as magnificent as he remembered perky peaks, at least a handful each with large dusky pinks nipples that the man beneath her sadly neglected. Steven’s hands, possessive, clung to her hips while she rested one of her hands on his shoulder to give her leverage as she rode him; her other hand was nestled in Steven’s thick waves. His pleasure drunk eyes were looking up in adoration at her as she cried out in another wave of pleasure.

The torture of being trapped in this mind, his mind watching as he thrusted weakly into her, causing her to mew loudly, throwing her head back. It was a sinful display but wildly gnawing for him. He had not touched someone in so long, not really; he had no tender or loving touches since Layla. His stomach dropped at the thought of the feisty woman that he had to let go of, and now he was greedily looking at another woman—a woman who didn’t fit into his plans either.

A strangled cry pulled Marc out of his thoughts as he watched your desperate movement become erratic and sloppy. Her moans transformed into soft cries of passion which spurred on Steven’s soft grunts as he came hard inside her, her following in a series of deep, spasmed thrusts.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

‘You fell asleep again; you might finally stay the night if you keep this up.’ A purred awoke Marc.

His body was still in the same place as Steven's moments ago, splayed across the sofa, naked, with a sticky mess between his legs.

‘You okay?’The voice called him from his thoughts; she was nestled against him, feet tucked under, her hand tucked into a mass of sweaty curly as the elbow rested against the back of the sofa. She was still naked but flushed in the delightful post-orgasm afterglow.

‘What did he do to deserve you in my life?’ Marc questioned.

She was a mismatched fit, with deep curves and creamy skin, inked with dark inky tattoos topped off with that mischievous smile.

‘That is the cringiest thing you have said to me.’ She laughed, inching forward, tracing the outlines of the frown that now framed his face. A deep frown crossed his brow as he brooded, annoyed at how blissful his body felt after an orgasm he didn’t experience.

‘Hey…’ she saddled his waist. ‘Hey…do you remember how we first met… when that bloke grabbed me, and you rushed to my aid and got your arse kicked… you honestly had no chance, but you still helped. You were all bruised and bloody, and I brought you back here; you were a bumbling mess apologising for bleeding on the carpet. I had to force for a date practically. You brought me wildflowers on that first date at that restaurant because I remind you of Ophelia in Waterhouse painting. No one has ever done that. I love you because you protect me, and you fucking cherish me.’ She placed her hand over your heart and lowered her head to his ear. ‘You are the sweetest, most selfless man, and I adore you.’

He had never done that; Steven had. But he would have if he wasn’t trapped under his alter shadow, under Khonsu hold.  In a flash, Marc flipped her on her back. This woman was not his, but she was real, and he needed to feel real. Not some fragment of someone else, not a deep secret held away till the monsters came out to play. Just for once, he needs to feel someone.

‘God, you're a goddess.’ Soft and warm, so real.

His bare cock sunk into her; he wanted to roar in triumph as he felt you arch beneath him, reacting to him, not Steven but him. It was his cock that you nestle within her, his cock making you moan. He didn’t care that you were Steven’s; he had had enough from him in the years they had been together. It was his time for comfort and warmth, to feel loved and connected to something physical, something real.

Sinking till the hilt, he slid almost entirely out before slamming back in and began to build a relentless pace. He wanted to make love, the slow agonising pull toward climax to set fire to every one of his nerve endings, but it had been too long, and as soon as he felt her, he could do nothing but chase that pleasure he had been denied. She was wet and tight, and every thrust met with the sound of their bodies colliding with one another, spurring him on.

‘God, Ste…..’ as soon as he heard that name, he slammed back into her with a new force that left his name dead on her lips as she pulled into another deep yowl of pleasure. He moved with primal need, hard and fast.

The sofa thudded dully with every bone juddering thrust, but it was not enough; he wanted more, he needed more, to be as deep as possible to pull uncontrollable screams from her. Sitting back on his heels, he lifted her in one swift move; a swell of pride surged within him as she squealed, eyes wide with excitement and edged with fear.

Marc sank into her again, watching as his cock stretched her tight around him. The vision of his cock disappearing into her was transfixing but not so much as the arching beauty before him. This new position of her hips in the air allowed him more control, to manhandle her to meet his brutal pace and drag the head of his cock over the little bundle he had found within her.  Smirking as her hand reached out for him and the angry red marks her nails left against his arms as he continued his frantic pace.

‘Fuck…’ he was close, shamefully close; with one hand, he continued to slam her pussy onto his cock while his other pulled apart the delicate skin around her clit, rubbing the little bud in small frenzied circles.

‘say you are mine…..s..say it..’ his voice carried his own Chicago drawl, not Steven’s rough London accent. His.

‘Yours….I am yours…I’m’ a strangled cry ripped through the woman as she convulsed around his cock. He was so close, but he wanted to savour the tightness that squeezed his pulsing cock as he engraved his mind with her quivering beauty. Just as shallow thrusts pushed her through the last aftershocks of her orgasm, his approach. He pulled himself free with one last thrust and gave himself one, two pumps of his slick cock before shooting hot, thick steam of cum across her chest and stomach.

Gods, he was screwed.

I didn’t think it would turn out so angsty but I wanted to do something Marc centered. Might do Steven for my next one shot, what do people think? Anyone have any suggests?