#like he turned one of his patients into a standing bass also in the show

[cryptidiopathic]

Hannibal has killed at least one of his patients and then fed his organs to his friends and family house is just a rude doctor with more flippancy towards patient rights than most

[c0la-queen]

RAGHHHHHHHHH

Could you ever so kind and provide some general dating Headcannons for all the four boys?? 🥺👉👈

Maybe some extra with red leader or someone else if you’re fine with that??? 🥺💜

Mwah mwah you have amazing work <3 /p

Oh my gods I am SO sorry that this is so late!! For some reason, Mr. Tumblr decided not to notify me about your ask?? And then I was at my bestie's house this weekend, so I haven't checked my inbox until now. Begging for your forgiveness rn Anon!!

Also literally kissing you for asking for Red Leader!! Mwah, mwah!!

---

Edd

If you are dating Edd... girlie I am so sorry for your sanity.

Don't get me wrong, I love Edd! He was my first Eddsworld love, my pookie bear for real! But he's the biggest bastard of the entire gang and I stand by that.

Calls you dumb pet names to try and make you laugh. Sugar Tits (regardless of gender or lack thereof, might I add), Baby Doll, Sexy.

He WILL grab/slap your ass all the time. Even in public. Only grins when you glare at him.

This man is a horrible influence. It will be so hard to get your shit done if he has decided that you need to be spending time with him. Why worry about work or chores when you could be all cuddled up with him and Ringo on the couch?

Will sulk if you reject his attempts.

If he's trying to get shit done and you're pestering him for attention? He will drop his basket of laundry or the dishes in his hands in a millisecond.

If he's working on a commission or animation, he'll let you sit in his lap in his chair, let you sit all pretty for him while he works. When he finishes, if you've fallen asleep by then -which you usually do - then he'll carefully move you both to his bed and snuggle up to you and take a nap with you.

Speaking of cuddling, he does naturally run hot. Comes with being a big boy <3 But if you don't enjoy that, then he'll use his powers to cool down his skin for you. Anything to keep cuddling!

He also uses his powers whenever possible. Will abuse them without shame. He puts things on the highest shelf, just so you have to him for help. He'll put patches of ice on the floor under your feet, just so he can catch you before you fall (he'll never let you actually get hurt), and uses his super strength to scoop you up randomly and carry you around.

You cannot show your text messages to ANYONE. He will say filthy things, just to fluster you. Horny Bastard. Finds ways to turn even the most mundane conversations into teasing.

He'd do cute couple things with you, like painting together and swapping canvases every 5 minutes. His favorite is going to cat cafes. The cats literally love him, its like he's made of catnip with how they swarm him.

Physical affection is a huge thing with him. Even little touches throughout the day, like ruffling your hair as he passes by, or a big hug from behind while you fix food.

Overall, big teddy bear that just likes to see his darling blush.

Tom

As I've stated in previous works, Tom is a secret romantic.

He's not a traditional romantic like Matt, but he's romantic in his own way.

Likes parallel play a lot. Finds it relaxing to just sit in his room, testing new songs on his bass while you lay on his bed reading a book. Or in your room, lounging on one of your plush beanbag and organizing his Spotify playlists while you fold your laundry.

Dates with him consist of record stores, concerts, and late night walks.

He'll sing for you if you ask him to.

Very down to earth, both as a person and as a boyfriend. If you have problems, he'll listen patiently until you're done, then help you brainstorm solutions. He doesn't downplay or ignore your feelings, but he doesn't jump to emotions like others might.

He tends to sleep in late on his nights off, since he's more of a night owl than anything. You know that, so you've made it a little tradition to fix him coffee around 11. You know exactly how he takes it, and he always thanks you with a kiss on the cheek and a sleepy, mumbled "you're the best."

Very caring. He'll make sure you've eaten and had water. Will usher you to bed if he can see that you're tired, or do your chores for you if you can't do them for whatever reason. If you can't sleep, he'll make you a mug of chamomile tea and sing you a little lullaby.

When it comes to his monster tendencies, he tries to keep you away from it all. He's bitter about what he is, and he thinks that you're better off separated from that side of him.

At the start of relationship, he'd get angry if you tried to push it. He'd snap at you, distance himself, not talk to you for maybe a couple of days. Further on in the relationship, though, if you push the issue and reassure him that you love every side of him, even the monstrous one, then he'd be more willing. Willing to let you in, to let you see that part of him. He'd be nervous about it, but he'd do it because he loves you.

Matt

He is a traditional romantic! His Mama raised him right, and he drinks his Respect Juice.

Makes sure you two have date night at least once every week. Dressing up nice, going out to dinner or a play, taking a walk through the town to wind down the night. Heading back into the house, changing back into comfortable clothes. He'd wipe your makeup off for you, if you wear it.

Absolutely the kind of guy to get down on his knees in front of you and unbuckle/untie your shoes or high heels for you. He's just so devotional.

If, for whatever reason, you guys are unable to have your date night, he'll make it up to you in some way. A bouquet of your favorite flowers sitting on your bed with a little note. A passionate kiss before one of you has to leave the house. A heartfelt love letter sealed with wax.

Makes sure to text you throughout the day with sweet messages. Compliments, "I love you"s, selfies, updates on what is happening at work. Or just reminders that he's thinking of you. Misses you.

Likes to cook meals for you if its just the two of you at home. Breakfast is his forte, but he's not the worst at following a recipe.

Always amazing for advice. He'll let you talk to him while he hugs you from behind. If it's something sad, he might cry. Just the idea of you going through something negative makes him sad, too.

If he doesn't have advice for you, he'd do anything in his power to find someone who does. One of the other roommates, or even his mother, if you're comfortable with it.

Speaking of his mother, she absolutely adores you. Since Matt has such a good relationship with her, he's already told her so much about you. She thinks its wonderful that her baby has fallen in love. After a while, Matt will even bring you along to his lunches with his mother. You two hit it off instantly.

If you're okay with it, then Matt would love to show you off on his social media. He thinks you're so gorgeous, the entire world should know that he managed to land you. Its never anything invasive, and he always gets your permission before he posts things. Blocks any weird or gross comments.

Loves going on shopping dates with you. Most of the time, its at the mall or a mall in a different town, because he loves walking around and window shopping. Occasionally, he'll take you to more expensive stores. It doesn't bother him, he loves spoiling you. No matter where you two are, he'll buy you anything that you want. If you are adamant to spend your own money, he won't put up too much of a fuss, though he does prefer to pay for you.

He'll do that couples trend with you where you find nail polish that matches the other's eye color.

Gift giving is just one of his love languages in general. It makes him so happy to give his loved one things that he bought. For you specifically, he'll also throw in hand made gifts. He may not be the most talented artistically, but he'll stay awake late into the night, sitting on the floor with a YouTube tutorial playing, paper and cardboard scattered around, a pencil between his teeth, paint on his hands and smeared on his cheek. The end result may look a little crude, but he'll still present it to you with pride. And, of course, you always love it.

Tord

Tord is probably the most romantically stunted of the four. Its not that he doesn't love you, far from it really. He just grew up in an environment where love wasn't freely given, and was often limited for appearances.

His father, as the Red Leader, insisted that he keep a professional and feared image. So, Tord never saw him being affectionate with his mother.

It might be hard at first. You'll struggle. You two may fight. But you'll always make up in the end. He'll listen to you, try to understand your point of view.

He's not against physical affection, but he's able to live without it. Will indulge you whenever you ask. If he's busy, which he usually is, he'll let you drape yourself over him from behind while he sits in his chair, letting you rest your cheek on the top of his head and watch him work.

More than anything, his love language is words of affirmation. Despite being a man of few words, he'll always give you praise. He'll make sure you know that you are his, he is yours, and he loves you. Nothing will change that.

Scary dog privilege. He'll always walk just behind you in public, keeping a guiding hand on the small of your back. Stays alert of you surroundings and the people around, so that you don't have to. You don't even have to worry about people approaching you in public. One piercing glare from Tord is enough to deter anyone.

Not the best at giving advice to problems. He'll listen, but sometimes he can't quite understand why something is an issue. Doesn't invalidate your feelings on purpose, it just happens inadvertently at times. Always, ALWAYS apologizes and holds you close when he realizes what he did.

His preferred dates are nights in at home. Cuddled up on the couch with takeout watching shitty rom-coms. Cooking food that he ate growing up in Norway while you sit at the kitchen table watching. Going to the convenience store at midnight to get Ben and Jerry's in the middle of anime binges.

You become his crutch. When he's having bad paranoia on nights that are too quiet, he'll seek you out. Just having you lay in bed with him, warm and solid and breathing, always calms him down.

He will never let you meet his parents. You are one of the very few good things in his life, and he wants to keep that away from his fucked up home life. Might let you meet his little sister, but not for a long time.

Surprisingly, he does tend to talk more when its just the two of you. He allows you into his head, verbalizing his thoughts to you. He'll ramble about his projects, tell you about the history behind his culture, or rant about things that annoy him. Denies it vehemently in front of others.

He is a huge tease, second only to Edd. What's dangerous is how casual he is about it. Loves making you squirm, and he'll never even change his expression. Sometimes he won't even be looking at you, but rest assured that he is swimming in satisfaction over how flustered you are.

Red Leader

I have so many thoughts about him. Oh my lord.

This is going off the scenario where Reader is a Red Army soldier and met him through the army, after the events of The End.

I want to clarify that this is NOT following the events of TBATF!!! This is my own Red Army timeline, what I refer to in my Eddsworld bubble as "The Bad End"

There are two ways that you'd be able to catch Red Leader's attention. Either you are an extremely talented soldier that does well among your peers, enough to earn the praise of your superior officers and eventually Red Leader himself. Or, you were assigned as his personal assistant to help with paperwork and meetings, but you were so good at handling his temper and attitude that he found himself surprised.

The latter of the two is my favorite, so I'll be working under that one.

Before you, Red Leader had been through several assistants. None of them lasted more than a month. By nature, he was a moody, temperamental man. The stress of the army and oncoming war only made that worse. He saw those previous assistants as nuisances, only getting in his way. He would yell at them, berate them, drive them to the brink until they beg Paul and Pat to transfer them.

When they assigned you to him, they expected the same thing to happen. The two even made bets on how long you'd last. On your first day, Red Leader was nasty to you. Gruff and rude. But... you bit back. That took him by surprise. Instead of taking the insult and shuffling out like a puppy with its tail between its legs, you pursed your lips and gave him a stern look and talked to him in a way that nobody dared to. He should've been angry. Should have screamed at you, discharged you from the army in a heartbeat.

Instead, he found that he quite enjoyed it. He enjoyed your spitfire. Not that he'd let you know. He only gave you a noncommittal hum and dismissed you with a wave of his hand. But... he kept you around. Even found excuses for you to come into his office more than necessary. His penchant for teasing came back full force. He'd poke and prod, finding ways to make you react with that fire he so loved.

It takes a long time for him to finally make a move. Probably takes a near-death experience for him, or an injury to you for him to realize that he wants this. He wants a future with you.

At first, he may seem a little cold in public. Not to the degree that his father was - he promised himself that he would never be like his father. Simply a more... professional air about the entire thing. It was more out of anxiety than anything. He didn't want to make you a target, didn't want to cause you to get hurt. As his army grows more powerful and takes over more and more countries, he grows more comfortable with PDA. He knows that when he is the most powerful man in the world, he doesn't have to worry about anyone hurting you.

He would probably treat you more like a spouse than a girlfriend/boyfriend right off the bat. He's older now, thinking more about the future than the present. He already knows that he wants to be with you forever, so why go through the formalities and hassle of dating?

Always makes time for you whenever he can. If he's in a meeting with his generals or another world leader, he'll sneak text messages to you. Doesn't give a shit if he's caught. What are they going to do to him, Red Leader?

If he's cooped up in his office all day, his door is always open to you. Loves having you drop by unannounced to bring him food or coffee. He'll let you climb into his lap while he works, or sit behind him in his chair and cling to him. Even if you're just sitting in a separate chair nearby, working on your own stuff. He's happy.

If you want to continue being a soldier, or his assistant, he'll let you. But he's also perfectly happy to have you simply be his partner and not have a care in the world. You could sit all pretty in his quarters waiting for him to get off duty, or use the time to pursue your own hobbies and interests. As long as you're happy and cared for, it's okay with him.

Spoils you rotten. You're Red Leader's, so of course you only deserve the best things. Anything in the world you want, you only have to ask for it. It's yours. He would raze entire cities just to see you smile.

He does enjoy taking you out on dates. While also spending time with you, he sees it as a way to show you off to the world. Dressing you up in the finest clothes that he got you, the prettiest jewelry that he bought. Taking you to restaurants and operas where everyone can see you hanging on his arm. It makes him puff up with pride.

When the two of you are alone, he's so adoring. Loves snuggling. It's a struggle to convince him to let you out of bed in the mornings, he'll just be clinging to you. If you do somehow manage to escape his grasp, he'll catch you around the waist and drag you back to bed. Won't stop until Paul or Pat message him to get his ass out of bed. He always grumbles about how "it's my damn army, I should get to sleep in as long as I want".

Sometimes, at night, he has pains in his right shoulder, the side where he's burned and amputated. It can range from a dull ache to excruciating pain. On nights that it hurts too much to move, you'll scramble out of bed and get his medication from his nightstand, gently coaxing him to take it. You'll hold him and comfort him until the pain subsides and he falls back asleep.

He doesn't like to talk about it, really. It feels weird, letting anyone see this part of his life. Letting you see his vulnerability. Letting you see him.

But he does.

[your-divine-ribs]

The Devil Next Door Part 4

Words: 2.9k

Introducing a new character, Tom… Van has serious competition ❤️‍🔥

Devil Next Door Masterlist Main Masterlist

"Earth to Y/N... are you receiving me?"

The male voice sounding right next to your ear startles you and you jump, letting out a small yelp as you whirl around to find your colleague and fellow nurse, Tom, standing there.

"God, you about gave me a heart attack sneaking up on me like that!" You exclaim, pressing a hand to your chest, feeling your cheeks instantly warm as Tom's lips pull up into a grin.

"Well... I guess you're in the right place for it!" He quips, his whole face lighting up as he nudges you gently with an elbow. Then he adds with a chuckle "Please don't drop dead on me though... at least not until the end of the shift. I couldn't cope without ya!"

Tom's not been working at the hospital for long but in that short space of time he's made quite an impression on most of the staff. He's friendly, hard-working and is always cheerful, a literal ray of sunshine. Even at the end of a nightmare shift when everyone else is practically on their knees he'll appear with that beaming smile on his face, providing some much needed assistance or some light relief. You can't help but warm to him. There's nothing not to like.

A passing doctor calls Tom's name and you take the chance to steal a good look at him whilst his attention's diverted. As he chats with your colleague he absentmindedly raises his arms over his head to stretch out his weary limbs, the hem of his hospital scrubs raising up an inch, showing a glimpse of his tanned, toned abdomen. You suck in a quiet breath.

That's another thing about Tom. He's very easy on the eye.

What is it with you these days? It used to be rare that a good-looking male in the vicinity would elicit more than a raised eyebrow from you. Now you're practically salivating over the sight of an inch of bare skin at your workplace and constantly fantasising about getting mercilessly railed by your next-door neighbour.

Tom turns around and you quickly avert your eyes back to the menu of the hot drink vending machine that you were originally perusing.

"It feels like the never-ending day today," you complain, raising a hand to stifle a yawn. "I swear time's going backwards. I'm so tired. I wish I could just kick one of the patients out of the beds and take a nap myself!"

"Better make that a double espresso then." He nods towards the machine as you slot a pound coin in. "You... errr had a late night then? Been out partying or something exciting?"

"No... nothing like that," you sigh. "It was still a late night though. It's my bloody neighbours' fault, the ones I was telling you about. It was band practice again." You roll your eyes. "It was bad enough when it was just Van and Bondy but now their mates have come to stay. Now there's drums and bass too... the whole lot."

Tom winces sympathetically. "Sounds noisy. Don't tell me you've got death metal blaring through the walls at 2am!"

You giggle at the comical image your mind conjures up of Van and Bondy head-banging furiously. "No, thank god... I hate to say it as Van absolutely does my head in, but the music's actually pretty good. Well... at least it would be if it wasn't keeping me awake after a shift."

A thought occurs to you and you dig in your pocket for the flier Van had pressed into your hand this morning as you'd scowled at him on your driveway. You weren't sure whether you were imagining it but the last few days he'd been going out of his way even more than usual to see you. Not satisfied with winding you up each day after a shift you also found him loitering outside every morning now too, usually under the pretence of putting the bin out or retrieving his post. He was always there, cocky smirk on his face as he greeted you with a hint of a smug kind of flirtatiousness which you tried hard to ignore. You were sure his cocky brand of charm worked on the poor unsuspecting girls that no doubt fawned over him on stage at his gigs, but there was no way that you were falling for it.

"What's this then?" Tom asks as he unfolds the flier, scanning it with a look of puzzlement.

"That's their band..."

Tom shakes his head, grinning. "Catfish and the Bottlemen? What kind of a name is that?"

"Sounds a bit shit really," you scoff, reliving the moment you'd told Van the exact same thing this morning and the satisfaction you'd felt at managing to provoke a reaction in him before he'd even sparked up his first cigarette of the day.

"I actually quite like it," Tom says. "It's different... original. It's the sort of name that gets you noticed."

"Like that prick Van needs any help there!" You reply, scorn clear in your voice. Tom looks a little taken aback and you wonder whether you should rein it in a little. The last thing you want is him thinking you're a complete bitch. You just can't help it with Van. No one else has ever got under your skin quite like him. Even when he's not around you're still thinking about him and it frustrates the hell out of you.

"This Van guy really winds you up doesn't he?"

"Ughh he's the worst!" You grumble. "He's loud, rude and he fancies himself something rotten. He's made my life a misery since he moved in. Honestly if you ever met him you'd know exactly what I meant."

Tom nods slowly, looking down at the flier again before he looks back up, warm brown eyes fixed on you with a hopeful glint.

"Maybe I should meet him," he says. "Maybe we could... errr... go to this gig. You know... me and you... together."

His eyes widen eagerly on the last word, his face scrunching a little with an endearing awkwardness.

Shit... is he asking you out... on a date?

"Errr... well I... errr..." you falter and Tom immediately steps back, shifting from foot to foot.

"You're probably already busy!" He blurts, obviously embarrassed which in turn makes your already pink cheeks glow even more. "I mean, it's Friday night isn't it? I'm sure you already have plans!"

"No!" You hurriedly say, reaching out an arm to rest on his forearm, snatching it back when you worry that you're being too familiar. "I don't have any plans. I'd love to go! I've not been to a gig for so long. I love live music."

Tom's positively beaming now and it makes you feel warm and fluttery inside. "Great... I'll pick you up. Shall we say 7 o'clock? We can get a drink in first then."

Then before you know what's happening you're exchanging numbers with the promise of sending Tom your address, a flurry of excitement in your gut at the prospect of spending some quality time with a warm-natured, handsome guy.

Perhaps this will cure you of this ridiculous obsession you seem to be developing with Van...

❤️‍🔥 Van's POV ❤️‍🔥

"So did she actually say she was coming then?"

This has got to be the third time I've asked Bondy whether Y/N's definitely coming to the gig. My first two attempts have been interrupted by Bob fussing about whether we're packing his drum kit into the back of the van safely and securely.

"For someone who's "definitely not interested in that mardy bitch from next-door" you're awfully keen to know about her plans for this evening!" Bondy smirks, raising both hands up to demonstrate in a quote gesture the exact words I'd spoken to him a few days previously.

Bob's mouth drops open in shock and displeasure. "That's a bit harsh!"

I huff at him before slinging my guitar case into the back of the van. "Yeah, well... you've not met her yet!"

"Don't listen to him Bob," Bondy chips in. "She's a perfectly nice girl. I'm not 100% sure whether she's coming tonight but you're around for a few days so you'll probably get to meet her."

"So what's your problem with her anyway Van?" Benji wants to know. "You just pissed off 'cause you fancy her and she's not interested, huh?"

"No, that's not it!" I say quickly and defensively, so much so that it elicits raised eyebrows and knowing looks from my band mates who know me all too well.

"Come off it mate, it's any excuse to catch sight of her." Bondy laughs at me and then turns to the others. "Caught him out there mowing the bloody lawn yesterday didn't I, just because Y/N was hanging her washing out!"

Benji's face says it all. I've known him practically my whole life and in all that time he's never known me to venture into the garden for anything else other than to have a smoke in my adult years. I relent then, not being able to control the smile that surfaces, laughing along good-naturedly as they tease me, phrases like "don't think you stand much chance there by the sound of things" and "reckon you've lost your touch" being bandied around.

Little do they know. They didn't hear Y/N moaning my name whilst she was getting herself off. They haven't seen the way her cheeks flush and her breath hitches a little when I brush past her just that little bit too close, that spark of heat in her eyes which she tries hard to hide as contempt. She wants me. I know she does. And one of these days I'm going to give her exactly what she wants.

The venue's heaving and I feel that familiar rush as my racing heart pumps the adrenaline directly into my veins. My dad always told me I was born to perform and I reckon he's right. I come alive on stage, it's my happy place. Seeing those elated faces all turned my way and hearing the very songs I wrote in my bedroom as an awkward teen sung back at me with so much passion blows my mind every single time.

You're simpatico, and of all the lifts home and all the mixed feelings

You're cuts above, and you don't own worries or a chest full of heartache

I stride down the stage, scanning the crowd as I go. We're on fire tonight. The lads are all keeping it tight and I'm belting out the lyrics like my life depends on it. The crowd are bouncing as one, a sea of raised arms and adoring faces. If only Y/N was here to see it...

Hold up... that's her… she’s at the back, trying to push her way through the throng but the crowd are that wild she's getting pushed around, they're practically swallowing her up. It's taking me all my restraint not to stop the gig and direct the crowd to part so she can take her rightful place at the barrier. I want her right where I can see her, in my line of sight so I can fix her with a smouldering gaze whilst I rock my hips against my guitar. I know it drives the girls crazy and it's time for me to turn things up a notch, leave her in no way uncertain of my intentions towards her.

I flick my sweat-soaked hair back off my face just as she looks up at the stage and our eyes lock. It's only for a moment but the rest of the room might as well melt away. Her jaw goes slack as the flashing stage lights illuminate her gorgeous face. She looks awe-struck and I'm soaking it up. Just as I expected... she fucking wants me. I can see the hunger in her eyes from all the way up here.

That's all the encouragement I need. I'm going to take my chance and make a move after the show. Drag her off to a quiet, dark corner of the venue and pin her up against the wall, drag my lips slowly over her neck whilst she's squirming against me. I want to hear those moans in my ear, feel her delicate fingers clutching at me whilst I make her feel good... better than any other guy's ever made her feel.

I wonder what she's like as a lover... with all that fire and passion inside of her I bet she's a little wildcat... in fact I bet she's absolute filth. We'd be a perfect match, I just know it.

Fuck... I need to control myself before I get carried away. The last few bars of the song play out and the room's plunged into darkness momentarily whilst we all catch our breath.

Y/N's turned up late to the gig and we've only got a few songs left, but that doesn't matter. It's Business next and that's perfect. I can look her right in the eye when I tell her I wanna make her my problem.

I wanna love you, but I've no time for your friends who can fucking do one...

WHAT THE HELL... WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?

Y/N's not looking at the stage now, she's looking behind her, leaning in close to a guy who's pressed right up against her, gazing at her adoringly like a little puppy dog.

I falter, carelessly forgetting the next line as I try to compute what I'm seeing below me. It's only for a second and the fans don't even notice they're so immersed in it. My eyes flick to Bondy who shoots me a look and that's enough to get me back on track.

Pull yourself together Van! Think about the music... that's what's important here!

I'm still giving it my all but my focus is gone. My mind's a jumbled mass of seething jealousy and shock. I try closing my eyes when I sing to clear away the image of Y/N and the mystery guy, but every time they flick open they're there right in front of me. Y/N's still ogling me for the most part but her attention keeps getting drawn away by HIM as he whispers in her ear or wraps a protective arm around her waist as the crowd surge forward. I suppose I should be thankful that she's got a friend down there to protect her from the chaos as he pulls her out of the way just in time as yet another frantic mosh-pit opens up but I'm not. The bitter taste of jealousy floods my mouth as I spit out my next line.

Cause all I wanna know is just how far you wanna go...

By the time the gig's drawing to a close and I'm picking out the opening melody to Tyrants my shock has faded but I'm still seeing red. I'm determined to play like I've never played before and show Y/N what I'm really made of. Show her that I'm not just some pub singer who caught a lucky break but I'm where I rightfully belong, up on the stage, bathed by the lights.

I twist and I writhe, throwing myself around the stage, contorting my body into ridiculous angles. I'm strumming with such vigour it's a wonder the guitar strings haven't snapped. My limbs are aching and I'm absolutely soaked with sweat, I'm having to blink it from my eyes and my hair's plastered to my face. The lyrics are ripping up my throat like razor blades as they spew forth. I'm putting on the performance of my life and it's not going unnoticed. The fans are going wild and Y/N looks euphoric. She's singing her heart out and dancing like nobody's watching, her eyes sparkling with so much life. Her companion's been pushed aside by the crowd and he's at least two rows back and she's not even noticed. She can't take her eyes off me. ME...

"Thank you very much for having us! We are Catfish and the Bottlemen!"

I shout my closing farewell into the mic, and then it's back to the climatic finish. The whole band let loose, Benji's rousing rhythm, Bob's pounding beats and Bondy's exhilarating riffs all blending together in a cacophony of the most perfect sounding chaos. I'm still going off on one, flailing about like I'm being electrocuted. I'm so caught up in the moment that I don't even realise that I've been strumming so hard that I've sustained a two inch long gash on my index finger that's now dripping with blood. My fingers have been working so hard that they're practically numb, the sensation only beginning to return when I notice the reason why I'm struggling so hard to hang my guitar off the mic stand.

If there's one thing that sends me squeamish it's the sight of blood. I curse under my breath at the sight of so much of it, a shock of nausea wracking me which I swallow down quickly as I steal a quick glance at Y/N before ducking off the stage. She's looking right back at me with awe in her eyes and my potential rival's satisfyingly nowhere to be seen. As stupid as it sounds I feel like I'm limping off the battlefield, wounded but victorious.

Bring it on...

[vrabbiit]

hello!! if it's ok can I ask for human reader surprising monty with a skirt who is a bit shorter than usual but they were like "I don't know what you're talking about, you don't like it?"

can be nsfw if you want ♡♡

sure anon!! this is a rlly fun concept so i hope you like how it turns out!! also, going by the fanfic logic that the robots have the... shall we say "parts" for bedroom activities here, just so nobody is surprised! also i know you said this can be nsfw, so i hope you don't mind that this is just entirely smut - what can i say, i was inspired!

honestly, i had another smut fic that i was going to post before this one since i started it earlier, but this one just came (haha) quicker to me!

⛳️ Short Skirts: Montgomery Gator x Reader (NSFW)⛳️

Word Count: 1755

Warnings: NSFW Content, Minors do NOT interact! , mild use of misogynistic language (but in a horny way if u know what i mean)

You were a fucking menace.

That's what Monty thought to himself as he watched you walk about his green room, a slight sway to your hips that he swore you didn't usually have (and he looked at you enough to be able to tell.) As he looked, his attention very much away from the technician who was (very patiently, to their credit) trying to work on the glitch in his arm that had been messing up his bass playing, you glanced over your shoulder, a coy smile on your face, and winked.

You see, you'd decided to surprise him today. You'd been out shopping since the last time you'd seen him, and you'd spotted a skirt that you thought was absolutely adorable. You'd bought it without a second glance, but upon trying it on at home, you'd realized it was significantly shorter than you expected, barely making it past your mid-thigh. You'd been disappointed, but then your eyes had lit up with an idea. It was always fun to rile Monty up, especially when you knew you'd be able to reap the awards of it later, and looking at yourself in the mirror, you looked good.

Ergo, you'd showed up today in your new, very short skirt. It was a day the Pizzaplex was closed, of course - this was a kid's establishment and you wouldn't dare do anything that would be considered indecent - and the animatronics were getting routine maintenance performed on them. This maintenance was, in Monty's eyes, the only thing stopping him from jumping your bones and satisfying the haze of lust that had come over him the second he saw you. That, and the technician performing it - although they barely batted an eye at you parading yourself about, he didn't want to give them anything more to look at. Because your skirt did not leave very much to the imagination, and if you leaned over even slightly, anyone in the room would be able to see everything.

The territorial part of his brain flared up, and Monty wanted nothing more than for his arm to get fixed as soon as physically possible. Then the tech could leave and he could finally get his hands on you.

"You're being quieter than usual, Monty," you commented slyly, leaning against the vanity in the corner of his room, springing up to sit on the desk with one leg crossed over the other.

(He wanted to go over there, push your legs apart and render you absolutely speechless.)

Instead, he made a noncommittal grunt, closing his non-glitching fist tight enough that he wouldn't be surprised if he made a dent in his own metal.

The tension in the room was palpable and nearly thick enough to feel, tense silence only broken by the muttering of the tech as they finished up their work, closing the metal plate on his arm up and standing with an awkward cough.

"All fixed," they said, "I'll leave you two to uh... to whatever you're doing."

With that, they gathered their tools, and left hastily, almost stumbling on their way out the door.

As soon as the door closed, Monty snapped. You could barely get a word in before he was on you, making good on what he'd been fantasizing about just seconds earlier. He loomed over you, large hands shoving your thighs apart so he could stand between them and caging you against the mirror. You smiled, the picture of innocence despite your compromising position.

"What's the matter?" you said, voice thickly sweet.

"You know exactly what," Monty growled in response, eyes trailing down your body to where your skirt - that goddamn skirt - almost teasingly covered the bare minimum.

"Oh, my skirt? I saw it yesterday and thought it was cute, don't you like it?"

Don't get him wrong, he liked it, but he also hated it. He liked the way it made you look, but he fucking despised the idea of you sauntering around in it for just anyone to see.

(Thankfully, you'd driven in, not quite brave (or stupid) enough to go out actually in public like that.)

Moving a hand down to your thigh, long nails digging in almost enough to hurt and dancing around the hem of your skirt, he leaned in, a dangerous look in his eye. You gulped, although you were far from scared. You had to keep up the game.

"I don't know why you're so worked up- ah!" Your teasing tone was cut off by a gasp as his hand suddenly, unexpectedly, moved to touch you.

"No, I think you do, sweetheart," he said, his tone almost predatory, "I think you did this on purpose." He continued to stroke you through your underwear, making you whine and buck your hips up to increase the pressure. With the hand that wasn't touching you, he pushed your hips down, keeping you in place and giving a low chuckle when you whimpered. Growing impatient, he dragged your underwear down, smirking at the evidence of your excitement.

Although toying with you was fun, there was much a more... pressing matter to deal with. Within seconds and the movement of some mechanisms you didn't fully understand, his cock pressed against you, not quite entering you but very much present. You were slightly taken aback by the lack of foreplay, but he just tutted at you.

"Dress like a slut, get used like a slut."

Leaning into your ear, his tone dropped its mocking edge, "Tell me if I'm being too rough, okay?" You nodded, holding your breath in anticipation.

"I'm gonna need a proper answer, babe," He prompted, leaning back slightly to look at you with lidded eyes, cocky smirk never fading.

"Oh fuck you," you muttered, "Okay, now please fuck me." It had come out much needier than you intended, but he just laughed.

"Because you asked so nicely..." In seconds, he was pushing into you, reminding you just how big he was. This was far from the first time the two of you had fucked, but every time you forgot just how full he made you feel, even before being fully sheathed inside you. He entered you quicker than usual, his own desperation peeking through his domineering persona and taking the breath out from your lungs.

Barely giving you time to breathe, he bottomed out, his hands coming to lift your thighs until you were completely flush against him. You were completely vulnerable to him, trapped between him and the (already cracked from a different kind of activity) mirror and your hands holding onto the edge of the vanity for dear life. You felt completely overpowered, and he hadn't even started moving yet. The slight burning stretch, however, was almost pleasant to you, and it was what you'd wanted all along.

Then the moment was over, and Monty finally moved. He pulled out almost entirely, dragging the motion on like a warning, and then slammed back into you, causing you to let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan that you'd be extremely embarrassed to remember later. From there, he fucked you brutally, the room filling with the downright depraved sounds of your skin connecting with his body. You were almost mindless, the force of his thrusts being unrelenting and silencing any coherent thought you were having.

If you'd thought any previous sex with Monty had been aggressive, you were woefully underprepared for this. He was using you just like he said he would, the skirt that had caused all this flipped up onto your stomach. You felt your climax coming embarrassingly quickly, the rough pace hurting in just the right way to make your head go fuzzy and the pressure between your legs increase tenfold.

"Fuck, Monty-" you gasped out, trying to signal that you were close. He didn't stop - if anything, he sped up, his head hanging as he put all of his energy into pounding into you.

It didn't take long to make you reach your climax, and only then did he stop, feeling the way you tightened around him almost painfully before collapsing back, boneless. He gave you a few moments, the two of you panting with exertion before he began to slowly, almost teasingly, rock his hips again.

You looked up at him in alarm, and your eyes met his dilated, predatory gaze.

"I told you, I'm not stopping until I come."

It took him a moment to work back up to the pace he'd had before, and his thrusts were certainly messier and more ragged, but soon he was back to pistoning in and out of you like he'd never stopped. You, on the other hand, were absolutely incoherent, the overstimulation being more than you'd ever felt before. Your eyes were rolled back, a completely fucked out expression on your face. It was so much, you didn't know how much longer you could take it, on the verge of being fucked completely dumb.

Thankfully, it wasn't much longer. Seeing you absolutely destroyed was doing something to Monty, and with a few messy thrusts he was undone. He stopped again, his cock keeping the contents of his own climax inside you, and leaned over you, shaking arms supporting himself over your body. You had gone completely slack, gazing up at him with unfocused, slightly teary eyes.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Monty began to pull out. You absently whined at the feeling of emptiness coupled with the rather odd feeling of cum leaking out of you, but pushed yourself up enough to stretch your legs anyway. You didn't feel like you had the strength to stand, though, so you stayed seated on the vanity as Monty quickly moved into the maintenance room to grab a cloth. When he returned, he cleaned you up as gently as he could, giving you a sympathetic hum when you whimpered at the sensitivity.

He wrapped an arm under your legs, lifting you with care that those who didn't know him would consider uncharacteristic, before settling down on the couch he'd been sitting on initially, this time with you curled up in his lap.

"I've got you," he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest that made you feel butterflies in a completely different way to everything that had happened. Instead of lust, this tone that was reserved only for you flooded you with affection, and you gave him a sheepish smile as you shuffled closer.

Needless to say, you would definitely be wearing this skirt again.

[sara-scribbles]

Hi! Can I request Fluff #37 with Malleus and Fem Reader? Thanks 💚🐲

Prompt: "I could never get tired of you."

You are a bright light in his life. You shine and twinkle, attracting others around you. He's proud to be yours, but sometimes doubt clouds his mind. Not about you, but about himself.

Unlike Malleus, everyone likes you. You're never forgotten when it comes to events. People approach you without fear. You laugh, smile, and make friends so easily that Malleus is a bit jealous.

Sometimes he wonders if you'll wake up one day and realize you not longer want to be with him. That maybe you'll realize he isn't someone you want to spend time with. Perhaps you'll grow tired of him.

A gentle touch on his arm brings him back to the present. "Malleus, everything okay?" you inquire, concern reflected in your gaze.

You had been invited to a party by Kalim, and naturally you asked Malleus to come along. While you mingled and danced, he stood off to the side. Most of the other guests kept a good distance away. Only a few of your friends came over to greet him before wandering off to enjoy the party.

He nods. "I was just lost in thought..."

Your hand easily slips into his as you stand next to him. "I could tell. It seemed you were thinking very deeply."

He revels in your warmth as you lean against his side. Tucked in the corner of the room, people don't pay you two any mind. "You looked like you were having fun out there," he comments, changing the subject.

"When Kalim's in the mood to dance, there's no stopping him," you chuckle. "You should come dance with me."

Malleus shakes his head. "I do not think I am made for that kind of dancing."

There's a gentle snort as you try to imagine dancing like Kalim. "Maybe not, but you never know until you try. Plus, it's always more fun when you're there."

He's quiet. Again the doubt creeps in. Are you truly happy with him? Is he really fun? Do you really enjoy his company even when all he does is talk?

"Malleus?" You squeeze his hand. "You're thinking again, and it doesn't seem like nice thoughts."

He clears his head with a shake. "...you can tell?"

"Of course. You get this very intense look on your face. The corner of your lips also turn down just slightly." He touches his face wondering when it was he started showing his emotions like that. "So, what's wrong?"

He's quiet. The pounding bass of the music thrums in his ears. The strobe lights throw the dancers in odd angles. You wait patiently for his response.

"Do you think you'll ever get tired of me?" he finally asks. You have to strain your ears to hear his hushed voice over the noise.

Looking down at you, he watches as your brows scrunch together. "Tired of you?"

"I am not the most fun person to be around. I cannot 'let loose' like Kalim at parties. Sometimes I wonder if I bore you..." he elaborates.

Reaching up, you stroke his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch. "As much as I enjoy a good party like everyone else, I value our time together. Sitting together and talking is the highlight of my day"

He gazes at your face with adoration. You continue, "When I'm with you, I feel safe and comfortable. I feel loved. I could never grow tired of you."

Wrapping your arms around his waist, you hug him fiercely. He forgets about the party and the people. His sole focus is on your warmth, your scent, and the way you feel in his embrace.

[letsperaltiago]

show me you're shameless

the one where i upload the 2nd chapter 5 months after the first :)) so sorry skskss. anyways... CLUB FIC CHAPTER 2, BABYYY. And it’s getting smutty! Works fine on its own, but reading chapter 1 first does add that *extra spice*

Rating: E

Words: 5.8k

Read here or on Ao3

Besides the obvious bruising and swelling caused by Manson’s punch, Jake is unharmed and allowed to leave the hospital right after his debrief. Officer Wilson nicely offers to give him a ride home and after the day he’s had, which Jake gladly accepts - the faster he gets home, the faster he gets to see Amy. By the time he steps out of the car, onto the sidewalk framing Amy’s apartment building, and tells Wilson thanks for the ride, it’s closing in on two am. The streets of Brooklyn are as desert as the city that never sleeps can be, rather unusually quiet, but Jake can’t think about anything else but the painkillers he’s about to pop, the girlfriend he gets to kiss, and last but not least the soft bed that’ll promise him a good night’s sleep. 

Or so he thinks. 

The second he steps a foot into the apartment, using the spare key Amy gave him a few weeks ago which he proudly accepted, making him feel that more committed to their blossoming relationship, Jake immediately notices that something is not quite how it usually is. And if there’s something he loves about Amy and her place it’s how routine is everywhere to be found - from the tiny key-hook by the front door that holds Amy’s keys to how he knows the painkillers are stashed in the little pink plastic basket on the right top shelf of the bathroom sink cabinet. Tonight the atmosphere feels out of routine, almost making Jake feel like a stranger in an apartment that’s somewhat his own (they’re not quite there yet but they’re mostly at her place so). 

It’s not just because the only elements lighting up the blacked-out apartment are candles (quite many of them) which in itself is very weird because no way Amy Santiago would go to bed with a candle, let alone tens of them, lit. The scene screams fire hazard. Jake himself has a hard time putting a finger on it, but somehow the entire energy seems different. It’s as if, somehow, the air is charged with a certain electricity, and, for a second, Jake wonders if he’s accidentally let himself into the wrong apartment - but that’s not possible, right? No way Amy’s key works for other front doors. 

His keys make a by now familiar clinking sound as he places them on the key-hook, on top of Amy’s. A routine amidst the estranged feeling of this situation. Although he’d hoped and would’ve loved it if Amy had stayed up and waited for him, he knows his girlfriend’s schedule is highly prioritized (even over him, he learned very early on) and so he ignores her absence. What he can’t ignore is that Amy would’ve gone to bed with multiple candles still burning. Her silver three-arm candelabra on the dinner table, her rose-scented block candle on the coffee table, multiple smaller ones in the windows and around the couch/tv-area…

“Ames?” he calls out, loud enough to catch her attention if she’s awake but low enough to not wake her if she’s asleep. 

Silence.

He quickly shrugs off the absence of her reception, and, as per a routine he likes to think of as “domestic”, a new feeling and aspect being with Amy has introduced him to, he kicks off his shoes. Instead of leaving them to clutter up the room, like he would if it were his own apartment, he neatly aligns them with hers on her little shoe rack. His coat goes on on a coat stand instead of a random chair. It’s small gestures like these that make him feel more in sync with his girlfriend. This also leads him to go around the room to blow out the candles. He knows Amy will appreciate him doing it, but he’s just barely put out one candelabra-light when his beliefs are contradicted. 

Someone clears their throat and it has Jake freeze in his spot by the dinner table, much like a deer caught in headlights - a Jake caught in candlelights, one could say. All he can see is a silhouette standing in the hallway. Only just barely lit by the candles’ tiny flames, casting the otherwise dark room in a yellow and orange glow, it’s hard to see anything clearly. Still, there’s no doubt in Jake’s mind: It’s Amy. 

From the way her silhouette almost looks naked, her curves on full display, he can tell she’s still wearing the infamous red skintight dress. Her now messy dark locks frame her face - her beautiful , amazing face - and scatter onto her bare shoulders which are only covered by the sleek dress straps. She looks flushed, luminous, and Jake can’t help but wonder whether it’s the candlelight or the sudden heat he’s sensing. Did it actually just get really hot in here or just him? 

“You don’t like my candles?”

The sound of Amy’s voice is something Jake is very familiar with by now. Her presence has become something his senses immediately tap into, yet when she speaks, red, perfect lips shaping the words with precision, Jake feels his heart skip a beat as if it’s the first time seeing her. His jaw drops to the floor and he surely looks like an idiot, stuck in the same spot with no audible reaction. It surely doesn’t help when his girlfriend walks up to him in a way that has her look like a goddess on a runway. Slow, sleek, and surely she steps up to him as if she isn’t wearing uncomfortably tall stilettos. If Jake hadn’t previously listened to her complain about how awful these heels were then he’d beg her to wear them forever. 

“I- uh- yes? No? I don’t know?” 

A cocky chuckle gushes from her lips. It’s obvious that she has him right where she wants him, physically and mentally, and from the burning look in her eyes, he can tell she has a plan for them to follow tonight whilst she, hopefully,  wears that dress (at least for some of it). 

“I thought I’d try to make the most of the night...” Her eyes switch to the clock on her wall. Five past two. Her brown irises slot back together with his. “What we’ve got left at least.” 

He’s so entranced by her sultry gaze, mystery and mischief glowing in her eyes, that, until he suddenly feels her hands on his hips, he fails to notice how far across the room she’s made it. Now her warm breath is bedewing his neck, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt and Jake’s never been good at chess but this feels a lot like checkmate. 

He doesn’t say anything. Quite honestly unable to do anything else, he utters just the sound of his breath hitching in his throat, but Amy’s happy; it’s enough to reveal his true sentiments when she gracefully pops the first button with her sleek fingers. She pauses and holds his gaze. 

“I’m really glad we ran into each other tonight.”

Already very much confused and barely able to grasp what reality he’s in at this point, Jake offers her little statement a frown. Ran into each other? They literally went to the club together, what does she mean-

“Most guys I run into at that club are usually barely mediocre...”

Oh… OH. It all suddenly clicks. That’s what she’s doing. 

“... but you...” she interrupts herself by biting into her newly applied lipstick, showing off just how white her teeth are, as she moves on to pop the next button in line. “... you look like someone worth spending a night with.”

The colorful lights, the loud bass, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol, their moment of weakness in the scummy bathroom; the sensation of being back in the club comes rushing back. All of this, along with it the thought of Amy Santiago being his scandalous one-night stand, flicks a switch within him. Being with her every day is indeed a much better deal, one he’d never want to change, but this fictional role of the one-night stand he’s been put in? Definitely works for him too. Now he just needs to get up to speed and make up for time wasted on being utterly obvious. Luckily Amy Santiago can turn him on easily as a faucet. 

“Yeah? You do this a lot, eh-?” He attempts, dabbling and getting comfortable in his newfound role. 

“Cassidy.” 

“Oh yeah, cool cool cool. Cassidy.” 

After this infamous fumbling, figuring things out, he shifts back into gear. His voice descends into a darker tone, as well as his eyes - and don’t even get him started on his train of thoughts. His hands, up until now stuck by his sides, gently latch onto her waist instead and the soft feel of her dress, silk, he guesses, helps him adopt the exact right mindset for this game. 

“So, Cassidy ,” he emphasizes the name as to get familiar with its taste, immediately learning that it savors of something poisonous and addicting. “You do this a lot? Take home guys without even knowing their name or telling them yours?”

Meanwhile, Amy’s already popped another button, revealing a good chunk of his chest, and has to tear her eyes away from it to meet his villainous gaze. There is no fighting it, and she willingly dives right into him as one would in a pool. Although instead of a clear blue mass of water, her’s is a dive right into a sinful twilight that’s slowly but surely consuming them both.

“Well,” she abandons the last two buttons untouched and sneaks her left hand down to the front of his pants to be met what she’s been patiently waiting for all night. A bulge, still quite modest but without a doubt present and growing. After all, they’re just getting started. “All you needed to do was ask for it. Like I’m going to do now: what’s your name?”

She grins, her eyes as well as her lips, and it takes every muscle in Jake’s body to think of a name, stay in the role, all while he’s not to give in to the hand that’s unmistakably cupping him through his pants. 

“I bet you’re used to asking for what you want.” He’s kind of proud of that line, he must admit. “... And I’m Andrew.”

“Good to know, Andrew. And yeah…” she tightens her grip on him just a tad more, “it’s the easiest way to get what I want.” 

“And what exactly do you want?” 

Just like hers had moments ago, Jake’s hands slowly travel south and back, getting two handfuls of her ass and the fabric that’s enhancing its perfect shape. He feels her breath sink into the skin of his neck and lower face, slowly and bit by bit becoming a part of him.

“Whatever you’re willing to give,” she kisses the side of his neck, feeling the dampness her breath has left behind. Turns out he tastes even better than usual, a mixture of him, cigarettes, and alcohol so having her lips let go already seems unnecessary. 

“And what if what I’m willing to give isn’t enough?” 

He shamelessly squeezes her ass, thanking God for this goddess of a woman he gets to call his, and he’d be lying if he said her sucking on his neck and the feeling of her full behind didn’t have him almost fully hard already. 

“Then I’m not shy of a little... begging,” she physically punctuates her sentence by letting her teeth sink into the skin right below his jaw, and it immediately sends her man of the night into another dimension where he can’t hold back and play nice any longer. Luckily, she doesn’t want him to. 

In the bat of an eye, he’s got her face cupped in his hands and their lips colliding with a hunger that makes it seem as if they’ve never kissed before this very moment. The kiss is clumsy, hungry as if they’ve been starving for days, and once in a while they can hear their teeth clacking, colliding. 

“You’re so gorgeous, Am- Cassidy,” he’s quick to correct himself. “Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you at that club. Was wondering how a fucking goddess like you was hanging out in a shit-hole like that.” 

He feels her hands cling onto his neck. In response, he has to let go of her face. Instead, his hands wander back down to his hips. Although rather than both slipping backward like earlier, one sneaks its way down and forward to get a grip on the hem of her dress. 

“And wearing this dress? How could I not notice you and instantly dream of fucking you in it.”

This rewards him a tiny moan, airy and soft right into his ear where her lips happen to be nibbling on his earlobe, and Jake knows he’s giving her exactly what they both want. 

“Touch me,” she breathes almost inaudibly and although he hears her he can’t help but push some buttons. 

“What are you saying, baby?” He smirks, slowly forcing the dress-hem up the warm skin of her thighs. “Say it again - louder.” 

“Touch me, please .”

With two fingers hooked around the red fabric he drags it up to stop right by her pubic bone. “Only because you’re so good at asking for it. I might have you beg a bit later.”

She barely answers, only utters a little uhuh . The same two fingers slowly slip beyond the fabric and slide across the already damp gusset. It’s with a small victory smile that Jake carefully starts rubbing the area, immediately earning himself a small whimper. It falls from her lips as if it’s been waiting to do so for a long time now, and her head drops to rest on his shoulder. 

“What did you say?” he cranes his neck in an attempt to get a glimpse of her face, but it’s mostly hidden in his neck. “Does that feel good?”

He doesn’t hear her but feels her nod against him, and so he adds a little more pressure with his fingers, digging into her through the fabric of what feels like lacy panties. 

“I have barely touched you and you’re already this wet. Do you want more? Is this okay?” His tone doesn’t change by Amy can tell it’s Jake asking, not Andrew. 

“Y-yes,” she whimpers, wishing he’d put more energy into touching her.

For a second Amy believes he can read her mind because as soon as the green light has officially been re-approved, her partner’s fingers force aside the gusset and gather some of her wetness to help embed themselves inside of her. He feels her shuffle on the spot in an attempt to stay on her feet and squirm a bit around him when his middle finger penetrates her, all to be summed up by a soft moan into his neck. 

“God, you’re soaked, baby. Do you know how good that feels? Do you feel good?” he slowly starts moving his fingers inside of her, in a pattern he knows she enjoys, and he has to use his free hand to stabilize her as he challenges her with a quicker pace.

“S-so good. More, please.”

Her wish is his command, and he immediately meets it by switching up the pace to which he can hear and feel her react right away. 

“This is so hot,” he breathes into the top of her head, her hair already mussed and messy from their fooling around. “You look amazing, you feel amazing. Kinda just wanna keep you in this dress. It looks fantastic on you.”

Busy whimpering and grinding along to the pace of his fingers, Amy has no time to reply and instead gives in to his upper hand. There’s something so exciting, so hot, not only about the roleplay but also the spontaneity of things, the way they haven’t even made their way out of the dining/living room. If Jak- Andrew wants to, he can have her right then and there. She wouldn’t mind one bit… 

Caught up in a whirlwind of feelings and thoughts, trapped in the vessel that is her quivering body, it comes as a surprise when suddenly Jake nudges her in the direction of the dining table. Making sure to stay away from the still lit candelabra, Jake backs her up against the wooden surface. 

“Sit,” he prompts and helps her over the edge of the table, safely seating her on it and as a consequence, his fingers slip out of her. They’re glistening with her juices and when he runs his hand across her thigh, her skin is smeared with her own lust. Then he nudges her legs further apart for him to fit in-between. The tight dress has by now suffered a lot of moving, already pushed up above her hips and creased into a bunch around her lower belly, which, once he’s ripped off her panties, leaves him with open access to where they both want him to bee.

“Wanna taste you,” he huffs into the kiss he’s pulled her into, leaving them both breathing hard and yearning for air when he retreats to sink to his knees. He’s left at the perfect height. “I’m gonna make you forget about all the guys before me.”

And he sure keeps his promise. 

He dives right into the sacred space between her legs, tongue first, drawing circles around and with her clit, while his hands are forged onto her shivering thighs, making sure they stay wide open and spread for him. Her heaves and tiny breaths escape her with shorter and shorter intervals, promising them both a climax, which his tongue follows, focusing on all the right spots. He continuously eats her out like he’s been starved and deprived for God knows how long,  and she’s his main course. 

“I-I’m almost there.”

She dares to let go of the table, just one hand, and plants it in his messy locks, which are already sweaty and wild from his rummaging between her legs. The tugging throws him into a higher gear that demands extra help from his fingers, still wet from earlier, which makes entering her easy. The second they sink into her, from the higher pitch of her moans, Jake can tell he acted wisely. She shakes, not only the thighs beneath her hands but her entire body, and he fights to keep up the pace that seems to be succeeding in bringing her closer to the edge. A few more pumps, licks and kisses to her inner thigh a couple of times before his tongue reunites with her clit for the final licks that have her climaxing with a loud moan, right there on the dinner table and his mouth. He pecks her heat a few more times as she comes down, then her inner thighs where he spreads her climax on her skin before standing up to see her leaned back onto the elbow that wasn’t tugging on his hair. The dress looks miserable crumpled up around her waist but something about it, paired with her closed eyes and messy makeup, leaves him with what he believes is the perfect picture. Her breathing is more or less just heaves and he lets her catch some air before he leans in to kiss her, open-mouthed as to allow her a taste of herself. 

“Good?” 

“So good,” she smiles right into the kiss, given a taste herself, eyes still closed as she focuses her energy on assembling herself for what is yet to come. 

“Wanna see what you’re hiding in here,” she breathes but Jake barely hears it as all he can currently fixate on is her hand cupping the bulge in his pants, and her nimble fingers working the button and zipper open. Who said attending multiple meticulous and detail-oriented bomb-defusing classes would never come in handy? 

 “Wanna suck you off. I’ve been wanting to all night, even in that disgusting bathroom we met in. Could’ve sucked you off while you looked at yourself in that disgusting mirror.” 

Though it’s pureoy fiction (at least for now - who knows?) Jake feels lightheaded just hearing her thoughts break free and let out into the open. Despite the fact he could never ask her to kneel on the club bathroom’s disgusting floor that, so filthy it stuck to your shoes when walking on it, just the thought of it does ignite something within him. One second they’re still making out, Amy on the table with Jake standing in between her legs, the next she’s got his pants unbuttoned and unzipped thus proceeding to push herself off the table, consequently pulling both his pants and boxers down at once (which kinda impresses Jake - he’s not gonna lie) as she gets descends to her knees. 

Cassidy, Amy, whoever she is in this moment, doesn’t waste time. Jake admires the adulterated hunger in her eyes as she wraps her fingers around his hard, pre-cum leaking cock to give it a few assisting pumps before leaning in to kiss the head. Her gaze diverts from his hard-on to his eyes, up at him through thick and black mascara-coated lashes, as she gives the very tip a tiny, almost experimental, lick. Just the sight and feel of her tongue on him, her saliva mixing with his pre-cum is enough to send him to heaven, but he sure doesn’t complain when the innocent lap is succeeded by a full-on licking motion that goes around his full girth. 

“Gosh, you’re killing me.” 

He reaches for her cheek, stroking it with his thumb as if to praise her for her actions. “You like this, huh? Hunting down your preys, taking them home… only for you to become the prey.” 

Nothing is answered, at least not verbally. Instead, she slowly goes down on the length, lips stretched to the max around him and batting her eyelids as her gagging reflex is challenged. His hand leaves her cheek and instead travels to the back of her head where it can get a good grip on her hair. Here it settles on following her movement as she bobs her head, swallowing him again and again. The grip on her doesn’t have a real purpose, he doesn’t try to control or force anything with it. All it really does is provide him with another pleasing aspect of feeling her movements, giving him some sense of staying grounded when the thrill becomes too much and he starts losing himself to the thrill of her actions. 

“Fuck, you look so good on your knees like this, and…” He’s interrupted by his own growl, escaping him the second he feels a very soft scratching of her teeth against his pulsing member. It takes him a few seconds to recollect himself. She’s sucking him off like a champion, one hand by the base, the other on his thigh, steady rhythm and small hums in between. Hums that he’ll remember till the day he dies. “Your lips stretched around my cock like this? Like they were made for it, fuck. I’m not gonna last though - not if you keep eating me up like this.” 

Her lips offer him a few more pumps, slowing down to a halt and leaving her in his mouth for a few seconds before she lets him slip out of her mouth, leaving a thin thread of a mix of saliva and pre-cum to hang on for dear life between her lips and his cock. She can taste him and he can see his discharge on her lips glowing in the candlelight. Her knees are pink and raw when she stands back up, hair messier than ever, and dress crumpled, bunched up around her waist. She’s amazing, Jake thinks, in awe of how he landed someone as perfect as her - in every way imaginable. Tonight is just one of many aspects, and every day with her is truly the best day ever

“C’mere,” he pulls her in by the waist, too caught up to let her go for even a second, and without even thinking twice his right hand cups her heat, feeling the wetness seep through her lips and trimmed bush. Just what he’d hoped for. “You’re gonna start dripping on the floor if we keep going like this.”

“Would you like that?” she breathes onto the shell of his ear, grinding into his hand, and sending shivers down his spine. 

“Yeah, I would… But I’d rather put how absolutely soaked you are to good use.” He slips his middle finger in between her folds, gathering wetness, feeling her squirm. “I’d much rather fuck you right into this wall…” he backs her into the nearest wall that’s clear of shelves and pictures frames, a low-risk area per se, “... while you’re wearing this stupidly hot dress.”

She’s sucking bruises into his neck, not allowing him to see her face, but the second her back hits the wall she’s back to kissing her way up to his lips. Here she tugs on his plump, still bruised bottom lip before dropping her head backward, letting it lull against the wall. Her eyes are darker than ever, brown irises borderline black, as she stares right into his. “Do it then.”

“Do what?” he challenges. He wants to hear her say it. Every word, every syllable. 

“Fuck me. Up against this wall. Wearing this red dress.” She pulls down the skirt, just to cover her ass and give him the full dress-experience rather than it just being fabric bundled up around her waist. “ Please .” 

It sure is impossible to not act when she bats her eyes at him, spilling filthy words, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Before he’s even fully aware, his animalistic instinct takes over and has him holding up her leg with one hand, the other giving his cock a few pumps prior to guiding the tip through her folds. 

“Cond-” 

She’s quick to interrupt. She knows it’s his character asking, since, in reality, they both know they’re clean and she’s on the pill - though she appreciates the effort of staying in character and the fact that Andres is a reasonable man.

“Fuck me. Raw.”

“You’re something else, Cassidy,” he chuckles, and having already gathered enough wetness on him he pushes into her, slowly and torturously, feeling her heat take him in and hearing her moan shatter the silence. 

“Yes,” she hisses at the stretch, her uplifted leg leaving her more open and the piercing sensation somewhat smoother. 

He starts slow, rocking into her with ease. 

“You look so hot. Can’t believe you’re letting me take you right here up against a wall. Fucking filthy.” 

He eventually picks up her other leg as he picks up speed and by the time he’s fully slamming into her with a powerful pace that has her legs shaking, he’s fully holding her off the floor and fucking her into the beige wall behind her. She moans with every thrust, every collision between her body and the wall, thumps, as she holds onto his shoulders for dear life, thighs burning from clinging onto his hips. The angle at which he penetrates her is just perfect, hitting and stimulating all the right zones, and, even comparing to the loads of amazing sex they’ve had, this, without a doubt , goes in the top three. The wall is cold against her back, creating a sizzling contrast to the heat forming between their rubbing fronts. His shoulders and arms are flexing under her weight, and now there’s no denying that Jake Peralta the hottest guy she’s even been with. 

“R-right there, ah, yes,” she hisses, head pressed back into the wall, the friction messing up her hair. 

“This feel good, huh?”

“So good- fuck , harder, please.” 

“You feel so good around me, you know that? All wet, all tight… Just like your dress. Fucking gorgeous.” 

He picks up the pace, putting great effort that has him sweating through his nice shirt, never fully removed, as he works her up, almost as if he hopes to leave an outline of her on the wall. Her moans pick up the pace, turning into small squeals that can barely come to an end before a new one takes over, and Jake can tell she’s closing in on a climax. So is he. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, J-Jake.”

It flies out of her, beyond her control. It’s hard to stay in character when your groin is one fire like (almost) never before, but she was the one to start the roleplay and he’s going to keep her in it. You have to finish what you started. 

“Who’s Jake?” the trust going in with his name is extra hard and earns him a loud whimper, topping all other sounds so far, as if to apologize for her mess-up. “Is he some other guy who you’ve taken home and gotten fucked by?”

“S-sorry, bad habit,” she leans in to kiss him in hopes of making him forget or at least let go. 

“Do I fuck you better than he did? Huh?”

She doesn’t say anything but keeps moaning, her pitch gradually becoming higher.

“Tell me,” he momentarily lets go of a leg, feeling her ankles hook together behind his back, to cup her cheek and force her to look right into his eyes. “Have you been fucked like this before?”

“N-no,” she stutters in-between his cocks collision with what he knows is her good spot. 

“Couldn’t hear you,” he growls, provoked, and dying to hear the statement in its entirety fall from her sinfully pink lips now that he’s gnawed off the red lipstick. Almost synchronously to his demand, he picks up the pace, heading for the last stretch, which he knows might not be the smartest when he wants her to speak. But Amy Santiago loves a good challenge. To his surprise, the always so consistent woman completely fails, moans turning into small screams as she chases her peak, and Jake can only forgive her inability to answer him right away. It doesn’t refrain him from insisting a few moments later though. 

“What did you say, baby?”

Every word is punctuated with a thrust, thrusts that go deeper than before, and Amy on her part is a wreck barely clinging onto him and the wall behind her.  

“I-I said…” melts into a groan when he, once again, strikes just the right spot. “I said that I’ve never been fucked like this before.” 

“Didn’t think so.”

Jake grins rather proudly even though, in reality, he’s competing with himself. Beads of sweat trickle down from under his wavy bangs who by now are very much soaked, plastered to his forehead like a wet (but also kinda cute, if you ask Amy) mop. In every which way possible, there’s something very special and satisfying about a chuffing, puffed-up, sweaty Jake holding her like he currently is, taking on this commanding role of Andrew, and Amy is sure: she won’t mind revisiting this act some other time. 

 “Be a good girl: suck on my fingers and get them nice and wet for me.”

His hand that was once on her cheek presents itself, and Amy doesn’t even have the time to feel embarrassed about how quickly, without any second thought, she opens her mouth for them. Obeying is part of her DNA and dutiful as Amy Santiago is she immediately welcomes his index and middle finger into her mouth, sucking on them with a great commitment that Jake undoubtedly appreciates. 

“Good girl,” he praises, their eyes’ locked in their perhaps most intense staring contest ever. Amy makes sure to take his fingers all the way in, lips reaching his knuckles, and Jake almost forgets his agenda. 

Keyword: almost. 

After slowing down the pace of his thrusts and retracting his fingers, to Amy’s great chagrin, the hand drops to between her legs, and his fingers are added to the mix, the chasing of her climax, and oh it definitely works. Amy’s whining reaches a brand new level, hitting a high note he’s never heard before, and he can feel her tense around his cock and fingers. She’s almost there, and even though Amy, in the red strappy dress, taking him so well, is a piece of art that he’d like to hang on a wall forever, he knows she needs release. And so does he. 

 “Yeah, that’s it, baby, just like that. Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s very distracting yet I can’t look away.”

High-pitched moans and whimpers are all he gets in return. His fingers slip out of her heat, now even wetter than after being sucked on, but don’t go far and redirect to give her clit the final attention. 

“If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.” He chuckles, leaning in just far enough to peck her lips, and if they hadn’t only been dating for a couple of months, the best couple of months ever , he would be pretty sure of the fact that he’s very much in love with Amy Santiago, Cassidy, Dora and every other version of his incredible girlfriend. 

“T-then don’t.”

So he doesn’t, her word is her command after all, and a couple of strokes and thrusts later, nibbling on her clavicle with just a bit more teeth than intended but too blown away to be able to control it, she lets out a cry as she comes apart around him. Limbs going limp, just barely managing to cling onto his body and avoiding a fall to the floor, Amy reaches and crashes completely, hitting a climax for the record books. Jake follows right behind, coming into her,  riding it out with her aftershock, and then the room goes silent as if nothing had happened. Only their heavy breathing is to be heard. 

“Shit,” she pants.

“The good kind?” he chuckles pulling out of her, but still carrying her. 

“The very good kind, Andrew . Maybe the best one yet.”

They share a small laugh as she pushes his sweaty hair back, admiring the admiration in his eyes that seconds ago were darker than the pitch-black night sky outside her window. How fast they can switch will never cease to amaze her. 

“Kinda sucks I let another man beat that record.”

“Well…” she leans in, offering him a consolatory kiss that he gladly accepts, before she pulls back, just an inch, to whispers against his lips. “The night is young. Andrew had his turn, now Jake Peralta can show me his worth.” 

“Holy shit- Amy Santiago, you’re going to be the death of me.”

It’s safe to say that Jake wins back the record and Amy eventually ends up washing her dress. Twice. On the warmest setting possible. 

[eggtoasties]

Chapter One: I. Allegro

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Kuroo used to think the best sound in the world was a volleyball hitting the court on the other side of the net. Now, he has other things on his repertoire.

Counter point: Good counterpoint requires two qualities: (1) a meaningful or harmonious relationship between the lines (a “vertical” consideration—i.e., dealing with harmony) and (2) some degree of independence or individuality within the lines themselves (a “horizontal” consideration, dealing with melody).

It was illogical really, Kuroo thought to himself, having to take a mandatory arts class. He was an athlete. He would probably major in STEM or business the next year if he didn’t go pro. But here he was, staring at the course catalogue, deciding between different bands, choirs, art classes, and orchestra. Irritatingly, Kenma had finished his arts requirement last year, taking a video editing class which Kuroo thought was definitely cheating since he figured Kenma already knew the basics. Plus, he not-so-secretly believed that Kenma would benefit from another non-electronic hobby.

Sighing, he assessed each class. He knew he was tone deaf and did not want others listening to him sing. Plus, he’s seen the red cummerbunds and bow ties the choir had to wear for concerts and refused to give his teammates the blackmail fodder even if Yaku thought it looked “refined.”

To be honest, Kuroo didn’t know much about the arts. He only had the vaguest understanding of the differences between Watercolor 101, Figure drawing 101, and Oil Painting 101. While he thought of himself in the studio, palette in hand with an apron tied around him, working intently at the easel on the next generational masterpiece, he remembered when Kenma threw his pencil-drawn mockups of promotional posters in the trash and told him not to show the rest of the team.

While maybe he could try digital media, he couldn’t help but imagine himself against the romanticized backdrop of more traditional arts.

He had to choose between the several band electives and orchestra. He couldn’t do marching band—he wouldn’t be caught dead in those uniforms, wind ensemble had auditions he surely wouldn’t pass, jazz band had mandatory solos, but symphonic band was for rookies. ‘Beginners welcome,’ was typed out with an asterisk under the listing. But, so did orchestra. Doing a quick search to figure out the difference between band and orchestra, Kuroo weighed his options.

He took piano lessons from ages four through ten before finally convincing his parents to let him quit—wearing them down by crying every week and throwing a mini tantrum at daily practice—not that he intentionally did it as an elementary school student. But, even from an early age, he knew volleyball was it for him.

While he wasn’t well acquainted with classical music, he had grown up with it from his parents. Well, when they were irritated with the bickering matches between him and his older sister, their parents would crank up the car radio, drowning their yelling. His mom would tell him she used to play Mozart for him when he was a baby which is why he grew so tall—which he would always say makes no sense—and occasionally, a film score would make the hairs on his arms rise even when he was trying to focus on the scene.

So he decided. He’d enroll in orchestra for the year, make himself unnoticeable in the back, and fulfill his arts requirement so he could graduate high school and maybe apply to university. Plus, he figured, as he ticked the box next to orchestra, he’d finally be able to wear his suit his parents bought him, saying that he’d need it eventually.

Folding the course registration paper and sliding it into an envelope to be sent to Nekoma High, he stood up from his seat at the low dining room table and decided to go to Kenma’s, figuring they could squeeze some volleyball practice before summer vacation ended.

.

The first day of his third year was unextraordinary. He woke up tired, coaxed his bed head into something manageable, and started his commute to school, picking Kenma up on the way. Double and triple checking his course schedule on his phone and reminding his teammates that they all had to help out in advertising the volleyball club—well, maybe except Yaku—he tapped his toes with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

His classes were nothing special, most of them a continuation of the year before or courses he carefully picked with the advice of his seniors. But, walking towards the orchestra room at the far side of the building where all the music classes were, he felt a familiar rush of nervous adrenaline spike—not unlike the nerves before a big match. But this time, he couldn’t be confident in his own skills or rely on a team to back him up. Counting the room numbers until it matched the one on his registration, he found the room with its double doors propped open.

Striding in, the large open space was in various states of organized chaos. Other students were already moving chairs in uniform columns, two to a row, and were pulling instruments out of cases. Unsure of what to do, he immediately found the teacher.

“Hi Jouda-sensei, I’m Kuroo Tetsuro,” he introduced. “I’m new—where should I sit?”

“Hi Tetsuro-kun, it’s nice to meet you,” she said warmly. “Ah, yes I see you enrolled as a beginner.” Flipping through the pages on her clipboard she hummed, “Is there a particular instrument you’d like to play?” sweeping a hand across the room. “We could always use more violas, we have enough cellos, weirdly too many basses, but we could also stick you with the second violins?”

Kuroo didn’t quite know the difference between violas and violins but figured ‘second’ violins implied that there was also a ‘first’ violins group and that he’d be more likely to be able to hide in the back in a bigger group.

“Yeah,” he drawled out confidently, “I actually wanted to learn violin.”

“Okay, perfect. Here—” she motioned another student over. “Tetsuro-kun, meet Daisuke-kun.” Daisuke greeted Kuroo with a shallow bow and Kuroo responded with a head nod, mentally rolling his eyes at Daisuke’s subtle disapproval.

“He’s first chair of the second violins,” Jouda-sensei continued, “he’ll get you set up. Daisuke-kun, have him take one of the rentals and teach him the ropes. Today’s mostly getting people set up if they don’t have their own instruments and playing through potential setlists,” she explained while twirling her pen in her right hand. “Testsuro-kun, you’re our only new violin which means everyone can help you learn—take today to be comfortable with an instrument in your hands and observe your classmates!” she finished, walking away.

“I’m Sato Daisuke, a second year,” Daisuke reintroduced, emphasizing his year.

“Kuroo Tetsuro, third year,” he said smugly.

“Ah—okay,” Daisuke said standing straighter, “Kuroo-san, follow me,” turning towards the back of the room.

Chuckling Kuroo said, “Just Kuroo’s fine—you’re technically my senior here since I’ve never played violin before.”

Stuttering a bit and covering it with a cough, Daisuke nodded once. He stood in front of a wall of neatly labelled cubbies and pulling a black rectangular case out, he handed it to Kuroo. Explaining the rules of the rental and making him sign a form, Daisuke taught Kuroo how to properly tighten the bow, use rosin, clean the instrument, and taught him simple exercises to practice posture.

Fiddling a bit with the shoulder rest as Daisuke excused himself for a second, Kuroo ran through the exercises to get himself acquainted with the feel of the violin under his chin and a bow in his right hand. It was uncomfortable, he noted. His left shoulder wanted to scrunch up towards his face, his left wrist wanted to press towards the neck of the violin, and he couldn’t comfortably hold his bow. For the first time in a while, Kuroo felt out of his element—he felt as though his body couldn’t do what he wanted it to do. He felt awkward and unsure and the back of his neck prickled as he caught other students look his way.

Finally, Daisuke came back. Holding a thin blue book in his hand he explained, “This’ll teach you the basics of reading music. The thickest string on the left is G, followed by D, A, and E. Notes go in order of A through G and it just repeats.” Making sure Kuroo was following along, he continued. “So, If we start on the G string and put a finger down,” he moved over to place Kuroo’s index finger on the first tape, “what note is this?”

“A?”

“Yup, great. Follow the tapes for where you should put your fingers, I taught you how to tune and you need to study and practice every night so you’ll be able to partially follow along in class.”

Head a little dizzy with the new information but also proud to have understood some of the basics, Kuroo nodded. Daisuke took Kuroo to the back of the group, explained to a student who Kuroo was, then took his place towards the front.

Kuroo’s stand partner was a first year—Hayato. He’d been doing orchestra since middle school, didn’t take private lessons like many of the other students, but enjoyed orchestra enough to continue in high school as a hobby. Although a little awkward, Hayato was patient when giving Kuroo a more detailed explanation of reading music, since six years of piano lessons had completely left him, and set him up with basic exercises.

“You need to make sure your left wrist is down and relaxed,” Hayato said, tapping a pencil to Kuroo’s inner wrist. “Also, your bow grip is atrocious, but that’s one of the hardest things for a beginner.” He showed Kuroo how the bow was supposed to be held, stressing how it should look relaxed and curved.

Making small adjustments while Kuroo shakily moved the bow across the strings, Hayato said, “Sensei will probably have you come during study hall to practice, but you need to practice at home too or Sato-san and the concertmaster will probably chew you out.”

Bow stuttering crookedly across the strings, making Sato tut at him, Kuroo paused. “The concertmaster,” he asked disbelievingly. “What is that?” imagining some despotic conductor in long tuxedo trails and a clipboard.

Laughing at his confusion, Hayato explained. “The concertmaster is the first chair violinist. In orchestra they’re like the leader of the group. They tune the group, come out second to last before the conductor during concerts, make decisions on bowings, and everyone kinda follows their lead.”

Nodding to himself Kuroo said, “Okay, so he’s like,” he trailed off, “the captain of the team?”

“Exactly. Except she’s a third year like you and pretty well known in the music scene in our area, y’know.”

Frowning at his assumption he admitted, “Ah, okay so,” he trailed off, “concertmistress? I play volleyball, I don’t really know music.”

Hayato laughed and Kuroo raised a brow. “I mean obviously—you don’t really look like a violinist.”

Affronted Kuroo said, “Oi, what does that mean?”

“Kuroo-san, you’re like, huge,” Hayato squeaked out.

Trying not to preen, Kuroo waved his hand and turned his head towards the front of the class.

Jouda-sensei stood on her podium and tapped her baton on the raised stand in front of her. “Hi everyone, good to see all of you again. We have a few new faces so make sure to welcome them and help them out. I’m super excited for our potential set list this year, but before I pass out the folders, let’s a hear a few words from our concertmistress!”

With scattered applause and stomping, a girl rose to the podium as Jouda-sensei stepped off. Holding her violin and bow in her left hand she beamed at the class. Briefly introducing herself and sharing her excitement for the year to make music with everyone, Jouda-sensei interrupted her return to her seat.

“For the first rehearsal, how about you formally tune us?” Jouda-sensei offered.

“Aw, no it’s okay—some people are beginners and all the section leaders already took care of it right?”

Next to her, her stand partner threw an eraser at the podium making her scowl. “Just do it, her stand partner complained,” drawing laughter from the class.

Giving her partner the finger, hidden from their sensei’s view, she laughed good naturedly and straightened her shoulders.

All of a sudden, Kuroo noted, the atmosphere in the room changed. Students were no longer whispering to each other, playing random tunes, or shuffling in their seats. Everyone’s eyes were on her at the podium. She offered an open palm and nodded towards the back of the room. A single note penetrated the silence.

She swept her hand towards the back and Kuroo was suddenly flooded with the sound of the deep and rich brass section. After a few seconds, she repeated the process and the woodwind instruments close to Kuroo in the back began to tune.

Hayato leaned towards Kuroo. “Before concerts and rehearsals everyone should’ve tuned beforehand. This more for last minute checks and also a show for the audience. The order and how many sections tune at once is usually decided between the concertmaster and the conductor—Kuroo-san, we’ll tune last.”

Nodding in appreciation, Kuroo turned his attention back to the podium. The woodwinds trailed off and after a beat of silence, she nodded once again for the tuning note to be played and she waved her hand towards the cellos and basses at her right. The gravelly resonance of the strings filled Kuroo with a strange sense of full contentment and marveled at the size of the basses, whose strings seemed to be quadruple the thickness of his own.

Finally, the concertmaster gave one last nod and tucked her violin under her chin. Hearing the drone of the pitch, everyone around Kuroo began to tune. Unsure of what to do, he stumbled to mimic Hayato who was adjusting his tuners. Since Sato Daisuke already tuned his instrument, Kuroo just played open strings and waited for the rest of his section to stop. Glancing to his left at Kuroo’s right hand, Hayato whispered sharply, “Keep your pinky curved!”

.

After tuning, folders were passed out to each student, filed with sheet music. Hayato organized the sheets on their stand.

“Since you’re on the inside—the left hand side of the stand—your job is to turn my pages,” he explained. “It’ll be good practice to see if you can follow along even if you can’t read, but no worries if you want to spend today just watching and listening.”

Thanking Hayato and teasing when he fumbled in embarrassment, Kuroo spent the rest of class in awe. Although the group was seeing the pieces for the first time, he couldn’t help the goosebumps on his arms as the orchestra came together. Even when he heard Hayato miss a note, noticed when the conductor would glare at a section, or when they had to stop and regroup, listening to individual instruments try come together as one left Kuroo wanting to be a part of it. From the inside, he watched as bows moved in unison and fingers slid up and down the necks of stringed instruments. He was hyper aware of the instruments behind him providing support to the main melody, and leaned towards them to catch their individual parts.

He set his gaze towards the front of the room and watched the concertmaster. Powerful yet graceful, her bow made sure movements across the strings, fingers moving quickly and accurately. Her body swayed with the music and her face, unlike Hayato’s, was not one of extreme concentration. She seemed focused as she watched the conductor and indicated entrances to her section through her body, but despite the multi-tasking, it was clear to Kuroo that she was having fun.

She trusted her section to follow along, for her stand partner to flip the pages at the right times, and for the rest of the orchestra to do their parts. When Jouda-sensei made the class begin again, she would lean towards her stand partner and share whispered giggles and Kuroo caught the glint of shiny pink polish and traced the way her hair fell across her shoulders.

He knew what being a captain was like—he had been captain since he was voted in at the end of his second year and he wondered how long she’d been playing for, how much she practices, and how she encourages her section. He wondered what the differences and similarities were between leading a team and an orchestra were—the differences and similarities between them, even.

At the end of class Kuroo promised to himself to practice a little every day to be able to play with the group and hold his own. For the rest of the school day, he idly hummed the melodies they had played in class and replayed images of bows and hands moving in unison.

.

In the club room before practice, Kuroo came in with his violin case. Greeting his teammates, he started to change.

Loosening his tie and pulling his sweater over his head, Kuroo heard Lev ask about his case. Swapping his school top for his practice one, Kenma responded.

“Kuroo’s taking orchestra for his arts credit.”

“Why would you take a band credit, you should’ve taken sculpture like I did,” Yamamoto exclaimed proudly.

“Your sculptures were ugly,” Kenma said evenly, over the sounds of his video game.

Before Yamamoto could respond, Fukunaga menacingly shook his water bottle at the two of them causing Kenma to turn his back and hunch defensively over his game.

Narrowing his eyes at Kenma, Yamamoto turned his attention back to Kuroo who was idly flipping through the practice book Daisuke had given him.

“Yeah Kuroo, band classes are so much work when you’ve gotta learn the instrument, why’d you enroll?”

Before Kuroo could respond Yaku jumped to Yamamoto’s side and jabbed him. “Band and orchestra are two different things you uncultured swine!”

Doubled over and grasping his stomach, Yamamoto glared tearfully at his senior, then directed his glare towards Lev who was slapping his knee in laughter.

“Kuroo-san,” Lev shouted, “can you play us something?” he asked excitedly.

Gaining the interest of the rest of the team, everyone crowded around Kuroo, nodding in unison. He rubbed the back of his head in uncertainty.

“I’ve literally just learned how to play. I don’t know if you’d really want me to.”

“We really want you to!” Lev said, encouraging him to open his case.

Begrudgingly, Kuroo went to his violin and briefly explained how to setup and tune, to the amazement of some of his teammates. Even Kenma peered curiously over his video game in the corner. He tucked the instrument under his chin, carefully held his bow and placed the hair on the A string and played. Kuroo focused intently on ensuring that his bow grip was loose, but secure, that his pinky and thumb were curved and that his bow was making straight lines across the string.

As Kuroo looked over to his teammates, he noticed Yaku’s shoulders starting to shake while he pointed a finger at him.

“I-Is that the best you can do?” Yaku nearly screamed, howling in laughter. “You’re not even moving your f-fingers!”

To Kuroo’s embarrassment, the rest of the team tried desperately to hold in their laughter and Lev deadpanned, “That kinda sucked, senpai.”

Stuttering out an indignant scoff, Kuroo’s brow furrowed, “I told you I just learned this today! A-and posture is important you heathens!” shaking his bow at Lev and Yaku.

[apossessionadaybreak]

Family Bonding

I couldn’t stop grinning when I woke up today. Maybe it was the sun shining through the window, or the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen, or the strong, virile body I was wearing. I laughed, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of days since I hopped into this host but every moment spent in him was further proof that I had made the correct choice. It hadn’t been easy cornering him but week after week of playing the part of his coworker, slowly gaining his trust, had all finally led to this moment. I strutted around the room, a ridiculous one-man parade, a treat meant only for my eyes. I stood before the mirror and beheld my lovely form, feeling something begin to stir and strain against my briefs as I did so. Oh, did I feel good. But it was still early, there was plenty to do, places to be, and a lot more masquerading to do. I patted my member as it stiffened in its cloth prison. Perhaps, if I still remained unsatisfied at the end of the day.

I opened the door and walked into the rest of the house. Yes, yes, all of it lovely, all of it in order, all of it mine. I strode into the living room to see a young man having breakfast.

"Morning son," I called out in my strong voice. “Thanks for the coffee,” I boomed again as I helped myself to a fresh cup.

He nodded, hesitantly perhaps? I made a mental note of the way he looked at me today, and didn’t like what I saw. Uncertainty, unease. No that wouldn’t do at all. I resolved to be a better father as I walked up to where he sat.

“What are you doing on this fine Saturday?” I said, slapping him on the back as I did so. He winced, but gave a wan smile. “Grandpa’s coming over to pick me up, we’re going fishing.”

My jaw clenched but I continued smiling even as I felt a low, cold fury building up inside me. “He’s coming over?”

“Yeah, in fact, any minute now. Let me go get my stuff, I want to be ready to leave when he comes.” He grabbed his phone as he walked to his room, closing the door just a tad faster than normal. Something was not right. No, I thought darkly, nothing was right about this. A stern expression came over my face as I closed my eyes. Focus, I just needed some time to think, with this mind I could work out what I needed to do. I clenched my fists, and grit my teeth as I pondered. My father, my own father, the man who raised me, betraying me like this? How could he not tell me he was coming over? Sweat formed on my furrowed brow as I fumed, trying, failing to cool me off. I forced myself to breathe, to take my time. Certainly this was an affront to my senses but any one who saw me like this would think I had gone insane, becoming this worked up over nothing at all. But I had spent this long, worked this hard, only for that bumbling fool to come along and mess with things. I tried to console myself it would only be for an afternoon, no time at all really but inside my heart I knew I was lying to myself. I had become obsessed with this young man, this youth who was now my son. Having him listen to me, talk to me, look up to me, it was heaven. That had been another reason for taking this host, besides his obvious merits. How could I compete with the old man? He was my senior in every way. I couldn’t allow my son to be stolen away under my nose like that. Then again, this father of mine, it was his blood that coursed through my veins, the one who gave me this strong heart to beat his blood through my veins. I grinned, the solution had been so obvious, how could I have been so blind? I shook my head to myself in disbelief, how foolish I had been to not see the enormity of this golden opportunity on a silver plate. The doorbell rang, and I grinned, things were falling into place, everything would be in order, no, they would be even better than before. I heard the sound of my son’s door being opened.

“Is that Grandpa?” I heard his voice.

“Let me check” I hollered back, chuckling to myself as I did so.

Sure enough when I checked the peephole, I saw the familiar visage of my father, my old man standing outside, patiently waiting. I opened the door.

“Hiya Pops.”

“Oh, morning son. Hope you don’t mind, I planned to take Nate fishing. You can come along too if you want!” He laughed to himself, a hearty roar, like a large ashy fire. I marvelled at the sound and subconsciously licked my lips. I could barely contain my excitement.

“Sounds great Pops, I may just join you two but I’ve got something to show you. Come in, come in, we can talk more in my room.”

He graciously accepted my invitation as I undid the locks. Smiling to myself, I chained the gate and shut the door, making sure there was no way anyone could come in, or out. 

I led the way to my room, opening the door for my father. He stepped in imperiously, with the air of a man who had gotten his way all his life. Not arrogant, it was just how things worked when you were as loved and respected as he was.

“Alright son, what did you want to tell me?”

I smiled, my eyes lighting up with genuine joy.

“Hold still old man.”

I saw the barest frown begin to form on his face as his brow furrowed in puzzlement. He began to open his mouth to ask the question I knew was forming in his mind. I knew what he was going to say. I didn’t care, instead I lunged at his throat. He choked in a mixture of shock, panic, and utter confusion. He spluttered as he tried to yell out but the cry died in his throat as I held on, my penetrating gaze boring deep into his eyes. He whimpered slightly as he stared back, his pupils rapidly dilating, his normally half-shut eyes now open wide in terror and awe. I had him. I tilted my head back and began to push myself out. Slowly, surely, I unstuck the various parts of myself from within my host. My spectral form tore free from the muscle and bone it had been so deeply encased in for the past few days. I felt his senses began to leave me as his limbs grew numb and his eyes grew dull as I continued to detach myself. My host gagged as he coughed up more and more of my essence. I sighed, apparently even in death I could not escape from certain problems. When I had been alive I had been a large man. Now, I certainly had the spirit to match, just not always the body to go along with it. This vessel had been fairly accommodating, if a bit of a squeeze. The remnants of my ghostly belly bubbled up from my host’s, leaving only my tail to wiggle around in his throat. Just another oddity of being a ghost, though I supposed there was little need for legs if one could just as easily hover over the ground. I rubbed my plump hands together in anticipation. But I couldn’t leave just yet. I clutched on to my hefty paunch, digging in to grab handfuls of ectoplasm. Turning to my host with a loving look, I gently laid it over his face. It jiggled there momentarily, before sinking through his nose, his eyes, and soon it was pouring through every available orifice, heading straight for his brain. I felt the welcome return of his sight, his touch, his taste, though they were different now, faded in a way. No matter, so long as I still retained control, still dictated every breath he took, every step he made. Having finished the necessary preparations, I turned back to the old man. His shallow breaths indicated he was still under, still waiting but close, too close to consciousness. I smiled, a fighter, he would serve me well. I rubbed my hands together once again, straightening them out as far as they would go. Using my hosts’s mouth as a makeshift springboard, I lifted myself into the air, and dove straight into the old man’s open jaw.

Oh, what a RUSH. I could feel him, his spirit as it thrashed away, aware of this foreign presence, this threat to itself. I tunneled further, deeper still, pushing past the walls of red and white to the soft ethereal core. In one smooth motion, I grabbed onto it as I swung myself upright using the momentum I had gained, and pressed my own into it. It shuddered as it felt the unwelcome intrusion, the way it unwillingly yielded to take in mine, the way it could do nothing but accept me.

I opened my eyes, feeling a brand new set of senses fill my consciousness, swamping me with new information. I closed my eyes as I drank it all in, gluttonously sucking in as much as I could. More, more, more. I choked, opening my eyes involuntarily as I huffed a few short pants. Looking at me lovingly... was me. Even now as I looked at him, I could also see him looking at me through his eyes. We smiled in unison, lips curling up perfectly in sync. I smirked and he did as well. I laughed, and the bass of our voices layered effortlessly with each other, bouncing around the room. Together, we began to unbutton our shirts, unbuckle our belts. As the clothes slipped off our bodies we tumbled onto the nearby couch, staring at each other, scarcely breathing as we gazed at each other’s beauty. As the old man, I laid down first, slowly curling my back while still ensuring I could see my son. As my son, I brought my hairy body atop my father’s. We shivered, feeling the way our fur, our skin, brushed against each other, every contact a small jolt of pleasure. We looked at each other, entranced. It was understood what was to be done, no words needed to be said.

---

I stepped out of the room as the old man. Strong as these bodies were, the rapid sequence of activity had drained the younger. It was time for me to rest, but also time for me to continue my day afresh, with the adrenaline rush of a new host. I stepped out into the living room to see a young man sitting on the couch, staring at his phone. He looked up as I approached.

“Grandpa! You’re here!” He said, surprised. I closed my eyes from the abrupt rush as he addressed me, so trusting, so sincere.

“Sorry son,” I rumbled, “didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Had some matters to discuss with your dad.”

“Oh.” His face fell as he cast his eyes downwards. I frowned but stayed silent, sensing he wanted to say something.

“About dad... he’s been acting kind of weird lately. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” Ah, so that was the problem. I patted myself on the back mentally, clearly I was on a streak of good decisions, making all the right moves.

“Don’t you worry about that son, we’ll have plenty of time to talk on the boat. Now let’s go fishing.” I saw him relax as he raised his head to smile at me. He got up from the couch and started to the door. I clapped a giant hand onto his shoulder, turning my head to give him a knowing wink.

[we-are-only-halfway-home93]

Come and Lay the Roses 29- No Room For Innocence- [Ivar x OC]

Summary: Aaline witnesses a blood eagle.

Characters: Ivar x OC, Bjorn x Torvi, Ubbe x Margrethe, Hvitserk x Thora, Sigurd x OC, Ragnar, Lagertha 

Warnings: arranged marriage, violence, sex, torture, language, mentions of rape/sexual assault

Word Count: 2544

Ch. 28

AN: I’d like to apologize for how long it’s taken me to update. I have no excuses. All I can say is life. 

It took me a while to get the blood eagle scene done. I wasn’t sure how I wanted that to look for a while. I think it turned out okay. I listened to Heimta Thurs by Wardruna the whole time I wrote it to put me in the right head space. 

I’d like to thank everyone who’s stuck with me for this long. I sincerely appreciate you.

“Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.” ~ Samuel Johnson

Aaline heaved as her body expelled what little she’d eaten that day. Her stomach had been in knots all day and it finally rebelled against her. She heaved again as a timid knock sounded on the door. “What?” she croaked. 

Torvi pushed the door open with care and peeked around the frame. She winced when Aaline gagged again, nothing coming up except bile and saliva. 

She pushed her way into the room and shut the door behind her, turning the lock and leaning against it. “Are you alright?” She asked. 

Aaline rolled her eyes up to her sister-in-law and bit back the snarky comment she so badly wanted to express. She clenched her eyes shut as her stomach seized but was thankful when nothing came up. 

“I’m fine.”

“I vomited when I saw my first blood eagle.” Torvi shared. Aaline slowly sat back, her hands still clutching the rim of the toilet. Her nausea had dissipated but her stomach still felt weak. 

“I hid behind the shed. I swore everything I’d eaten in the last week came out of me that night.” Aaline turned her head and stared at Torvi. She had a faraway look in her eyes and a sad smile on her face. 

“Did you love him?” Aaline asked. She remembered that Björn was Torvi's third husband and that her first had been blood eagled by Ragnar after he tried to kill Aslaug and their children. Ivar hadn’t even been born yet and Björn was just a teenager. 

Torvi blinked and turned her head. She smiled fully at Aaline and shook her head. “No. I thought I did but I was young. I didn’t know what love was. The love I had for him was one of companionship and youth. I did not love him like a wife should.”

Aaline nodded, processing. “And you married the son of his executioner.” She looked up when Torvi laughed. 

“I didn’t blame Björn. I didn’t even blame Ragnar. I was angry, yes, but my husband broke our laws, committed crimes. He was going to die no matter what.” Torvi shrugged and stepped deeper into the bathroom.

“Ivar will understand if you are unwell. This is a difficult experience.” Aaline shook her head. 

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ve been feeling under the weather for the last few days. It’s probably just a stomach bug.” Aaline made to stand. Torvi helped her up and studied her closely. Aaline closed the lid of the toilet and flushed, wincing at the reminder of her episode. 

“How long have you been feeling poorly?” Torvi asked. Aaline shrugged, washing her hands. 

“I’m not sure. A few days at least.”

“Just nausea or something else?” Aaline sighed and dried her hands, trying to be patient. 

“Mostly nausea. A few headaches,  some stomach cramps. I’m tired all the time. Really, Torvi, I’m fine. It’s just a stomach bug.” 

She tossed the towel down onto the counter and pulled the door open. “Can we please go? Ivar’s supposed to help me get ready.” Torvi looked at her, her gaze skeptical. She nodded once and preceded Aaline out of the bathroom. Aaline shook her head at Torvi’s behavior and followed her, closing the door behind her.

.

“It’s a preposterous plan. I don’t even know how you talked me into it.” 

“It’s because you know I’m right.” 

Ecbert looked up with sharp eyes at the young woman before him. She held her head high and carried an air of superiority around her. Ecbert didn’t know if she was stupid or just insane. Perhaps a bit of both. 

Ecbert himself wondered where his own sanity had gone to consider this plan. It wasn’t even a good one and he truly didn’t even know its purpose. 

 “I don’t see how this plan will weaken Ragnar.”

The woman scoffed and he narrowed his eyes. “Ivar will go mad with grief and anger. Ragnar won’t be able to control him thus losing control of his men. He’ll be overthrown and you’ll be able to swoop in and take control of his empire.”

The plan was shaky at best. It all hinged on a small group of men being able to go unnoticed by Ragnar Lothbrok’s very observant sons. Even then they weren’t guaranteed a win right away. The women before him needed to stay out of it personally and Ecbert wasn’t sure if she was capable. 

“You remember what we discussed.” He said. 

She narrowed her eyes and sat up straighter almost like she was trying to look intimidating. “I remember.” 

Ecbert arched one perfect brow and waited, hoping she’d take his cue. She did and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not to approach anyone in the Lothbrok family.” She admitted through clenched teeth. 

Ecbert sat back only marginally satisfied. 

“Good.” He waved a hand at her, dismissing her and she rose with anger. Ecbert didn’t flinch when she slammed through the double doors. He was too engrossed in calculating everything that could go wrong with their plan.

.

It was late, almost midnight and Ivar was helping Aaline into the traditional white outfit worn during a blood eagle. Aaline knew very little about the traditions involved in a ritualistic murder. She knew it was a big deal. Their family was taking revenge on the man who murdered Sigurd. 

The blood eagle was a sacrifice to Odin. Aelle would serve as both a warning and a blessing. His death would bless their retribution, keeping them safe from further harm. It would also warn others intent on wronging them. His death would tell them what would happen to anyone who tried to take them down.

White was worn to show the blood that was spilled. It was expected for blood to transfer on all spectators and it would symbolize the blessing that Odin brought upon them.

Traditionally, it was expected that the victim remain silent less they be barred entrance into Valhalla. Björn had talked long about how Jarl Borg had taken the whole of his punishment in silence, never making a sound as Ragnar killed him. 

She could see the respect shining clearly in Björn’s eyes. Even though Jarl Borg had tried to murder his brothers and step-mother, Björn had admiration for the man. Aaline was eager to understand why.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts and she looked up. Hvitserk opened the door and nodded once, pushing it further open and leaving them again. It was time.

Ivar settled his hands on her shoulders and stepped around to face her. “It’s not going to be pretty.” She rolled her eyes and looked away but he caught her chin between his fingers and pulled her back to look at him.

“There’s going to be blood, lots of it. He’ll scream and he’ll cry and there’ll be piss and shit along with the blood. Do you think you can handle that?” Ivar’s voice was soft when he spoke but she could hear the hard edge. He still wanted her to back out. He wanted her to sit up here in their room alone while the rest of the family witnessed the execution of the man responsible for their pain. 

She wrapped her hand around Ivar’s wrist and gently pushed it away. “I think you forget who you’re married to.” She said. 

She stepped around him and headed towards the door, turning at the frame to look over her shoulder at him. He was staring at her, his face unreadable. She cocked an eyebrow. He shook his head and followed her out the door.

As they descended the stairs, the light grew dimmer. The shadows on the wall danced. The smell of incense was heavy in the air. A heavy bass resounded in the air and chains rattled against the stone.

 When they turned the final corner into the room, Aaline allowed herself to take in the scene. Ragnar stood in the center of the room on a raised platform. His back was to them and his shoulders flexed as he worked with something on the table before him. Behind him, standing shoulder width apart, were two identical wooden posts with half circle brackets at the top. 

Ivar cupped her elbow and steered her towards the rest of his siblings. The brothers and their wives were standing in a semi-circle around Sibylle whose eyes were glassy.  Aaline didn’t know if it was her tears or the drugs that gave her the appearance. 

Ivar stopped beside Hvitserk and nodded, folding his hands in front of him as they waited. Aaline surveyed the room. Lagertha stood just behind the table that Ragnar was working at. Rollo and Floki stood across from them, Helga next to Floki. Several of Ragnar’s men filled the rest of the room. She and Ivar were the last to arrive.

Ragnar turned to Rollo and Floki and nodded once. The two men retreated behind a door behind Lagertha. The drum beat held steady. 

Rollo and Floki returned with Aelle bound between them. A gag was tied tight in his mouth and his wrists and ankles were hogtied. He was naked from the waist up. Rollo and Floki stepped onto the platform and shoved Aelle to his knees between the wooden posts. 

She couldn’t hear what he was saying to them but Aaline could see his mouth trying to move around the gag. Rollo and Floki ignored him as they tied his wrists to the posts beside him. Tears poured down his face and she felt more than heard Ivar chuckle behind her.

The fires surrounding them were hot and the incense made her drowsy. She felt like she was outside of herself, watching the movement around her with detachment. She hardly felt Ivar’s hands on her shoulders.   

Ragnar turned then to the trembling Aelle and scanned the line of his back with clinical apathy. He placed a hand on Aelle’s shoulder and the man startled. Ragnar stilled him with strong fingers pressed deep into the meat of his shoulder. Ragnar bent low and settled his face next to Aelle’s. 

Aelle’s screams were drowned out by the thumping of the drums and the crackling of the fire. Blood pooled around his knees as Ragnar drew the blade up the center of his back. Ivar’s fingers tightened on her shoulders.

Her eyes were glued to the scene before her. She felt entranced by Ragnar’s work. Ivar brought his chin down to her shoulder and watched with her.

Ragnar drew the knife quickly across Aelle’s shoulders and back, pulling the skin back from the bones. Blood sailed through the air, spattering the spectators with warm drops. 

Aaline inhaled sharply and the scent of copper filled her sinuses. Ivar’s hands trailed down her arms and to her hands. He knotted their fingers together as more blood sliced through the air and painted their faces. 

Ragnar soon replaced his blade with an axe, the blade winking in the firelight. Aelle’s screams had died as shock set in. He wasn’t dead yet. Aaline could see his chest heaving up and down. Blood dripped down his arms and sides as Ragnar moved his flesh as he pleased. 

With a flash, the axe came down and separated ribs from spine. The sound of breaking bone reverberated through the air, over taking the drums. Ragnar hacked at the bones, sending blood flinging through the air. Aaline could feel it settled on her cheeks and fought back the urge to lick her lips.

Ivar did no such thing, leaning close and licking a long stripe up the side of her face, humming at the metallic taste that coated his tongue. Aaline shivered as his breath ghosted over her ear. “I can’t wait to lick his blood off you.” He nipped sharply at her earlobe and she shivered. He was hard as steel against the small of her back.

With his ribs now spread wide away from his body, Aelle died. Aaline watched as Ragnar finished the ritual, slipping his hands inside Aelle’s chest from behind and pulling his lungs from within. He settled the useless organs across Aelle’s still shoulders and stepped back.

He was covered in blood. His bare feet were sticky with it as he stepped around to Aelle’s front. His hands were stained crimson as he, almost reverently, pushed Aelle’s hair back off his forehead. His face and beard were saturated in the life giving fluid as he gazed down at the man who ordered his son dead. 

When Ragnar’s head came up, Rollo and Floki got to work. 

Aelle was to be placed on display outside of Ecbert’s home. He was to serve as a warning to the rest of the Saxons.

Once Rollo and Floki began cutting down Aelle, the rest of the spectators began making their way out of the ceremony room. A bonfire was lit in the backyard and they were to spend the rest of the night celebrating Aelle’s demise and Sigurd’s life. 

Aaline was confident she and Ivar wouldn’t make it to the bonfire. 

Ivar tugged her back the way they’d come with insistent hands. She allowed him to lead her away, her mind still preoccupied with the blood eagle.

As soon as Ivar had their bedroom door shut, she was pressed face first against the wood of the door. She gasped and smacked her palms against the door. 

Ivar already had his hands under her dress and his fingers inside her panties. His groan vibrated against her back and she shuddered when he immediately sank two thick fingers inside her. “You’re soaked.” He whispered brokenly against her ear. 

She moaned and arched her back, pulling his fingers deeper and feeling him hard against her ass. 

“Did it turn you on? Watching a man die?” He rocked his fingers inside of her, pressing his palm against her clit. She pressed her forehead to the door, pressing back against him. She needed more. More pressure, more fingers, more friction. Just more. 

“More.” She moaned. Ivar cursed and withdrew his fingers. She felt him fumbling behind her. Before she had time to take a breath, he was sheathed to the hilt inside her. She yelped, her muscles stretching to accommodate him. 

The sting between her legs quickly subsided when he started moving. His fingers returned between her legs and circled her clit in quick, firm circles. Her knees buckled but he wrapped an arm around her waist and kept them upright. 

Ivar groaned against her neck before sinking his teeth hard into the muscle of her shoulder. Her pussy clenched around him and he groaned, the vibrations against her skin sending goosebumps down her back. 

Her whole body vibrated and her knees began to shake as her orgasm crested inside her. Ivar circled her clit twice more and her orgasm washed over her. She shook against him, her internal muscles squeezing him tight. He wrapped a hand around her throat and grunted, his cock twitching inside her. 

She sagged against the door, her heart pounding and her knees like jello. Ivar licked the side of her neck, moaning at the taste of sweat and blood.

Tags: @dreamlesswonder @youbloodymadgenius  @inforapound  @bcarolinablr @funmadnessandbadassvikings @feyrearcheron-nightcourt @londongal2810 @khiraeth @didiintheblog @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @kingniazx@revolution-starter @jay-bel

[jackfrostsander]

Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday little Robin! Happy birthday to you!

Also available on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33374809

Friday August 20th, 2021

08:43

Robbe slowly woke up… With his eyes still closed his hand looked for the warmth of Sander’s body next to him… “San???” Robbe jumped up as his hand had felt nothing but cold bedsheets. There was no trace of Sander in his bed except for his intoxicating smell that still emanated from the bedsheets. Robbe jumped out of bed, took the first shirt he could find from the floor – Sander’s lightning bolt t-shirt – and went to check the bathroom… Nope, nobody there… Maybe Sander woke up before him and is already having breakfast downstairs?

As Robbe ran into the living room he got the surprise of his life… A large banner hang across the room saying “Happy 18th birthday!”.

As Robbe walked in Sander and his mum started to sing together:

“Long will he live… Long will he live… Long will he live in the gloria! In the gloria! In the gloria! Hieperdepiep hooray!”

Robbe ran towards Sander and jumped into his arms like a hyperexcited little child. Sander nearly lost his balance… But before he even got his feet steady again Robbe was already showering him in kisses. Sander allowed him to indulge and so for the next several minutes they did nothing but exchange kisses and ‘I love you’s’.

Eventually Robbe remembered that his mum was standing there patiently waiting to wish her son a happy birthday too so he reluctantly let go of Sander’s comforting embrace. Robbe turned towards his mother. “Happy birthday Robbe! No mum could be prouder of her son” Charlotte said. “I love you mum” Robbe replied before hugging her. She gave him three birthday kisses and then pulled back while her hands retrieved a gift from behind her back. She gave the box, wrapped in orange gift wrap, to Robbe who eagerly opened it. Inside he found a box of his favourite cookies. “Thanks mum!” Robbe said. “I have something else…” Charlotte added, “But I couldn’t wrap it… I bought you a licence for the video editing software you need for university…”. “Mum… You didn’t need to… OMG, Thank you so much…” Robbe said before hugging her again. The software was not cheap and since the breakup with his dad she had to pay everything from a single income and that meant that it wasn’t always easy… So, as happy as Robbe was with his present, he also was feeling somewhat guilty that his mum had spent so much money on his gift.

“First gift of the day” Sander said while handing a drawing over to Robbe. It depicted Robbe spray painting the garbage truck. A memory of the first time Sander had seen him and had instantly fallen for him… “It’s amazing San! Thank you!” Robbe exclaimed before pulling his boyfriend in for a kiss. “Oooo wait… I am not done yet…” Sander said as he handed Robbe a long rectangular box that was wrapped in Sander's favourite Bowie gift wrap paper. "For me?" Robbe asked surprised. "For who else..." Sander teased. "Thank you San!" Robbe exclaimed as he started to unwrap the box. Inside he found a plain cardboard box. Robbe burned with curiosity for what was hidden inside this box. He opened the box and... "A skateboard!" Robbe blurted out in joy. "Check the bottom side" Sander instructed. Robbe turned the deck over and... Most skateboards have some kind of art decoration on the bottom but this one... This one had been spray painted by his artist... "Sander..." Robbe said with an open mouth as he admired the work of his talented boyfriend. Robbe put the board down, turned towards Sander and pulled his lover in for a kiss. He wrapped his arms around Sander's neck while his lips never departed those of Sander. He could spend the whole day like this... Just being with Sander... Feeling his skin against his own... Feeling those soft lips and warm tongue... Inhaling Sander's mesmerizing smell... Oh, he didn't need anything more to have a perfect birthday...

Then Sander took Robbe to the kitchen where a pile of freshly baked pancakes was waiting for them… There was butter, jam, different sugars, chocolate topping, and whipped cream as complements to the pancakes. Robbe was instantly salivating at the delicious smell. How lucky was he that his boyfriend could cook… Because he didn’t get much further than instant noodles… But Sander could make all sorts of things. Not just croques but also spaghetti with homemade bolognaise sauce, steak frites, witloof with ham in cheese sauce,… and the fresh soup he made for Robbe when he was in bed with a cold. Sander nursed him for days until Robbe felt better again. For sure, Sander’s fresh soup and honey-spiked warm tea had helped to clear his airways.

“Are there any croques with cardamon?” Robbe teased his boyfriend. Sander made a disgusted face upon being remembered of Robbe’s little experiment at the sea earlier this summer… Sander had told him that they would taste awful but Robbe had stubbornly ignored his boyfriend’s advice. When the croque was ready it really did taste badly but Robbe forced himself to take several bites to avoid having to agree with Sander…

Robbe grabbed a pancake from the pile and added whipped cream and chocolate topping to it. Next, he rolled it up into a delicious sweet bite-sized roll from which he took a bite. Hmmmm, heaven… He wanted to share his creation with his boyfriend so he turned towards Sander and fed him another bite from the rolled up pancake. Sander closed his eyes as he enjoyed the food liking the chocolate sauce from his lips with his tongue… Robbe nearly combusted at seeing Sander act like this. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional on Sander’s behalf or if he was oblivious to the effect that his actions had on his boyfriend… Well… knowing Sander he probably was well aware of the fact that he was a massive tease by licking his lips like this…

Robbe couldn’t control himself and before Sander had opened his eyes Robbe’s lips were pressed against his. He tasted the chocolate/whipped cream/pancake taste from Sander’s lips mixed with the black coffee that his boyfriend must have had earlier today… This kiss quickly deepened and Robbe nearly forgot that he was in his mum’s kitchen… Luckily he remembered where he was before things got too far… He pulled back and looked deeply into those emerald eyes of his perfect boyfriend. How lucky he was… He could stare into those eyes all day and not grow tired off it. He was mesmerised by his boyfriend’s beauty… He started to caress Sander’s cheek while whispering “I love you soooo much”. And Sander melted into a puddle in front of him…

11:03

"Come" Sander instructed while extending his hand in Robbe's direction. "Where are we going?" Robbe demanded to know. "Surprise... Come" Sander repeated. Robbe smiled softly. The unpredictable nature of Sander was one of the things he loved the most. He loved the cute and special surprises that Sander regularly planned for him. He knew that with Sander by his side life would never be boring. So, he enthusiastically grabbed Sander's extended hand and allowed himself to be pulled out of his mum's home on the way to whatever adventure Sander had in stall for him...

Once outside Robbe wanted to grab their bikes but Sander stopped him. "Let's walk" Sander suggested. Robbe gave Sander a quick rub on his back before interlocking his hand in Sander's. And so, hand in hand they walked across town... Stopping regularly to take some artistic pictures or inspect some street art...

12:19

Robbe's stomach growled. "Getting hungry?" Sander inquired. "Fainting" Robbe replied. "Well, that's perfect on schedule..." Sander replied earning him a confused look from Robbe. "We're nearly at the restaurant where I reserved a table for us..." Sander clarified. "Not at the hospital, I hope?" Robbe jokingly asked. Sander was confused for a moment until he noticed that they were indeed walking past the hospital. Sander snorted. "Nope, something much better than under-seasoned bland potato puree they serve in hospitals..." Sander replied with a smirk.

Not even a minute later they arrived at Sander's chosen restaurant. Robbe had expected to eat some burgers and fries or pizza... Or maybe a steak frites at a brasserie... However, that was clearly not what Sander had in mind for today… "A one Michelin star restaurant!?" Robbe exclaimed in disbelief. "From the best dessert chef of Belgium" Sander added. "But... That's too expensive..." Robbe said. "Nothing is too expensive for you..." Sander replied before pulling Robbe towards the entrance gate of the restaurant.

"Good afternoon young gentlemen. Do you have a reservation?" the maître d' asked. "Yes, on the name of IJzermans-Driesen" Sander replied. "Ok, let me show you your table" the maître d' said as he guided the two boys to a lovely table at the terrace outside of the restaurant. It was the ideal weather to eat outside. Not too cold and also not oppressively warm… Just the perfect mild Belgian summer weather with a slight breeze. Only rain could be a problem according to the weather forecast but so far it had remained dry and the sky looked clear...

The maître d' handed the boys the menu cards and asked if he could already bring an aperitif. "Two glasses of champagne" Sander immediately replied. "Champagne?" Robbe said in disbelief. "It's your birthday sweetie" Sander said. Robbe's worries about Sander's spending become even worse when he opened up the menu card. "Any idea what you would like?" Sander asked. "Maybe just the brioche wagyu" Robbe suggested. "Sweetie, its fine. Ignore the prices..." Sander said, "What do you think of the tacos as a starter?". "Tacos... That's sounds nice" Robbe said. "Ok, and what do you think about sea bass for a main?" Sander suggested. Robbe quickly checked Sander's suggestion... 49.50 euro for the bass... Robbe felt so uncomfortable to have Sander spend that much money on him... Sander must have noticed... "Sweetie... You only once become 18... Just relax and enjoy... Sometimes one just should stop thinking about things and just enjoy the special moments..." Sander said. Robbe smiled. "You're special enough..." Robbe said, "I don't need fancy food... Just having you by my side...". "You're such a romantic..." Sander teased.

13:55

After a mind-blowing starter and an exquisite main dish the boys were waiting for dessert when... The chef of the restaurant, Robbe recognized him from his TV-show that his mother watches, walks out with two plates and comes over to them. He places a desert plate in front of Robbe with in chocolate glace "Happy 18th birthday" piped on it. "Happy birthday young man" the chef says, "I hope you have enjoyed your lunch?". "It was outstanding! A true delight for the palate!" Robbe complimented the chef. "Thank you. Enjoy your desert and the rest of your birthday" the chef said before returning to the kitchen.

14:22

After an astonishing gastronomic lunch the boys decided to use the restrooms before leaving the restaurant. As they walked in Robbe observed that they were alone there so in an impulse he changed plans and pushed Sander against the wall… Before his head could hit the wall Robbe inserted his hand. He pushed his body impossibly close to Sander’s and they started to kiss passionately… Robbe moaned… His body burning with desire… No matter how close their bodies were it would never be close enough for Robbe… Sander… Sander… Sander… was the only thing Robbe could think about. He was in a public space… He shouldn’t take things too far… But trying to constrain himself was soooo difficult… It felt like his whole body was screaming for Sander… He was slowly losing the battle that was going on in his mind… Until… Footsteps… Someone was approaching the door… Robbe quickly withdrew and went to the sink to wash his hands while Sander went to use the restroom…

21:15

"Come" Sander said as he pulled Robbe towards what looked like an abandoned factory. "San, what are you doing?" Robbe objected as Sander pulled him past the fence. He had no intention of getting arrested for trespassing on his birthday... But Sander didn’t seem to care. "Come..." Sander instructed again. He pulled Robbe towards the door and opened the door…

“Surprise!” dozens of voices shouted. Everyone was there… The broerrrs, his parents, Sander’s parents, his aunt, his grandparents, Zoë, Senne, Milan, Yasmina,… “Third surprise” Sander beamed.

The old factory was in fact a party venue and it had been completely decorated… All his family and friends were standing around cocktail tables covered in black spandex. The sealing was covered in various coloured spots, party lasers and mirror balls. There was a bar, dance floor and music installation. Hanging on the wall in front of him was “18” spelled out in silver Mylar balloons surrounded by floating black and white balloons. But nothing could have prepared Robbe, and also most of the people present, for what was coming next…

21:21

Suddenly, Sander got down on his one knee. In the background Bowie’s Wedding song started to play… “Robbe IJzermans… My angel… The love of my life… My soulmate… The sun who illuminates my existence… Would you do me the honour of becoming my husband?” Sander asked while he presented Robbe with a flat silver, satin-finish, comfort-fit, 7 mm wide engagement ring that had a lightning bolt engraved in it. It was a truly stunning ring, clearly chosen by someone with impeccable artistic taste…

Robbe was speechless… This wasn’t happening… Did Sander really just asked him to marry him??? Robbe’s heart skipped a beat or two and his brain went into a mild epileptic seizure as he was trying to comprehend what was happening… “Marry… you…” Robbe finally stuttered in a questioning tone. “Yes, I want to marry you” Sander replied.

Robbe was silent for another brief moment before he spoke: “On one condition…”. This must have taken Sander by surprise as he instantly gave Robbe a confused look. Robbe bended down and whispered in his ear: “I am not marrying nude”. Sander snorted at Robbe’s joke but also blushed a bit when he remembered the conversation from almost 2 years ago... “Condition accepted!” Sander loudly proclaimed as he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and started to kiss him. Both boys were in tears now. Happy tears.

The beginning of their relationship had been a bit chaotic and Robbe struggled with his internalized homophobia and Sander with the demons in his head and the doubts about if Robbe would stay with him when all aspects of him got revealed… However, it didn’t took Robbe more than two months after first meeting Sander to be completely convinced that this was the boy he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Sander made him feel things that he didn’t even know one could feel… And those feelings have never changed… Every time Sander touches or kisses him still feels as special as that first time… Every single time Robbe gets butterflies in his stomach, chills though his spine, and Chernobyl in his head… A never ending honeymoon phase…

Their family and friends started to applaud. After making out for a few minutes the awkward position started to become uncomfortable enough to force them to stop kissing and get up. Sander quickly placed the ring on Robbe’s finger before pulling him in for more kisses.

After a few minutes of pure bliss… Making out with Sander… The boys finally broke apart ready to accept the birthday and engagement wishes from their family and friends. But first, Sander snapped a picture of his fiancée’s hand with the ring and uploaded it on his Instagram. As caption he added a fragment from Bowie’s wedding song:

I believe in magic

Angel for life

Robbe got a message from his mum. It was several pics that she had taken of Sander proposing to him. Robbe quickly looked through the pics and decided upon the best one. He was going to upload this on his Instagram to show the world that Sander was his. Robbe isn’t the boasting type of person but he can’t help to feel soooo lucky and proud to say that Sander is his and the whole world can know it. Sander is his… Even after all this time this thought was almost surreal to Robbe. Why did the universe grant him such happiness? “Nowhere as happy as we are…” Robbe remembered Sander’s words. How true this statement was…

"But where will we live?" Robbe asked Sander. "You and Sander can keep living with me... If you want at least... Until after you finish university and have the means to find a place of your own..." Charlotte interrupted. "I have the best mum and boyfriend in the whole world!" Robbe exclaimed while jumping around his mum's neck like the baby koala he is. "Fiancée" Sander corrected him earning him a playful push from Robbe back.

In the meantime Sander’s parents had walked towards them… “Happy birthday Robbe and welcome in the family” Isabelle said. “Thank you” Robbe said as he hugged Sander’s mum. “You’re the best son-in-law that any mother could imagine… And know that you and Sander can always count on us if you need our help” she said. Robbe smiled: “Thank you so much”. He felt Sander’s father’s hand on his shoulder so he let loose of Isabelle and turned toward him. “Happy birthday Robbe!” Charles said. “Thank you” Robbe said with a smile. “We have something for you that you will soon need…” Charles said as he handed over a box. Robbe opened the box and found… “A Nikon Z6 II!!!” Robbe exclaimed. Sander’s parents were quite well-to-do but that was exuberant even by their standards… “I… I… can’t…” Robbe stuttered. “We’ve only got one future son-in-law… And you deserve it Robbe. You really do. Look at Sander. We’ve never seen him this happy in his whole life. And I know you will make all of us proud with your movies” Charles said. Robbe blinked away a tear. Not only did he have the best boyfriend but also the best parents-in-law that anyone could wish for… Indeed, Sander’s parents had always been there for him and Sander… From the first day they had welcomed him with open arms.

Suddenly his dad showed up and grabbing him by the shoulder he lead Robbe a meter or two away from Sander and his parents. “Happy birthday son and congratulations with your engagement” Louis said. “Thanks dad!” Robbe replied. His dad took a little box from his pocket and gave it to him. Robbe unwrapped it… “A new phone!” Robbe exclaimed. “Your current one is quite beaten up… So, I think you can use this…” his dad explained. “Yes! Thank you dad!” Robbe smiled. Robbe was about to turn around when his dad hold him by the shoulder. “You know… I mean… You’re still young… You don’t have to rush into things…” Louis started. “Dad, what are you saying?” Robbe asked in a slight fierce tone as he didn’t like where his dad was going. “Your mum and I also got married at young age…” Louis added. Robbe didn’t like this conversation at all. He would like to tell his dad what he thinks about the fact that he cheated on his mum and then left her. But this was a happy day and he was not going to let his dad ruin it. So, he just turned around without saying something. “Robbe…” his dad yelled but Robbe decided to ignore him.

He didn’t get far before Sander appeared next to him. He must have noticed that Robbe was irritated after that short talk with his dad. His boyfriend is so observant. “Nothing, I am fine San” Robbe replied. Sander clearly didn’t believe it as he gave Robbe a ‘tell me what’s wrong’ look. “Just my dad… He’s annoying again… But I am not going to let him ruin the happy mood” Robbe said. He gave Sander a smile to let him know that he was truly fine. Sander didn’t seem fully reassured yet so Robbe added: “Nowhere as happy as we are”. This sentence had since become one of the reoccurring lines that they used to profess their love to each other…

Robbe and Sander spend the next half an hour going around to everyone to receive Robbe’s birthday wishes and presents and their engagement wishes. Zoë gave him a new beanie. Jens gave him two presents. One from himself and one in name of Jana who was back in New York. And then there was Noor… She had given him a lightning bolt earing. Robbe seriously doubted he would get the opportunity to wear it as his boyfriend would probably steal it… After all, Sander got his right ear pierced recently…

22:02

“DJ Sobbe!” Jens yelled. “Sobbe! Sobbe! Sobbe!” everyone started to chant as the boys made their way to the music installation. Robbe grabbed the mic and yelled: “Who’s in for a partyyyyy!” while Sander got the first song playing. Moyo came over and handed the lovers two beers. “Cheers!” Robbe said as he clinked his bottle against Moyo’s. “The first broerrr to get married…” Moyo said, “I am focking proud of you!”. Robbe beamed.

02:18

The party had ended about twenty minutes ago and Robbe at first thought that Sander was walking him home but he soon noticed that they were heading in a different direction… Now, they were walking down the ‘Keizersstraat’. “Could it be?” Robbe started to wonder. And of course… They halted in front of THEIR hotel. “Penthouse suite for the night? Large bed and nobody to interrupt us…” Sander asked. “Sander…” Robbe said in disbelief. There didn’t seem to come an end to the surprises that Sander had in stall for him… “Shall we repeat that night?” Sander asked. Robbe beamed. “I promise I won’t run away this time” he added. “You better don’t or I shackle you to the bed…” Robbe teased. “Ooooo… I like your thinking…” Sander replied with a smirk. Most often Sander tended to dominate in bed but he also loved to occasionally give complete control to Robbe… “Be careful what you wish for…” Robbe continued to tease.

[millie-ionaire05]

Soul Sucking

Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Incubus Jimin ☯ Fantasy AU ☯ Human Reader

Summary: A dull night at the club has Jimin frustrated and about to leave to find a more lively one. That is, until you walk in. Every part of him is quivering with excitement at the prospect of sucking you dry, but you’re going to be a tad bit harder than other girls he’s tried to consume. Harder, but so much more fulfilling.

Word Count: 5,806

Rating/Warning: M for Mature (+18), Explicit; pwp (honestly it’s less plot than I want to credit) female reader, exhibitionism? (he fingers you in the uber….I’m not sorry lol), fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral (reader receiving), big dick Jimin, unprotected sex (wrap the schlong before you sit on the dong), squirting, creampie, one night stand

Author’s Note: Well...this came out of nowhere. I...I am honestly frazzled after writing this. Do other writers get flustered by their own writing? Or is it just me? Also, thanks to the beautiful Viola (@ladyartemesia) for showing me the tools to make my own banner. It’s nowhere near as amazing as the ones she creates, but I’m still a little proud of it. After the emotional week I’ve had, finally posting this makes me super happy. I hope you guys like it. Stay safe, and healthy, and happy!

P.s. also a huge shoutout to my soul sister (@jin-the-middle) for letting me ugly cry to you about everything that went on. I don’t know where I’d be in life without you. I love you. 

   Jimin can’t help the scowl that claims his lips, his tongue pressing into the top of his mouth in an attempt to prevent the stench of the woman next to him from hitting his senses. Such easy targets they are, eager and willing to sleep with anything on two legs and a dick in between. He was getting tired of all the easy games, his body desperate for a challenge. He can’t even enjoy the thump of the music as the bass reverberates throughout the dance floor, which usually has his skin tingling and his legs twitching to join the throng of people grinding on each other. Not this time though. He has no interest in the people here tonight, and his feet begin to carry him back across the club towards the exit, at least until he feels the shift in the air. 

   Eyes rising, he senses the most intense energy walking through the entrance, body barely covered in a black two piece, and the most sinful high heels. His body is practically thrumming with excitement, that is, until he sees your face. You look pissed, your energy only increasing in levels that he could start physically seeing, the charged red tendrils appearing like flames as they surround you. His eyes widen as you stay close to another female, your eyes cutting sharp glares at the men who gawk at the both of you, a warning to keep distance. 

   Obviously from your hostility, you’d had no intention of coming to the club on a Friday night. Your energy was encapsulated with solidarity, and with a flick of his tongue against his lips, he can tell you rarely left the comforts of your home. He tries to inconspicuously make his way to a standing table that is behind yours, but he feels the shift in your energy at his presence, and he tactfully heads towards the bar instead.

   He waves his hand at the bartender, not missing the way her eyes widen and her body rushes to fulfill his wishes. He knows he shouldn’t, but he sends her a smirk, and he watches the way her cheeks brighten an embarrassing shade of pink. Internally chuckling to himself, he walks away to his intended spot behind your table, close enough to continue observing you without disturbing your heightened energy. 

   His body is quaking in anticipation as he observes you with who is clearly your friend, their body jumping up and down in place while yours remains still, your head resting on your hand on the table. You try to subtly tap your fingers against your cheek to the beat of the music, the only indication that you were enjoying the tunes as your friend yapped. Parting his lips, he allows your energy to drift towards him, your body tensing immediately. 

   Damn you’re perceptive. 

   He shuts his mouth, allowing what little energy he could get from you to roll against his tongue. You are fucking delectable. His mouth waters further as he tries to savor your taste, his cock twitching in his leather pants, begging for more. His mind runs with all possible scenarios that he could use to get closer to you, and he’s ready to make his move….until another man walks up to your table just as your friend walks away towards the dance floor. 

   Tsking at the filthy skeeze that attempts to talk to you, Jimin decides to wait, leaning forward against his table so he can catch what is being said.

   “So, do you come here often?” the man asks, leaning closer to you. 

   Jimin’s lips tighten to a thin line, at first to prevent his annoyance from coming forth, but then to stop the laugh that’s trying to bubble its way out.

   “No,” you answer flatly, not even glancing at the guy as you blatantly shift out of his presence. 

   The guy doesn’t take the hint and just tries to lean closer. “No wonder I don’t recognize you.” 

   Jimin’s eyes curl in amusement as you scoff at the guy, your gaze finally moving. 

   “You look sexy in that. Wanna dance?” the man enthusiastically proposes, his eyes clearly not on your face. 

   “Does that line work on other girls?” You retort back, snapping your fingers in his face. “My face is up here asshole. Go use that lame ass pickup on some other sap in this club, ‘cause I’m not interested.”

   The man’s face morphs into one of anger, and Jimin enjoys the way you tilt your head, as if to taunt the man by silently saying ‘what are you gonna do about it?’

   The guy doesn’t bother wasting more time making advances, just sulks away to a corner of the club, his eyes scoping out someone else to talk to. Jimin has the biggest urge to clap at your performance, but he has a feeling you won’t appreciate knowing he had been listening. Instead, he decides on a new plan, one that has a ninety-seven percent chance of working on you. It was still that three percent chance that has him worried. Well, only slightly.

   Walking around his table with his drink in hand, he casually walks towards you, eyeing the couple to his left. If he times it right, they will bump him in three…two...one. Sure enough the couple in mid-dance bump him, which forces him to collide with your body. He doesn’t miss the way your face curls in anger, and he schools his features to look shocked, his eyes wide. He turns to the couple that is looking at him, apologizing to him for bumping him, and he quickly turns to you and apologizes as well. 

   He watches the way your eyebrows come together in uncertainty, confused on whether you should stay angry, or acquiesce to the accident. He realizes you’ve decided on the latter when your lips set into a thin line. 

   “I truly am sorry,” he repeats, allowing his gaze to lower to the drink in his hands. 

   “It’s fine,” you sigh out, allowing your head to once again rest against your hand. Raising his gaze, he purposefully meets your eyes, and his stomach tingles at the way your lips part. He lets a friendly smile curl his lips, suppressing his deepest urges to throw you on the table and eat you out. 

   “You look like you’re having fun,” Jimin states in a teasing tone, smiling when your eyes go wide with mock surprise. 

   “Oh really?” you exaggerate your emphasis, lifting your head to free your hand and grab for your drink which is still full. “So much fun.”

   He giggles, allowing his eyes to squint at you. Your energy is all over the place, his tongue begging to come out to taste some more, but he forcefully keeps it pressed against the top of his mouth. He shifts his feet to simulate hesitation, his mouth curling down into a frown. 

   “Well...I guess I’ll leave you to it,” he says low enough for you to hear, his eyes picking up your surprise at his demeanor, which is clearly more considerate than any of the other patrons in the club. You just didn’t know it’s for a different reason.

   “It’s just…,” you start, stopping him in his movement of walking away, and he practically has to bite on his tongue to keep the smile from twisting up his lips. “My friend...she wanted to come.”

   Jimin turns to you again, his eyebrows coming together to show his confusion on how that was a logical explanation. His eyes narrow to the pink tinging your cheeks as you take another sip of your drink, your eyes more focused on your friend on the dance floor. He waits patiently for you to continue, not wanting to push too quickly, because he knew you would run. It was all in the way your energy twisted, warning him not to make any sudden movements. 

   “She wanted to make her ex jealous,” you continue, your finger pointing to a man on the edge of the dance floor eyeing your friend. Jimin’s gaze moves to the man before he nods his head slowly. “So, here I am. A good best friend, here to make sure everything goes to plan.”

   “But you don’t want to be here,” Jimin says, more a statement than a question, but you still shake your head. 

   “Nope,” you confirm, sighing heavily. 

   Jimin takes a moment to swipe his tongue against his lips, trying to get another taste of you before deciding how to proceed. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes watch him, and then he’s using his teeth to worry on his bottom lip, morphing his expression to one of care. 

   “So you have to watch her all night?” he asks, his eyebrows coming together in concern. “That doesn’t seem very fair.”

   You chuckle at his statement, a humorless chuckle and something flashes across your eyes that he doesn’t quite understand. “No, as soon as they disappear together I’ll be able to go home.”

   From the way your eyes shift nervously, he can tell you are worried if you’d shared too much information. Changing tactics, he schools his expression to one of innocence, briefly meeting your eyes before looking away.

   “If you want, I can keep you company?”

   Silence follows as your energy wavers, clearly trying to warn you of his actions, but you seem unsure. 

   “Ah, sorry,” he purposely begins to ramble, taking small steps away from you. “It was a dumb idea. I just figured it would help pass the time, and maybe stop anyone else from trying to come up to yo-”

   “Sure,” you say, giving him a small smile as his face morphs to one of shock. He almost shivers at the laugh that escapes your lips. “Don’t look so shocked.”

   He chuckles, watching as you scoot over to give him space to set his still untouched drink down onto the table. He had his ticket in. Now to keep you in his grasp. 

   “So, what brings you here?” you question, looking at him pointedly from above the rim of your glass as you drink.

   He laughs, giddy at the way you blanch before your cheeks are filling with color. He fiddles with his own drink on the table, turning the glass slowly and avoiding your gaze. 

   “I was actually about to leave before bumping into you,” he states, shrugging when you give him a confused look. “I wasn’t having much fun.”

   You nod your head slowly, clearly able to understand him. Your eyes move to your friend on the dance floor, your eyebrows rising at the sight. He turns to look, seeing that your friend had finally convinced her ex to join her, their bodies practically one as they grind against each other. 

   “Looks like your night may be over soon,” he states, giving you a smile as his mind races. Clearly he’d have to up his efforts if he hoped to get you in his grasp tonight. 

   “Thank god,” you laugh, your eyes twinkling at him. 

   He forces his eyes to widen, as if taken aback by your beauty, though he didn’t have to try very hard. Your energy just emphasizes your beauty, and his cock starts to stiffen. To simulate nerves, he accidentally spills his drink on the table, his hands fluttering in worry. 

   “Oh shit. I’m so sorry,” he starts, but is silenced when your hand rises. 

   “No harm, no foul,” you voice, grabbing some napkins from a nearby table. 

   He reaches for the napkins in your hands, mumbling that it was his fault and he would clean it, but he stops moving when your hands meet and he sees you shiver. He knows it's because of the effect he has on you, just like with any other girl, but you’re something different. You’re a harder feat. 

   “Are you okay?” he probes, grabbing hold of the napkins and slipping them from your fingers, giving your body a chance to relax at the loss of contact. 

   “Y-yeah,” you stutter, clearing your throat. 

   The shift in your bearings is discernible, letting him know he could move a bit faster in his advancements. His tongue tingles as he swipes it against his lips, his eyes moving to see your own tongue running along your lips, mimicking his actions. Your cheeks were pink once again, and your energy was swaying towards him, silently gesturing for him to make his move. 

   “I didn’t mean to spill the drink,” he starts, causing you to jump in your spot, but he pretends he didn’t see it. “I was just in awe at how beautiful you are.”

   You snort at his words, a giggle bubbling from your lips as you move the cups out of the way so he can wipe down the table. He smiles, finishing the task quickly before looking at you again. 

   “I’m serious,” he says, licking his lips again. 

   You copy him once again, your eyes trained on his lips before fluttering up to his eyes. You both remain there, staring at each other, gradually closing the space between your bodies. His fingers twitch, and he takes a gamble by brushing a loose strand of hair to behind your ear, his cock twitching at the hitch in your breath. He isn’t sure he can wait much longer. 

   “Hmmm,” you hum, obviously trying to find something to say to diffuse the growing atmosphere between you two. “What’s your name?”

   He’s surprised at the question, intending to give you one of the many false names he throws around, but for some reason that’s not what slips out. 

   “Jimin.” 

   “Jimin,” you repeat, and he almost groans. 

   It sounds so beautifully wicked on your lips, his cock immediately at half mast and begging to be touched. He shifts in his spot, hoping to relieve some of the pressure.

   “And what’s your name, beautiful?” he questions, leaning closer so that his parted lips allow your energy to flow towards him. 

   You murmur your name, your body naturally swaying towards him. Suddenly your lips are connecting to his, your energy quivering as he caresses up your arms, his hands stopping at the back of your neck. Your lips are so soft against him, his tongue coming out in silent query, and you comply willingly. A moan so sweet escapes you, your fingers gripping the lapels of his blue jacket, clearly desperate to bring him closer. 

   He would have had no issue taking you there in the club, amongst the crowd of people, but he has so much in mind to do to you. Reluctantly he pulls his lips away from yours, meeting your lust filled eyes. He smirks at your whine, your fingers tightening against his jacket. He moves to kiss along your cheek until he makes it to your ear, allowing his breath to make you shiver in his grasp. 

   “Shall I take you home?” he whispers, his teeth coming out to nibble at the edge of your ear. 

   “Please,” you beg.

   He leans away from you, moving his hands to cup your cheeks, his eyes piercing into yours. You still in his grasp, clearly under his influence and waiting for anything he might ask.

   “Did you drive here?” he asks, smiling when you shake your head. “Call an Uber.”

   You do as he says, reaching for your phone and pulling up the app, typing your address before paying. He keeps his hand on you, maintaining the physical contact to ensure you stay within his influence. When you’re done, you look up at him, eyes wide in search of being praised. He smiles, his hand moving to caress your cheek, and he watches you lean into it. Moving swiftly, he grabs your purse that rests on the table, his free hand grabbing your own and leading you towards the exit. 

   “How much longer beautiful?” 

   You look down at your phone, allowing him to guide you out of the club. “They’re here.”

   He smirks, pushing you both past the crowd of people outside waiting to come in. You point to the car that’s parked across the street, and your bodies hurriedly shuffle towards it. He opens the door, allowing you to get in first, and for a moment he loses contact with your body. When he finally sits inside the car, he notices your dazed look as you watch him, the fog in your mind trying to unravel. He swiftly places his hand on your exposed thigh, the hem of your two piece having risen up and exposing more skin. His eye twitches at the sight. 

   “Buckled up?” the driver questions, breaking him out of his yearning. 

   He turns towards the woman in the driver's seat, silently thanking anyone above that the driver is female. His tongue snakes out to lick his lips, and instantly senses the weak energy of the driver, clearly exhausted from a long day. Smirking at how easy it would be, he moves his free hand until it makes contact with the woman, the woman’s eyes meeting his in the rearview mirror. 

   “Don’t worry about our seatbelts, love. Just make sure you drive us safely, and be sure not to look back here.”

   He waits for her to nod her head, her fingers moving to the gear shift and putting it in drive. Content with the situation, he shifts his attention back to you, his fingers squeezing your thigh. He allows a bit of the haze to leave you, just so that he can get you to comprehend what will be happening. 

   “Alright, beautiful, come here,” he motions to his lap, adjusting himself so that he’s sitting in the middle seat. 

   You obey him, moving to sit in his lap and face him, but he quickly adjusts you so that you’re facing the windshield. His hands cup behind your knees, spreading you until your legs rest just outside of his. He purposefully leans further into the seat, spreading his legs which, inevitably, spreads yours. His fingers slide across your exposed thigh before coming to the edge of your hem, his hands gripping the fabric and shoving up. A gasp escapes your mouth, your eyes moving to the driver to see if they’re watching. 

   “Don’t worry about her, beautiful,” he soothes, his fingers moving to the apex between your legs. “She won’t be watching...unless you want her to?”

   As he finishes his question, his fingers skim against your panty covered clit, causing you to shiver. Your thighs tense and your hands turn to fists, clearly unsure of what to do with them. He moves to your hands, guiding them until each is resting against the headrest of the driver’s seat and passenger seat, and he watches as your knuckles turn white. Chuckling to himself, he continues on his journey to between your thighs, his nostrils flaring as your scent begins to overwhelm him. 

   “Do you like that idea?” he coos, playing with you from the outside of your panties, the tips of his fingers barely making contact. “Do you want her to watch as I make you come?”

   Your body trembles above him as he pulls your panties to the side, his fingers going straight to your soaked core. 

   “Answer me beautiful,” he commands, kissing on the exposed flesh of your arm as he shifts himself, allowing his face to peer from the side of your body. 

   “N-no.”

   “No?” he muses, the tips of his fingers swirling in your wetness. “Your body is telling me otherwise, baby. Are you sure you don’t want her to watch?”

   He hears your answer catch in the back of your throat, his middle finger having entered your tight hole and expertly curving to hit that spot. It’s moments like this that remind him how much he loves being an incubus, loves the feel of a woman under his touch, and the way your energy begs to be sucked out by him. You’ve clearly been abstinent for quite a while, because you are probably the tightest pussy he’s had in so long. The thought makes him pause. 

   “Baby, how long has it been since someone has pleased you like this?” 

   He pauses in his motions to allow your mind to focus. 

   “A-about 3 years,” you whimper out, trying your hardest to move so that his finger can continue its dance on your g-spot. 

   “Aw, you poor baby,” he purrs, giving you what you want by curling his finger, stroking you. 

   Your moans swiftly fill the car, the smell of you wafting in his nose as your energy slithers between his lips, his taste buds tingling as saliva fills his mouth. You’re beautiful. Every noise that leaves your lips, the way your wetness drips past his fingers and coats his hand, it’s perfection. You have so much sexual energy that for a moment he almost feels overwhelmed, wanting to do everything under the sun to you, but not wanting to rush in the chase. 

   Sticking in a second finger, his cock hardens further at the way your body goes taut, clearly at the edge of an orgasm. He adjusts you in his lap, purposely rubbing your ass against his hardened member, and giving himself better leverage to shove his fingers further inside of you. He feels the uncomfortable shift of his rings as he forces his fingers knuckle deep in you, but he ignores it as he speeds up in his efforts to bring you to a climax. 

   Your back arches away from him, your head thrown back as your muscles tighten, and his mouth instinctively drops open. His head is filled with the heady energy of your potent orgasm, and his patience begins its drop. You taste...heavenly. Your energy quivers in his mouth as he continues fingering you, his senses becoming overwhelmed when his palm rubs against your clit, your cry ringing in his ears. He can feel your walls pulsate on his fingers before remaining tightened as he pushes you towards overstimulation, your hands moving to his arm and squeezing. Even he couldn’t tell if you were silently begging him to stop or continue, and unfiltered curses spring from your mouth when he begins to vigorously roughen his strokes. 

   “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans out, enjoying the squelch of your juices when he adds a third finger. 

   His name falls from your lips as your nails dig into his skin, causing him to groan again. His cock begs to be freed from the confines of his pants, begs to have your lips wrapped around it as he fucks your mouth before fucking your tight hole. At the rate this is going though, he isn’t sure he’ll last long if he lets his cock anywhere near your mouth.

   He relishes in the way your body shakes above his, your thighs trembling as you unsuccessfully try to bring them closer together. He purposely spreads his legs even further, your body trying to fight him, but ultimately you give up, your body curling forward as your forehead rests against the driver’s seat. Jimin shifts his eyes to look out the window, noticing the car is slowing as they approach an apartment complex. 

   “Just come for me one more time, baby,” he coaxes. “Just one more time on my fingers.”

   Adjusting his hand, he removes his palm from your clit and replaces the pressure with the fingers of his free hand, his fingers practically pinching you in a mix of pain and pleasure that he knows will bring you to another intense orgasm. Sure enough, your back bows away from him once again, your walls clenching tighter against his fingers as you orgasm. He ignores the way your walls attempt to still his fingers, helping you ride the second orgasm before he slowly removes his hand. Your body unsteadily heaves air into your lungs, and he brings his soaked hand to his mouth as his free hand strokes the inside of your thigh. 

   A moan rips from his throat the moment your juices touch his tongue, his body thrumming as he tastes you on his fingers and his cock jumps in his pants. 

   “Fuck,” he growls, his free hand stilling to squeeze your thigh as he sucks all of your juices off his fingers. “You taste so fucking good.”

   The car stops in front of your apartment complex, the woman in the driver’s seat remaining compliant in keeping her eyes forward, and Jimin helps you fix your clothes. He allows you to slip out of the car first, unworried about you losing the fogginess he’d instilled in your energy. His eyes fall to the pool of wetness on the floor of the backseat, and he can’t help but feel partial pride and guilt. Pulling a hundred dollar bill from the inside of his coat, he leans forward and strokes the arm of the driver. 

   “Thank you, love,” he murmurs, a smirk curling his lips when she jumps. “Here’s for the trouble.”

   Uninterested in waiting for the driver’s response, he slips out of the car and closes the door, eagerly grabbing your hand. 

   “Lead the way, beautiful.”

   Your feet earnestly speed walk to the elevator, your body practically thrumming with impatience as you guide him to your apartment, a sigh of relief leaving your lips when you finally open your door. He can’t help but chuckle at your actions, your energy ablaze around you, begging him for more. Oh, but he is so ready to give you more. That’s all he wants to do for the rest of the night, and his lips tingle at the prospect of draining you dry. 

   You lead him through the small hallway that opens to the kitchen and living room, and he has to stop you there. He can’t wait anymore, not after getting that teasing taste of you in the uber. His body becomes flush against yours before his hands grab the back of your thighs, skin like velvet as he lifts you onto the kitchen counter, his eyes noticing the shiver that racks your body. 

   Unwilling to waste anymore time, he spreads your thighs, his mouth dropping straight to your panty covered core with a groan. Like fire against his lips, he feels the energy slide past his tongue and down his throat, his body becoming alight with your pleasure. Desperate for more, he immediately pushes your thong aside and connects with your clit.

   Such sweet ecstasy. Like a delicious four course meal, filling him in ways he hadn’t realized he was desperate for. His desperation grows as he feels your fingers slide between his blonde strands, grasping hold of his locks in an attempt to try and bring him closer. At this point, he’s willing to give you whatever you want. If you want the world, he’s willing to serve it to you in any way he can. But his cock weeps for sweet release, and he struggles to remain on track with pleasuring you all night before he gets his fill of you. The more he builds you up, the more he can take from you by the end of the night, but your energy seems almost too full already. It’s quite distracting for him. 

   Leaning away from your core, he alternates between nipping and kissing the soft flesh of your thighs as he pants, frantically trying to keep his thoughts together. His soul sucking instinct rears up in him, annoyed that he was even wanting to think instead of just taking what you are clearly so willing to give. Unable to stop, his hand moves to grip himself through his pants, squeezing in hopes of relieving some pressure. It doesn’t help. 

   “Mmm, baby,” he murmurs, nipping at your flesh a bit harshly as his hunger grows. “I need to feel you come on my tongue. Can you do that for me? Can you come in my mouth?”

   His eyes cast up to see your eager nod, and an aching groan rips from his throat. Practically delirious with the longing to build you up to a breaking point, his mouth connects with your clit once again. You keen above him, spurring him on as his tongue flicks unnaturally quick against your overly sensitive nub, your thighs quivering on each side of his face. He hastily shifts in his spot before shoving two fingers inside of you again, knowingly curling his fingers as if he’s known your body his whole life. 

   His name falls from your lips in rapid tandem with the strokes to your g-spot, and he reflexively thrusts into the air. He isn’t going to make it the whole night, and as soon as this orgasm hits you, he needs your tight hole on his cock. The mere thought has his lips latching onto your clit, suckling you as his strokes inside your wet heat turn harsh, your slick juices echoing in his ears. The thrum of his pulse adds to the perfect orchestra as you begin to fall apart on him. Your hands grip his hair as you greedily ride your high against his mouth, his tongue slurping as much as he can before you begin to whimper.

   Pulling away from you, he lifts your body off the counter and throws you over his shoulder, his hand connecting with the exposed flesh of your ass. He doesn’t even bother wiping his face as he makes his way to the only closed door connecting to the living room, his nostrils flaring when he walks into your room and immediately catches sight of the vibrator on your nightstand. No wonder your energy was so potent, you had been sexually frustrated for so long, clearly unable to feel properly satisfied with just the vibrator. 

   Throwing you onto your bed, the squeak that falls from your lips and the wide eyed look you give him does nothing to calm his futile attempts at remaining composed. He leans forward and removes your two-piece, a growl of an instruction leaving his mouth for you to continue getting naked as he peels off his own clothes. His fingers tremble when his cock springs from the confines of his pants, the weeping head tapping against his abdomen before standing straight at attention, greedy for pleasure. He doesn’t miss the way your mouth turns to an ‘o’ before you lick your lips, your eyes hypnotizingly ogling him, and his cock twitches in response. 

   Your hands unconsciously rise towards him, but he grasps them both in one of his own, climbing onto the bed to forcibly lay you on your back. Your legs instinctively comply in spreading for him to sit himself comfortably between them, your wetness dripping onto your sheets and he can’t look away. He allows his head to tap your clit, wondering if he can make you come from just the action. The idea turns even more appealing when your thighs squeeze his waist, clearly surprised at the sensation. 

   Gritting his teeth, Jimin uses his free hand to grab hold of his dick, swirling his head in your wetness before tapping it on your clit. 

   “Fuck!” you cry out, back bowing off the bed. “Oh god, please.”

   He forces himself to chuckle, but ignores your indirect request in favor of tapping the head of his cock against your puckered nub. The grip of your thighs tightens against him as he continues slapping himself on you, his eyes unwilling to stray from the sight as your juices begin to pour from your hole, your moans becoming more rowdy as tears begin to stream from your eyes. 

   Your energy is so high it practically wraps around his cock, making him wince, but he doesn’t stop. Unsurprised when you suddenly become quiet, he chokes out curses when you squirt, your juices soaking his bottom half as he persistently slaps himself against you. You try with all your might to remove your hands from his grip, but he keeps them locked in place as you cry out your release, chest heaving as you try and catch your breath. 

   “So fucking beautiful, baby,” he gruffly praises, moving so that his dick is in direct line with your pussy. “So fucking perfect. You come so well.”

   He’s sure your walls are clenched tighter than when he’d had his fingers inside of you, because it takes him a solid five minutes to fully sheath himself, your insides trying to push him out as you continue to squirt. He remains still as you continuously leak onto the sheets, unwilling to part from you until he’s sure he has all of you. He watches as your energies swirl, the red tendrils finally able to connect with his blue ones and a whirl of purple flashes behind his eyes. 

   All of your pleasure rushes through him, his cock swelling even further in you, and a whimpered gasp leaves your lips. Uncaring and far from his right mind, he begins a relentless pace inside of you, his eyes fluttering as he watches himself incessantly disappear into your tightness. His thighs tense and he releases your hands, his own moving to the back of your knees before he purposely brings your knees to your chest, the new angle allowing him to hit your spot. The moment he makes contact with it his head rolls back, the shared pleasure he’s experiencing as your energies connect just helps him expertly adjust himself, always knowing the best way to fill you. 

   “Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.”

   Somewhere in his mind he hears you chanting his name, like a prayer in a bible, and it stokes him further. The kindling fire deep within him is now raging, swallowing him whole as he meets your eyes, the galaxy somehow within them. Your pussy is devouring him and he feels it both on his cock and in your energy that you’re about to orgasm again, and he forcefully throws himself forward, connecting his open mouth with yours in an attempt to suck as much of you as he can. 

   The edge is right at the tip of his cock as he gives one last thrust, your energy expending from your body and into his as he spills into your walls. He remains hard within you as he continues sucking all of you into him, the purple galaxy now behind his eyes becoming almost painful as his empty soul fills. He unconsciously thrusts within you, realizing that he’s still painting your walls white. 

   “So perfect. Fucking perfect for me,” he growls out into your jaw, nipping occasionally. 

   He doesn’t know how much time passes before he finally has his fill, his cock softening as he pulls himself out of you, his eyes meeting yours. His eyes widen painfully when he sees your body still surrounded by red energy, albeit it wasn’t as much as before. 

   “Fuck,” he groans, his cock stiffening once again at the sight. 

   So. Fucking. Perfect.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Something more than Dreaming (One Shot)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Warnings: weird dreams. Panic blushing

Word Count: It feels so weird to work in an office which has one-fourth of the workload of your previous office (though this one has ten times the responsibility, coz I am the head here). Anywhooo, I am in a place where there is no booze, no bars, no friends. :/

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The lights are a mixture of all the flavours the Gods can taste on their tongue. The seventy-five coloured rainbow seems like the perfect vibe for the buzz that is setting in on the nerves currently. Bass-boosted music and the cool air running through the building filled with heated, sweat-ridden bodies is driving everyone up on a new high. Wait. Is everyone feeling the same high? Or is it just me? Before that sharp brain of his can evaluate the situation, a new beat is hitting him hard along with the scene he witnesses unfolding in front of him. There in the unruly crowd of drunk and horny strangers, seven hottest aliens dance along with the one person his eyes seem to be searching for. You.

It's not good enough for me, since I been with you It's not gonna work for you, nobody can equal me

Everything else fades away in the background- and he is convincing himself that it is because his senses are heightened in a dark place filled with lunatics- and the only focus is you. That is what he repeats to himself when his eyes land on the movement of your fingers in your hair; that is what he is singing internally when watching you pout and bite your lip makes him gulp.

I'm gonna sip on this drink when I'm fucked up I should know how to pick up

That is what he wants to smack into his head when he feels his body gravitate in your direction while you are swinging your hips in a way he feels should be considered a sin; a sweet seductive sin.

I'm gonna catch the rhythm while she push up against me Ooh, and she tipsy

He keeps denying the internal dialogue of feeling jealous with all these strangers around you all this time, and still cannot get his icy glare off anyone who gets even an inch closer to you. At one point he is happy to see the boys be distracted by the light show that begins at the bar. That is until he sees something he does not like. He does not even realise the eyes he turns with those veins popping out of his arms and neck, neither does he acknowledge the dangerous vibe he gives off that automatically clears his path to you to remove that excuse of a lizard trying to prey on you from your back. With one tight hold on his neck, he is making that pervy lizard writhe and struggle where he stands, making him shed his skin with just the poisonous look in those green eyes. That devilish glare is enough to send that creature running. Once he is convinced there is no sign of any more ill intentions, he turns back to the most unaware person in the world- you, of course- and watches you struggling to twerk.

I had enough convo for 24 I peep'd you from across the room Pretty little body, dancing like GoGo, aye

There is a minute pause when he tries to absorb what exactly it is that you are trying to do and has to question how you are the same person he saw dancing so effortlessly a few seconds ago. Just when his patience runs out, he grabs your hand and takes you away, walking through the dispersing crowd without looking back till he finds the darkest corner in this excuse of a building and pushes you towards it. He can easily assess that with the amount of bao-bao in your system, you won't struggle. And you don't. Your back is against the wall and by the time you can ask him- in between the giggles- what was going on, you find those familiar arms caging you from either side.

But you are unforgettable I need to get you alone Why not?

The bubbles of fun are suddenly popping from the heat your whole body feels at once with Loki's body so close to yours. That perfect mess that is his hair is covering his face while eyes are stuck on you. His brows are struggling to loosen themselves up and his breaths are shallow.

A fucking good time, never hurt nobody I got a little drink but it's not Bacardi

You can tell he has been sweating, for you can smell his very intense natural odour- something you have become quite familiar with on this space trip; the trip that continues to make you conscious about your own body's smell now that you do not have any deodorants to cover it up. You can also tell there is something wrong with the way his veins are popping in his neck- though you do not refrain from admitting to yourself that it kinda makes him look hot. Very hot.

If you loved the girl then I'm so, so sorry I got to give it to her like we in a marriage

You know it is that bao-bao making you so bold but you could swear to all the powers in the universe you want to take a chance. The thought is tempting and fun to fantasise about till you realise that his hands have come close enough to brush against your arms and the mere touch is sending an unfathomable buzz up and down your body. "Loki-" is all you struggle to get out of your dry throat that is thirsting for things it should not be. And to add to these strange waves crashing inside your limbs, he brings his face closer to yours. You know your heart has taken a dive and your lungs are fluttering with that sweet scent of alcohol that brushes on your lips with his sigh. So close is his face that you can spot every single cell of flawlessness on his skin. Is this really happening?

Oh, like we in a hurry No, no I won't tell nobody

It feels like he can hear your thoughts for his hand comes to pick those sweaty stray strands of your hair away from your face and behind your ear. This is really happening. The world is swirling all around you. So are your breaths when they see those wanting lips come closer. Not able to take this twist along with the stuff you are high on, you close your eyes and wait with parted lips.

You're on your level too Tryna do what lovers do

The fire inside his gut is driving him closer to you even though his sanity is questioning every logical reason behind this. But that sweet scent coming off you is clouding every possible sane answer there could be. That's the thing. He does not want to be sane anymore. What is the advantage in that anyway? His hand is moving on its own, catching his breath when he feels your heated skin on the back of his fingers while brushing away those hair strands that are driving him mad for making you look so...he dare not say such things even to himself- that make him feel things. And boy, does he not like feeling things, especially such things. Oh, lords be praised! He loves the way your gaze is struggling to rest at one place, walking all over his eyes to his jaw before settling on his lips. And then closing themselves shut. He does not know whether that is an invitation or not. But looks like this sweet alcohol is making him bold. So, this is what alcohol really does to you, huh, he wonders, thanking the maker for this ale that was able to make a God feel the buzz. ... Wait. I am feeling the buzz. His own statement makes him blink out of the drunken trance for a second. "Why did the beer taste sweet?" his suspicion speaks. That suspicion is quickly turned right when he sees your meek smile and feels the floor beneath his feet sweep him face down into the ground. "Oh f-"

   The boy band patiently sits in the lounge in their own particular ways. While one is sipping on their drink, the other has got their face in their palms. One has that mischievous smirk on his face and the one sitting next to him is gazing with a look of pure confusion. One has got his brow up while tapping his lips with his index and the other one is pushing two glasses of- what looks like- water towards the one particular side. And their captain is just plain tired at this point, looking at the ones who are their centre of attention. You and Loki.

You sway to and fro on the couch while Loki sits next to you with his head in his palms, his eyes lost in a void, given up on this world. You are pouting by this point, looking at the empty table in the middle of the crowd of you nine. "So...are we going to order food soon?" You had to ask. You feel a movement from your left and are nervous to look in that direction, whining internally when Loki drowns you in his judgmental gaze. "I'm hungry," you mutter as you look down. "I don't think you're getting any food today, Princess," Violet mentions, turning all the heads to him. "What, I was just translating what Loki's eyes are saying." "But I'm hungryyy," you cry. Loki closes his eyes and sighs. "Serves you right to starve." Violet carries on with his translation. "Stop it," Loki commands with his eyes still shut. "Okay." "Why did you spike his drink though?" Green asks put loud, making it hard for you to get away from all those curious eyes. You shrug. "I just thought it'd be fun. Loki will let his hair down and, I don't know, dance." "From the looks of it, it was gonna be more than a dance." "What?" "I said from the looks of it Loki can't dance." Loki pretends to have not heard White's word but narrows his eyes at him when he gets the chance. "Relax-" White gestures you two to drink the water-like liquid- "both of you are on the fourth stage. One more and it'll wear off like it was never there." "What's the fifth stage?" you tilt your head while your hands are squeezing your abdomen. "And how do you know about these stages?" "The Bao-Baos are our people's speciality," all seven of them say in sync, leaving you a little speechless. "So what's the fif-" You pause and never come back to the sentence. Your eyes are looking at infinity, seemingly lost in a trance, your body has let go of all the tightness, easing into the couch. Loki turns to watch the slow transformation. Anyone can tell from the look on his face that the word 'worried' right now begins and ends on you. He also knows that with that metabolism of his, he is going to hit that stage you are in, in no time. And so he goes, letting his trance begin while his gaze is still settled on you. There is a pause around the table as seven pairs of eyes observe the both of you. "Alright boys-" White slaps his thighs- "you know what to do." All of them get up with different tasks in mind. Violet takes two fuzzy blankets out of nowhere to put them around you and Loki. Green lights a candle and puts it a little close to the side where his tranced bunnies sit. Orange takes the charge to put headphones on and takes a few seconds to decide whether to put on his romance playlist or horror playlist. Red and Yellow draw the curtains to the private lounge while Sky puts shades on you and Loki before tucking a plushy under your arm, Loki's arm and handing one to Lulu as well. "Perfect," White announces, "now let's have some fun till they sober up." He calls for Lulu- who readily jumps and settles on his shoulder- and goes out into the crowd with his brothers, leaving the two of you to go through the final stage of your colourful high.

You The music is a soft melody with a depth given to the bass, and you can automatically tell there is a touch of Galimatias in there somewhere. Blinking and feeling the environment around you, you find yourself out in the open, an unlit paper lamp in your hand surrounded by the building and creatures you were just dancing around. This cannot be real, is just a passing thought in your mind, never given the weight it deserves. Why? Because you are already distracted by the pairs sitting on the grass under the shimmering night sky and oil lamps either hung on the trees, rested on rock piles or kept safely on the grass. The scenic beauty is too romantic and the smell of vanilla burning somewhere is bringing up emotions you wanted to keep hidden from the world for some time more. If it isn't for the voice that calls out for you from behind, you are quite sure another minute would have ended in tears. "Is this the spot?" You know the voice all too well to turn around voluntarily but a part of your subconscious itches at this new wavelength you feel in that very sound. That silken voice that has a veil over it suddenly seems...free. And to add to your surprise, the God of Mischief who adores the shades of gold, green and black is out of the blue walking towards you in a white shirt and blue jeans. Are those ripped jeans? And did he just tie his hair back? You are in the middle of thinking about this new persona when you are pushed into the river of questions with that slight tilt of his head and a huge smile. If only you could see the look on your face like Loki 2.0 was seeing right now. Your frown; your wrinkled nose and those lips turned as if they have tasted something sour.  "What?" He laughs. "You're laughing?" Your gasp of unbelief is not making it easy for the God. "I just asked you if we're sitting here and you looked at me as if I was some strange alien." He shakes his head. So do you- at the fact that you could see his teeth throughout that sentence. "It's just-" you lick your lips and try to move a liiiittle back, away from him- "I've never seen you smile this much, let alone laugh." He breaks in a giggle, making you pause your breath. "Staahhp," he nearly sings and pokes you on your collar, trying to act all shy, forcing you to wonder if he is an imposter. "Okay, something is definitely of-faa-" The distraction in front of you makes you miss the end of the stone beneath your step, almost sending you down seven feet but Loki is quick to catch you by your hand and pulling in towards him by your waist. Ah. Now, this chest to chest nearness is quite familiar. So is that scent that naturally lingers on him. It is him. More or less.

Loki The illuminated aquatic ball gets a red and yellow micro planet down the hole. The tentacled pink alien grumbles something at his opponent, breaks his cue stick and stomps out of the bar. A nonchalant chuckle comes of that very opponent as he straightens himself after those smooth three shots. "Come back when you are old enough to stop whining." "One Midgardian Sex on the Beach for Loki," the waitress sings before setting the twirling glass down beside his cue stick and walking away- but not before she has felt that ass on her fingers. There is not much colour on his face except for a tired look in his eyes when he feels those intruding hands on his jeans. "Get those hands away be-" "Before he cuts them off clean." Loki has to turn to find the source of the voice that is somewhat quite usual to his ears. And when he does, the waitress is forgotten right at that moment, for all his senses are on you. You stand at the entrance facing Loki, who has to take a lungful of this musty bar air to come to terms that the person wearing a generous amount of kajal and smokey eyes is you. That smile on your lips assures him that. But the outfit brings back some more questions. All black. Those jeans- black. That tank top- black. That leather jacket- black. Those high boots- black. Those belt accessories hanging off those thighs- wait, they actually look good on her. And is that a nose ring? Your steps come to a halt right in front of the God; the very God who stands there nearly toppling over his cue stick. Your fingers take the liberty to tap him under the chin and draw yourself close enough. "Better keep that butt safe from unwanted hands before I claw someone for even looking at them," you whisper before pretending to bite him and walking away with his drink. The chill around his neck does not subside even after you're gone. And he is still wondering just one thing. "What kind of bao-bao did she eat now?"

You "What?" "...Nothing." Loki smiles and tries to hide his face in his hair. "Why are you looking at me like that?" It's no lie. You have been staring at Loki for the past twenty minutes with a smile on your face. You are sitting the same way you were sitting when he longingly looked at a couple making out, or when he moaned while eating a burger, or when he said you looked pretty in the moonlight. "I am wondering," you hum, letting your arm cradle your head, your gaze still stuck on him. "Wondering what." Loki mirrors you. "How amazing you are," you sigh, closing your eyes, "and yet I miss my Loki."

Loki "Are you comfortable in those?" He is still getting used to your eyes following every single hot body that passes by the room, checking them out without any restraints. Your eyes finally come back to him and find him pointing at your outfit. "Why? You wanna borrow them for the night?" Your suggestive voice raises the God's brows and forces him to inhale through his mouth before blowing all that air out. "I will just borrow my own drink for now," he acknowledges while taking his cocktail and downing it in huge gulps, all the while you sit there with your legs apart, resting quite casually with your arms on the bar table. Breathing in through your teeth you lick your lips. "You are looking quite yummy today, Loki-" you tilt your head and smirk with your eyes- "wonder how you'll look on that pool table there." "Quite heavy on top of you," he quips, feeling a burp come up. His arms go past you to keep the glass over the tabletop when he feels your legs wind themselves around his to pull him closer. "What makes you think you'll get to the top?" you point out while playing with his belt loops. Loki looks at you for one long minute. Eventually, he lets his hand set those two hair strands in their place, every from those side braids that add something to your look which clearly does something to Loki. "As painfully lovely as that offer is," Loki hums and looks right into your eyes, "I feel I should rather bear with the Y/N I know."

You wake up with a jolt to the bass-boosted music thumping outside. Removing the shades and rubbing your eyes you nearly slip your lenses out. "Fuck," you mumble under your breath before realising you had been drooling. On Loki's shirt. Your fingers work discreetly to wipe that drool off his black shirt. "You are buying me a new one." His voice reverberates in your ear that is closer to his chest, sending goosebumps down your body. Slowly moving away from his chest to sit straight, you wipe the marks of your saliva away from your lips and clear your throat. Loki clears his throat and snaps the knots in his neck and then removes his shades. "I didn't realise when I fell asleep," you mumble as your fingers move through your hair to straighten them out. "Probably went through the last stage," Loki insists, removing any wrinkles from his shirt and finding something resembling a plushy under his arm. "Which was one bizarre dream," he mutters. "Felt like a weird dream," you utter. Both of you freeze for a short second at the synchronisation of your thoughts, turning to face each other for one fleeting moment. As if looking into each other's eyes opens certain doors that did not seem to be there before, both of you turn away to hide your heated faces- questioning whether the other one knows something. You busy your hands to move your hair behind your ears. Loki pulls at his cuffs before trying to scratch an itch in the back of his head. You move the blanket over you closer to your chest before wanting to bury your face in it. Loki tries to play with the plushy's head, trying his best to check if he could see you from the corner of his eyes. "Do you wear white?" You blurt out without a warning and it is only later that your eyes are popping out as words register in your mind. "What?" Loki is confused. He blinks and tilts his head a bit. "Uhh, no. I...don't." He does not know why he is answering that question. "Do you have a naval piercing?" He asks, genuinely curious; more like cautious. "God no," you gasp, feeling your hand go over your naval to check. You blow out some of that hot air burning inside you. Loki inhales, trying to look at anything but you. "Have you ever tried braiding your hair?" Even though it is an interesting question, it is a bit strange coming from Loki. "Like, like those side braids?" You ask softly, showing him a rough example on your hair. Loki nods. "No-" you shake your head- "but it'll look good on you." Loki nods. "You too. It will look great on you as well." "And a bun at back will look good on you as well." A minute or two passes as you two sit there awkwardly, trying to find something to talk about. You look at your wrist to watch the time before realising you are not wearing a watch. Loki is scratching an itch on his palm as he tries to come up with a strategy. "Oh!" you jolt up in your seat at a sudden realisation. "the kids!" "Hmm?" "We should find Lulu and Javier." "Oh! Yes!" Loki nods and gathers the blankets and the headphones, keeping them at one side before getting up with you. "We should find them and get back home." "I hope they are okay." "They better be okay or I will kill those colourful bastards for neglecting the kids in their care." And off you two go into the alien rave, thinking the new door has been shut for good, never anticipating the events that are about to come that would change the whole dynamic of many relationships.

[oh-ranpo]

‘tis the season.

pairing: reggie x reader

an: so, I had the idea for this, and while it isn’t very long, I hope you guys like it! I’m just going to tag @n0wornever and @mamakitty187 since they responded to my post about it encouraging it to happen, so here it is! I hope you enjoy!

word count: 1.9k+

If you took one look around the city of Los Angeles, you would have no idea that it was nearing Christmas time. Sure, the city had their decorations up, but when you looked to the people, there was not an ounce of festive spirit to be found. You had no idea why everyone else was so hesitant to start spreading Christmas cheer, but you had been looking forward to celebrating practically since Halloween was over. You had refrained and made yourself wait until the first day of December to break out your favorite Christmas sweater, though it had taken everything in you to stay so patient. You thought that maybe other people might be feeling the spirit now that it was officially December, however, the second you stepped onto the bus that first morning to head to the mall, you realized that you had severely overestimated just how much everyone else loved the December holiday.

A few people gave you strange looks as you walked up the steps in your bright green holiday sweater, the front of which was covered in colorful tinsel and fake ornaments. It was your favorite sweater that you owned, and you had been quite proud of it when you put it on that morning. Now, you weren’t so sure that it had been the right choice. Everyone else was dressed in their nice winter coats and muted colors, and here you were, sticking out like a sore thumb on a public bus where people would be able to judge you for the next thirty minutes of your ride.

You kept your head down as you moved down the aisle towards the back where you had seen an empty seat, but just as you passed the second to last row, you heard a voice that was unmistakably directed at you.

“Hey, I like your sweater!”

You were surprised to hear the compliment from anyone on this particular bus, but when you looked up to find the owner of the voice, you immediately realized why it shouldn’t have been a surprise at all. The boy that had just spoken to you was smiling brightly, and it only took a second for you to see that he was also wearing a rather festive looking outfit himself. Only, his sweater was red and green striped with a reindeer on the front of it. When he moved, you could hear the faint jingling from the small bells that decorated the cartoon deer’s antlers, and an involuntary smile immediately spread across your lips.

“Thanks. I really like yours too,” you replied, gesturing slightly at his chest. The boy’s eyes fell down to look at his sweater, even though he was well aware of what he was wearing, and then he lifted his head again to give you another bright smile.

“Thanks! Did you… did you want to sit?” It was a rather forward question you thought, but there was an empty seat right next to him, and you figured if you were going to make it through this bus ride without too much more embarrassment, you might as well sit with someone who clearly had a mind that worked like yours. So, you nodded, and slid into the seat next to the boy just as he lifted his hand up for you to shake. “I’m Reggie, by the way.”

You looked at his hand for a moment before happily accepting it and giving him your name as well. You felt yourself relax as you settled in next to him, and even though you had felt like everyone was staring at you before, when you took another quick glance around the bus, you were relieved to see that no one was looking in your direction at all. Maybe you had been overreacting just a bit.

“So, where are you heading too?” Reggie asked, as he attempted to keep the conversation going. You felt bad for being so quiet, and when you looked back over at him, you smiled again.

“To the mall. I was trying to get some of my Christmas shopping done early. You know, to beat the really bad crowds.” Reggie’s face lit up as his body turned towards you even more.

“That’s what I’m doing too! Well, to get some things for my friends, anyways. We’re doing our gift exchange a little early, so I want to make sure that I can get them something good.”

The excitement on Reggie’s face was one that directly mirrored yours, and you felt lucky that you had stumbled upon someone with the same enthusiasm for Christmas that you did. In fact, you spent the rest of the bus ride talking about your Christmas plans, and while Reggie constantly brought up his friends, you couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t mention much about his family. You knew better than to press, as he was still a stranger, but you became more and more intrigued as the conversation went on.

You were disappointed when you reached your stop, but when you went to stand up and Reggie did too, you looked at him curiously, and another bright smile formed on his lips.

“Is this your stop too?” you asked, even though you probably should have figured it was. He had said that he was going to the mall, and this was the closest one on your route. It didn’t really make sense for him to stay on to head to one farther away, especially since he had been on the bus longer than you had.

“Yep! It looks like we aren’t getting rid of each other quite yet,” he replied happily, and you felt a stirring in your chest as you stepped into the aisle and made your way towards the front of the bus. You didn’t look to see if people were staring as you walked because now, you weren’t quite as self-conscious about it. With Reggie right behind you, you barely noticed anyone else.

“So, these friends of yours,” you started, as the two of you walked across the parking lot of the mall side by side. “What kinds of things are they into?” You were hoping that his previous comment meant that you weren’t going to be parting just yet, as you had become quite fascinated by the Christmas sweater boy.

“Well, we’re in a band and I know Luke is always in need of journals to write songs in, so I thought I would get him one of those. Alex and Bobby are a little bit harder, but I’m sure I’ll find something. I’ll know it when I see it.”

The fact that he was in a band was something that Reggie hadn’t mentioned yet, and it was something that peaked your interest even more. You loved going to local shows and small venues to see bands perform.

“You’re in a band? Really?” you asked excitedly, and once again, Reggie’s face lit up at the question. You could tell immediately that it was a subject he loved to talk about.

“Yeah! We’re called Sunset Curve. Tell your friends.” He added the last part with a quick finger-guns motion and you couldn’t help but laugh. His band wasn’t one that you could recall seeing, but either way, you loved his enthusiasm, and you were sure that was something that translated into his music.

You talked about the band and his music while you walked around various stores, and you learned that he played bass and while his band wasn’t well known yet, they had several gigs lined up in the near future.

“You should come to one,” he added as color filled his cheeks. You had just stepped out of one of the record stores located near the food court when he said it, and your steps hesitated a bit as you felt the familiar tug in your chest that you had experienced earlier when getting off the bus. You slowly looked up at him, and his eyes fixed on you, his cheeks a light pink at his rather forward suggestion. Not that it was the first one he had proposed that day.

“I’d love to,” you grinned, and relief flooded his features as you then started walking once again.

You had to admit, you liked spending time with Reggie. You had only met him a couple of hours before, but the fact that you got along so well made it seem longer. From an outsider looking in, you might not have guessed that you had just met on a bus on the way to the mall, and instead, you might have looked more like longtime friends doing their holiday shopping together.

“Thank you again, by the way,” you spoke about an hour later as you sat across from each other at a table in the food court. You had both already finished your shopping, so now you were recharging with some greasy mall food. Reggie tilted his head slightly in confusion at your words, encouraging you to explain yourself. “For saying something to me on the bus. Today has been a lot of fun, and I’m glad that I’m not the only one that seems to enjoy Christmas around here.”

Reggie’s expression softened as he smiled.

“Of course! I mean, I always have to appreciate a good sweater. Especially when the person wearing it is so…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes fell away from you as his face went red once more. Your heart jumped in your chest at his words, even though you weren’t sure how he was intending on ending that sentence.

“So… what?” you pressed. “So lost? So embarrassed? So-“

“Beautiful.”

His word caught you off guard, and you were sure that you looked incredibly silly as your mouth fell open slightly. It wasn’t really what you had been expecting, but a warmth spread through you when his eyes hesitantly lifted to meet yours. You didn’t know how to respond, and in the silence, it seemed that Reggie had taken your lack of response negatively.

“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that. I just…when I first saw you, I thought ‘wow’, and I wanted to say something sooner, but I didn’t want to come off creepy. But, it seems like I did that anyways, and I am so, so, so, sorry-”

“Reggie,” you cut in, breaking up his panicked rambling. His mouth immediately clamped shut at the sound of your voice, and his wide eyes locked with yours as he waited for you to continue. “I don’t think it’s creepy at all. I think it’s sweet, actually. I just… as you can imagine, I don’t have a lot of strangers randomly compliment me.”

“I actually can’t imagine that,” Reggie piped in quickly, causing another flutter in your chest. “And I’m not really a stranger anymore either, if you think about it.” He was right, and you couldn’t deny it. You had spent most of the day together at this point, and you had shared quite a bit of your lives with one another, so ‘stranger’ didn’t really fit the description anymore.

You were sure that you looked like quite the pair, sitting together in your bright Christmas attire, chatting over overpriced pizza and smiling like fools. However, even though you had started the day caring what people were thinking about you, when you were in the presence of the boy sitting across from you, you found that it didn’t matter anymore. Reggie was special, and it took you no time at all to realize it. You were especially grateful for ugly Christmas sweaters that day.

[detroitbydark]

Every Dog Has His Day

Chapter 3

Characters: Hound/OC

Summary: Good boys, fuck boys, and the things between

Warnings: Aggression toward women.

A/N: does anyone feel like I should put Mando’a translations in at the end? Would it be helpful?

——-

“Good morning GAR. It’s 0400. What does “o” stand for? Well I can think of a few things but let’s go with Oh maker, I’m ready to hit the rack. Any boys in white care to join me?”

Hound would. In a heartbeat. In a Coruscant minute.

Hound is in the gym early. Really early. He’s never needed much sleep to function at his peak but 0400 is stupid o’clock even for him. He passes the time until the mess opens lifting while Grizzer snores near his armor across the room. Right now the massiff is using his rolled up kama as a pillow and Hound wonders idly how hard it’s going to be to clean the drool off. He’s alone with his thoughts and the radio.

He falls into the steady rhythm of sets and reps. He wasn’t a small vod by any means. There’s been a joke in his batch that the settings had malfunctioned on his pod. He was only a half an inch taller, but he was thicker than his batchmates, not commando big but enough to be noticeable in a line up. Lifting weights kept his bulk from atrophying. He didn’t mind the small layer of fluff over his muscles but he wanted them strong and ready for whatever the Grand Army called him to do.

The radio plays quietly over the weight room’s audio channel. Nuna’s smokey voice is a highlight too late to save a very bad week. Two bombings and a half dozen threats (most, copy cats) had kept the Guard on edge and high alert. He and Grizzer had worked them all, tracking and searching wreckage for survivors. Hound glances at his partner. One too many dead bodies had left the massiff feeling dejected and down. Not even his favorite tug toy or a big meaty bantha knuckle has been able to cheer him up. Hound isn’t feeling much better.

He’s not sure what was causing the surge but he knows he’d give just about anything for it to be over with. On top of that (and a far better distraction than the chaos and death of terrorist attacks), there was still the matter of Nuna herself that had him spun out of sorts. They’d had fun at the Fete, even if it had only been a short time. She hadn’t been faking that and he certainly hadn’t. Maybe he’d come on too strong with the call but, honestly, he’d thought it was cute. Maybe he’d embarrassed her?

He wasn’t ready to give up just yet. It was how he’d gotten his name. Tenacious like a hound. The trainers on Kamino had joked that once he was on a trail he wasn’t giving up ‘til he completed his prime objective.

His prime objective now was getting Nuna Skii’s commlink. And a date.

It didn’t matter that Rule had teased him after his on-air brush-off or that Ryk had given him a look that said he didn’t believe he'd had lunch with anybody let alone Nuna Skii. Hound knew though, and he knew that she’d had fun. If she hadn't, why had she smiled so brightly when he’d asked her questions? Why had she braced her hand on his arm and dissolved into laughter when he said something that was, admittedly, not as funny as it sounded in his head?

The barbell comes to rest on the rack with a clatter. Grizzer looks up from his nap, his great tongue licking lazily at his maw.

“Do you think I’m being stupid?”

The massiff stares blankly.

“Well, yeah, but she did seem interested.”

Grizzer rises slowly, stretching with a groan before ambling over to his partner and laying his head in Hound’s lap. He manages to roll onto his back without losing contact. Hound reaches down to scratch his leathery belly.

“Yeah, well, there’s something about her I really like. I think I should try again.”

Grizzer whines.

“But how, you ask? I’m not sure, bud.”

“In bigger news, it’s the end of the week and I think we all deserve a bit of a treat, don’t you?”

Grizzer turns toward Nuna’s voice and lets out a happy sound. Hound laughs.

“No treats before breakfast, Grizz. You know the rules.” The massiff offers his handler a sad pair of eyes and Hound shakes his head. “Not gonna fall for that.”

“Tonight ladies and lads we’re having ladies’ night at 79’s. Come find yourself a battle buddy and if one of you lucky listeners can find me I may have a special surprise just for you!”

Hound listens intently. Ryk and Rule were sure to be down for a night out after the week they’d had. The Commander has been busy keeping his assistant working late so he likely wouldn’t be game - not that Hound could blame him - but Thire might be convinced. Since the scuffle with the 501st boys a few weeks back the buddy system has been in play. The more the merrier as far as he was concerned. Now all he had to do was find a way to talk to her.

———

“If you pull on the skirt one more time, I swear to the maker I will end you.”

Nuna rolls her eyes at Tully’s threat. The skirt was too short and the Pantoran was out of her fekking mind if she thought this wouldn’t be the way the rest of the night played out.

“I dressed you pretty for a reason. Stop trying to ruin it.”

“I look like a cased sausage.” She tries - and fails - to keep the whine from her voice. Tully softens and grips her shoulders gently.

“First off, if that's the case, you are the sexiest sausage I’ve ever seen.” Nuna stifles a laugh behind a pout. “Second,” Nuna winces as her friend punches her in the shoulder, “There’s more where that came from if I hear one more second of negative self talk tonight. Got me?”

“Kriff Tull-“ Nuna rubs at her shoulder. “Fine, I’m the sexiest sausage Coruscant has ever seen. Just don’t hurt me anymore.”

The Pantoran laughs and leans forward, placing a smacking kiss on the shorter woman’s head. “I love you and your issues,” she mumbles.

“Can we just have a drink now?”

79’s is packed. Shebs to gett’se. There’s the usual mix of clones from various divisions and battalions crowded in small groups of grey and white with pops of color signaling who they were to the world. There’s also a large contingent of women - every species, color and shape known to man. Nuna smiles happily as she brings her drink to her lips only to frown a moment later at the deep plum smear of lipstick on the glass.

“No transfer my ass,” she grumbles as she takes another long pull. Tully bought the first round, and whatever it is is sweet on Nuna’s tongue like star cherry candy with the familiar burn of booze behind it. It’s good but if she fills her night with more of them she’ll be nursing a killer hangover come morning. “I’ve got the next round.”

“As if I was going to let you get away without paying your fair share.”

Nuna rolls her eyes as she finishes the last of her drink. She’s already feeling just a little bit more loose and relaxed. Her hips move in a mindless, lazy figure-eight to the driving thud of the bass. Not her favorite, but Nuna loved to dance nearly as much as she loved music. Well maybe not that much, but certainly a close second.

Back home on Irmenu both had been frowned upon by the Priesthood and if they didn’t approve it was almost heretical to go against them. It hadn’t been ‘til she’d been exiled with her parents that she’d heard her first real music - outside of mindless chanting - and her first experience with really letting go and letting her body take over. It was freeing. Liberating. It was at that moment that she’d known she wanted to work around it, to be part of it somehow, for the rest of her life. It had been the driving force for so long that she had a hard time looking outside of it. Maybe that was how she’d gotten to nearly 25 and had nothing but a paycheck and an empty apartment to keep her company. Tully tries to say something over the noise of the speakers.

She had Tully too. A better best friend no girl has ever had.

“Have you finished yours yet?” The Pantoran holds up her glass, shaking the lone ice cubes around for show. Nuna holds hers up to show hers in the same state of emptiness.

“Ready for another?”

“You have to ask? Pony up girl. It’s your turn.”

There was something nice about the anonymity of her radio persona. As she moves through the crowd she doesn’t need to worry about being recognized or stopped by a fan looking for a picture. The one disappointment was that she still had to wait at the bar like everyone else.

She taps on the bar once to get the tender’s attention. The Twi’lek woman gives her a nod and the finger gesture for ‘one moment’ before quickly changing it to ‘two moments.’ Nuna blows a breath from the corner of her mouth. Ok, maybe a little notoriety wouldn’t be so bad once in a while. She’s waiting patiently, hip pressed against the bar, booted foot tapping along to the beat when someone taps her on the shoulder.

“Nuna?” She cringes at the voice, doing her best to press a convincing smile into place as she turns. “Hey, I thought that was you.” She flinches when a long thin finger flicks at one of the curls she’d managed to cultivate in her short hair. It bounces merrily as she looks into the face of the last man she’d hoped to see.

She only has one to go off of but, as far as exes went, Nuna was fairly certain she had one of the worst. All of the things she’d once found incredibly handsome about Alistar S’uun were now… what did Tully refer to him as?… ah yes, smarmy.

She’d been lonely and wholly too innocent to get involved with him when she’d first arrived in the Triple-Zero, but that hadn’t stopped her from losing her heart - and other things - to the arrogant son of a bantha. He’d been all slicked back hair and clothes that screamed money. He’d taken her to nice places, introduced her to important people. She’d thought it was love until she’d walked in on him and his assistant one day when she’d stopped by to bring him lunch.

To say it ended badly was an understatement, but she’d been lucky. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a standard year. Lucky until tonight.

“Alistar,” she greets, tucking her hair back behind her ears, as if it would stop him from touching it if he wanted to. Alistar did what he wanted when he wanted, and you either dealt with it or got out of the way.

“You look great. Lost a few of those troublesome pounds?”

A wave of annoyance washes over her as she glances back over her shoulder and toward the bartender. She just needed her karking drinks so she could make her escape. The Twi’lek is still occupied further down the bar.

“How have you been?” she asks, ignoring his questions and the undertones it entailed.

“Oh you know, doing a bit of this and that. Father is letting me take some of reins on the new acquisitions-“

“That’s lovely, Alistar. I’m very happy for you,” she lies through her teeth. His father was a shipping magnate and nepotism had been good to Alistar.

Nuna glances toward where she’d left Tully and sees a flash of red and white talking to her. Her heart stutters only to realize that it’s not the now somewhat familiar armor Hound wore. The trooper is somewhat smaller, less broad through the middle. The tell-tale snarl is missing from his helmet.

“I hear that little radio show of yours is still doing well.”

Here it comes, she thinks. This was always how it started. Alistar would make some little undermining comment and she’d get upset. Inevitably she’d be crying and he’d tell her she needed to get a sense of humor. Nuna could see it all unfolding before her eyes, but this time she wasn’t going to fall for it.

“I always knew you had a face for radio-” he smiles widely holding his hands up, “Oops! you know what I meant, right Nunz?”

“Yeah, Al, I got you loud and clear.” Her smile is forced and she grits her teeth with such force she’s surprised one doesn’t crack. “So it’s been lovely catching up but I’m going to go find Tull-“ His hand catches her upper arm as she turns to leave. She regrets wearing the sleeveless top Tully had picked out. She doesn’t like the feel of his skin against her own.

“Still friends with the Pant? Maker, you really are desperate aren’t you? Stay and talk for a while. I’m better company.” She shakes off his grip, his smile now beginning to look just as fake as the one she’d been wearing.

She promised herself wasn’t going to take the bait, really she wasn’t, she was better than that… but he’d brought Tully into it.

“She cares about me more than you ever did.” The smile is gone now and Aliatar’s pale brows arch up in surprise at the venom in her voice.

“So are you laying like a cold fish for her to fuck you too? Low standards-“

She turns to move again, puts one foot in front of the other, before he yanks her back. The heel of her boot slips and her stumble only makes his grip tighten. Her arm twists in a way that sends pain shooting like wildfire from her shoulder to the tips of her fingers.

“Don’t you dare walk-“

Nuna had never hurt so much as a fly in her life, but the blinding rage that rises up from her gut does something to her. Before she can even comprehend what she’s doing her balled up fist is connecting solidly with Alistar’s face. He doubles over while Nuna whines, snapping her hand back to her chest before beginning to shake it roughly. The pain she’d felt in her arm was nothing to what her knuckles were feeling now.

“Kriff, Kriff, Kriff,” she grits out, flexing her fingers.

“Why you dumb little nerf cow-“ She glances up to see Alistar take a step toward her. Something akin to fear prickles at the back of her senses. She’d seen that look before in his eyes. It scared her now like it had back then.

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” Red and white armor steps into Nunas view. “What seems to be the problem here?” Hound's voice is easy going as his head swings from Nuna to Alistar, who is rubbing his jaw, his other finger jabbing accusingly in Nuna’s direction.

“This little bitch-“

“Alright buddy” Hound holds a hand up calmingly “I’m going to stop you right there. Let me clarify-“ he turns to Nuna fully. Her heart stutters as he pulls the hand she’s cradling close to her chest up for inspection. “What’s going on here, sweetheart?” he asks quietly.

“I was just trying to leave and he grabbed me. It hurt,” she tries to tamp down the tremble in her voice, “I just wanted him to let go.”

Hound gives her an unreadable look. His thumbs stroke gently over her knuckles. Something warm springs to life in her belly that takes the edge off her discomfort.

“Hey, you! Clone,” Alistar’s voice rises up, “I demand this woman be arrested. I’ve been assaulted. You’re in the Guard. Do your job.”

There’s a tic in Hound’s jaw, really the only thing that gives the slightest hint of his annoyance as he turns back to the other man. A small crowd is gathering around them, mostly clones with a few civilians scattered in.

“Ok friend, first it’s Sargeant. Second,” he glances around and Nuna sees familiar colors of clone armor; blues, yellows, and reds surrounding them, “From my vantage point it looked like you were hurting the lady.” The clones around them nod in agreement.

“Oh this is just fracking great!” Alistar laughs, throwing his head back and taking a deep breath before glaring between Hound and Nuna. “You’re fucking her aren’t you?” he spits at Hound before rounding on Nuna, “You’re fucking government property now? That’s low even for you.”

Nuna feels tears welling up. She didn’t want to do anything now but go home and get away from the looks she just knew were coming her way. She glances down at her feet. When she looks up Hound is grabbing Alistar by the shoulders. His movements are quick, efficient, and practiced.

Hound tips Alistar forward just enough to bring an armored knee up into the other man’s unprotected gut. Alistar doubles over with a strangled wheeze, gripping at the bar for support before sinking to his knees. Hound turns his soft eyes to her.

“You’ve never punched someone.” It’s not a question. He takes her hand again, thumb stroking over her tender knuckles. “Wiggle your thumb,” he encourages, offering her a bright smile when she does.

“Ok. Good. It’s not broken,” he announces to himself, “Never wrap your fingers around your thumb. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

Nuna nods mutely.

“So what you want to do is-“ he proceeds to shape her hand into a fist. His big gloved hands completely envelop her smaller one as he tucks her thumb against the outside of her balled fingers. He presses it firmly as if to make the point that this was where it was supposed to be.

From the way he’s acting, she’s more inclined to believe she’s part of one of the ‘girl power’ self defense classes at the community center around the corner from her apartment as opposed to a clone bar. Hound is pleasant- no, he’s nearly perky.

“See how much nicer that looks? Certainly safer for your hand.” Nuna hears a few clones around them hum in agreement. Surreal. “Now, it wasn’t a bad first swing, but you didn’t follow through.”

“Kriffing… seven hells,” Alistar wheezes behind them. Hound makes a sound in his throat to catch her attention from the other man struggling to stand up.

“What you need to do next time is follow through. The target isn’t his jaw. It’s this magic little spot behind his jaw. Do you understand?”

Nuna’s eyes are drawn to Alistar who is rising to full height, murder written in his eyes.

“Hound-“ she tries to warn him but he merrily waves her off.

“Let me show you, ok?” The big man turns without missing a beat and his fist makes its best attempt at going through Alistar’s jaw. Her ex crumples into a heap, platinum hair disheveled, onto the sticky bar floor.

“Kriffing glass jawed pretty boy,” Hound mumbles as he turns back to her just as jovial and happy as he’d been devouring the nerf skewers and talking about Grizzer at the fete.

She hears a small cheer of “Oya!” go through the gathered ranks as a few clones grab the unconscious man by the shoulder and the rest begin to disperse back to their various areas.

“See? Just like that.”

Nuna swallows hard, bites back a nervous smile and finds her voice. “Just like that?”

“Yup.” Hound rocks back on his heels. “So do you wanna come have a drink with me- us?”

He sounds so hopeful, like pulling the whole Jedi Knight in shining armor bit hadn’t won him at least a little favor. She nods and he gestures for her to move ahead of him, leaving the other troopers to see her unconscious ex out the door.

Hound takes up a position behind her, his hand hovering over her hip to guide her toward the table his brothers stood around. Tully is already there with a serious look on her face.

“Are you ok?” She takes Nuna by the shoulders, looks her over.

“I’m good. I promise.”

“Maker I hate that no good piece of bantha spit.” One of the Guard behind her chokes out a laugh. Tully’s eyes fly to Hound, narrowed and assessing. “So this is the guy?”

“I’m the guy? What guy?” He looks at Nuna questioningly. Something mischievous sparkles in his gentle brown eyes.

Nuna feels her cheeks heat up as she bites out her friend's name. Tully ignores her.

“You bought her lunch at the Festival of Life?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you called into the show to ask her on a date?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tully looks to Nuna and then back to Hound. “What’s up with the ma’am?”

Hound rubs at the back of his neck. His brothers snicker in the background. “Courtesy, ma’am?”

“Call me Tully,” she orders shortly, finally relaxing. Hound breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Vod? You gonna introduce us to your little friend?”

[olivemac]

1300 miles | chapter two | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, Sarge), smut (f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, very very slight dom!Bucky, praise kink), angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

A/N | Likes and comments always appreciated. :)

series master list | AO3 link | full master list

1300 miles playlist

Tag | @mrs--barnes

_____

previous chapter

_____

Jo wakes the next morning to a text from Danny: Did you fuck the Winter Soldier?

She rolls her eyes and responds: Fuck off. He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore.

Danny replies with a leaf emoji and the words: Come upstairs.

Jo slides her glasses on and climbs out of bed. She pads into the living room as quietly as she can to find Bucky snoring on her couch with Toulouse perched on his chest. She can’t stop herself from snapping a picture with her phone.

Upstairs, she lets herself into Danny’s apartment. She’s met at the door by Greta, Danny’s PTSD service dog, a medium-sized German Shepherd who waits patiently for Jo to kneel down and scratch her behind her ears.

“Morning, pup,” Jo whispers.

“I’m out here,” Danny calls from his third-floor balcony.

“Coffee?” Jo asks.

“Cold-brew in the fridge,” Danny responds.

She detours to the kitchen before joining Danny at the small table on his balcony.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Jo asks. Danny always smokes the morning after a nightmare.

“They’re called flashbacks, and yes,” he responds, taking a deep drag of the joint.

“But they’re getting better, right?”

"Since you came back, yeah, they're getting better."

“Give me that,” Jo says, reaching for the joint. She takes a drag then exhales slowly. “You can always wake me up when you have a flashback, you know.”

Danny snorts. “I was afraid I’d wander into your bedroom to find you getting dicked down by an Avenger.”

“Please stop,” Jo groans. "You get that you're my brother, right? And this is weird."

Danny laughs, "It's only weird if you make it weird." Then he says, “Seriously, though, what’s the deal with Mister Tall-Dark-and-Handsome? I mean, if Sam trusts him, then he must be a good guy, but he’s literally a hundred years old, Jo.”

“He’s…” she pauses, “really sweet and charming underneath the brooding exterior. I really like him, Danny.”

“But?”

“But he lives in New York,” she whines.

“Yeah,” Danny says, taking another drag on the joint.

“‘Yeah?’ That’s all you’re going to say?”

Danny shrugs. “Some things are worth working for.”

Jo laughs, “Okay, why don’t you get back to me when you’re not high. I’m heading back downstairs.”

“Love you, Josiebean,” Danny says, using the nickname he gave Jo when they were kids.

“Love you, too, Daniel-San,” Jo replies. Danny laughs at the Karate Kid reference like he always does, and Jo kisses his forehead and pats his shoulder before leaving.

_____

Bucky wakes to the smell of coffee and bacon, his stomach rumbling at the scent. There's a warm weight on his chest, and when he opens his eyes he's greeted with the yellow stare of Toulouse.

He looks at his watch. It's a little after eleven. He usually wakes earlier, but he also doesn't usually sleep as soundly as he did last night.

He wanders into the kitchen in his borrowed sweats to find Jo standing at the stove in an oversized t-shirt, shorts, and out-of-season Halloween socks, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Her back is to him, and he takes the opportunity to study her naked legs. More ink peaks out from the hem of her shorts and covers most of her thighs. Bucky has the urge to drop to his knees before her and run his tongue over every intricate design.

Instead, he clears his throat, so he doesn't startle her, and she turns to face him. Her face is bare, and she’s wearing large, gold-rimmed glasses. Bucky can’t decide if she looks prettier like this or like she did last night, with her hair flowing down her back and her guitar in her hands.

"Morning," Jo says. “Sorry to shatter the illusion,” she continues, gesturing to her glasses and outfit.

Bucky smiles. He isn’t sure what the protocol is for greeting the woman you made out with and whose couch you slept on last night, but he decides he wants to kiss her again. He takes the few steps toward her and pulls her into his arms. This close, she has to crane her neck up to look him in the eyes.

“Morning,” he says. They’re so close and his voice is pitched so low that Jo can feel the word rumble in his chest. Butterflies erupt in her stomach.

Bucky leans down slowly and presses his lips against Jo’s. This kiss is softer and slower than the kisses they shared last night, and the heat that explodes in Jo’s lower stomach burns the butterflies away. Her fingers dig into his triceps, one arm yielding to her touch, the other firm against her digits. She sighs and opens her mouth to his tongue, letting him deepen the kiss.

He licks into her mouth, and Jo moans, her hands coming up to cup his stubble-covered cheeks. Bucky’s own hands slide down Jo’s back to her buttocks, pulling her hips flush against his so she can feel the effect she’s having on him. Jo gasps, and Bucky’s lips leave hers to trail wet kisses against her jaw.

When he pulls away, Bucky’s smile is almost smug. He likes all the sounds he’s able to pull from her, and he wants to hear more.

Jo turns back to the stove, catching her breath and trying to hide the flush she knows is rising from her chest to her cheeks.

“Breakfast — well," she looks at the clock on the oven, "brunch — is ready. Have a seat.”

Bucky places a final kiss against the back of Jo’s neck before sitting.

Toulouse rubs against Bucky's legs beneath the kitchen table. He reaches down to scratch Louie between the ears, and the cat lets out a contented chirp.

"He's usually not that nice to strangers," Jo says, watching the two of them from across the room.

"My sister had a cat growing up — big, fat orange thing that was missing half an ear. His name was Marmalade."

Jo smiles brightly and sets a plate of food in front of him. “Coffee?” she asks.

“Please,” Bucky says. “But I can get it.”

“No need,” she says, handing him a mug of fresh coffee. “You want oat milk? Sugar, maybe?”

“Black is good,” Bucky says, taking his first sip.

Jo sits across from him with her own plate and coffee cup. They spend breakfast talking quietly. Bucky likes the domesticity of it. He's gotten used to having breakfast at the Wilson's with Sarah, Sam, and the boys, but this meal with Jo feels more intimate. He has a brief flash of spending every morning like this, but he pushes it away as quickly as it comes. He's trying not to overthink whatever’s happening between himself and Jo. He’s not used to having good things in his life, but he wants to lean into this, take the risk.

"You said last night that you know who I am," Bucky says as they clear their plates from the table.

Jo is quiet for a moment, neatly stacking plates and coffee cups in the dishwasher.

“I may have seen a documentary or two featuring the Howling Commandos,” she says, closing the dishwasher and turning to Bucky. “And Sam and Steve may have crashed in Danny’s apartment for a couple of months when they were on the run following the Accords.”

Bucky is silent. He's staring at Jo with the same brooding intensity as last night, but there's something more in his eyes — a sadness she hadn't noticed earlier. She's seen that look before on Danny when he first came back from Afghanistan. It's the look of someone who's lost everything. But as quickly as it's there, it's gone.

Bucky clears his throat. “You knew Steve?” he asks.

“Yeah. I mean, briefly,” she whispers. “Let me show you something.”

He follows her into the living room where she pulls a box from one of the bookshelves. She empties the contents onto the coffee table; it's a handful of polaroids featuring varied combinations of Jo and Sam and Steve and Danny. Bucky sits on the couch and picks up one of the photos. It's of Steve with a German Shepherd; in the photo Steve is smiling brightly, and Bucky's heart aches at the sight.

"That's Greta," Jo says, sitting next to Bucky, "Danny's dog. She was just a puppy then. She adored Steve."

Bucky laughs through his nose and picks up another photo. This one features Sam and Jo sitting at a table in a kitchen that looks like Jo's but slightly different — Bucky assumes it's Danny's; Sam is clearly in the middle of a story, and Jo's head is thrown back in laughter. A stab of jealousy hits him in the chest — Bucky wants to make her laugh like that. He skims through the rest of the polaroids, finally landing on one of Jo and Steve sitting side by side at a piano, Steve's large frame dwarfing the woman next to him.

"He found out I can play a few '30s and '40s standards on piano," Jo says, smiling at the memory. "There wasn't a lot for him and Sam to do cooped up here for three months, so I taught him some basics."

Bucky stares at the photo for a while before he speaks. "You play piano?" he asks.

"I started on piano, took up guitar when I was ten, then bass when I was thirteen. I can also play drums, organ, banjo, mandolin, and a little violin," she says. "And I have a Bachelors of Music with a concentration in voice."

Bucky stares at her for a moment, then tosses the photo back onto the coffee table and reaches for Jo, pulling her onto his lap. She settles with her legs on either side of his hips and her hands on his shoulders.

"So, you have very talented fingers, then?" Bucky asks with a flirty grin.

Jo rolls her eyes and laughs, but she's secretly pleased with where this interaction seems to be headed. She was worried Bucky would feel like she had kept something from him by not telling him about Steve last night, but he seems to be taking it in stride.

"Thanks for showing me those photographs," Bucky says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "He gave up everything for me back then, so it's nice to see that maybe he had a little bit of happiness during that time."

"He wanted the same for you," she whispers, nudging her nose against Bucky's.

Bucky kisses her softly, then pulls away, staring into her green eyes. Jo slides her glasses off and sets them on the coffee table behind her.

She drags a finger down his vibranium arm and asks, “Can you feel that?”

Bucky licks his lips. “Yeah. It’s—it’s different from the real one, but yeah.”

Jo hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t say anything else. Their lips meet again, and this time the kiss is longer, needier. Bucky sweeps his tongue into her mouth, and Jo is certain she's going to have beard burn across her face tomorrow. But she doesn't really care.

Jo slides her hands into Bucky's hair, and he sighs into her mouth when she angles her hips against his just right, pressing against him slowly. His grip on her waist tightens before he slips his vibranium hand down across her backside to gently guide her movements. His flesh hand covers her right breast, palming her through her shirt.

Jo's hands leave his hair to slide beneath Bucky's t-shirt. He pulls back from her slightly and puts his hand over hers.

“I have scars,” Bucky warns.

“Okay,” Jo mumbles against his lips, trying for another kiss.

Bucky pulls back again. “They’re not pretty.”

Jo looks at him. “Bucky, do you really think I care about that? Do I look like someone who’s worried about conventional beauty standards?” she jokes. She smiles softly and brings a hand up to cradle his jaw. “You don’t have to show me. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss him again.

He pulls away from her mouth to tug the shirt over his head before he can overthink it. He’s gorgeous like this, and Jo wants to touch every inch of him. She starts with his chest, and her fingers dance lightly across the scars on Bucky’s left shoulder before she presses a quick kiss to the spot where flesh meets metal. Bucky smiles at the gesture, then his lips are on Jo's neck. As he sucks a mark into the place where her neck meets her shoulder, Bucky slips his flesh hand beneath the fabric of Jo's shirt.

Bucky's thumb slides across her nipple, and he pauses, warm metal against his digit stopping him. Jo can feel Bucky's fingers against her breast, trying to work out what exactly he's touching. She leans back, her hands on Bucky's chest to keep him from following her and pulls her t-shirt over her head.

Bucky's fairly certain his heart stops at the sight before him. He’s not sure what to look at first: the small gold balls that adorn either side of Jo’s erect nipples or the intricate floral design inked on her sternum between and below her breasts, framing them perfectly.

“So…I have my nipples pierced,” Jo says, taking Bucky’s staring for hesitation or confusion.

Bucky licks his lips. “Fuck,” he mutters before running his thumb across her right nipple and taking the left one between his teeth.

Jo hisses and bucks her hips harder against his cock. He's hot and hard beneath her as she grinds against him. The feeling he had last night – of being on fire – has returned, but it's tenfold now. Every thought of taking things slow, every bit of doubt has evaporated in wake of his need to please Jo.

Bucky grips Jo's waist and flips her onto her back on the couch, coming to rest between her open legs.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pressing his bare chest against hers. His dog tags are cool against her skin.

“Very," she breathes.

Bucky's lips find Jo's again before trailing across her jaw, down her neck, and over her breasts. He lets his tongue explore one of her pierced nipples before taking the bud between his teeth and pulling slightly. Jo gasps, and her own hands slide from Bucky's shoulders down his chest and across his stomach, her blunt fingernails scratching against his abs as she goes. She palms his cock through his sweats, and Bucky's hips stutter. His eyes clench shut like he’s in pain, and he pulls away to catch his breath.

"Sorry," Jo says quickly, removing her hand. "We can slow down."

"No," Bucky all but growls, then takes another deep breath and opens his eyes. "No. It's just been," he pauses, "it's been a while since I've done this, and you're kind of driving me crazy, Jo." He lets out a breathy laugh, then seems to sober. "I just—I, uh, need to be in control of some things. If that's okay."

She smiles her understanding before kissing him, softer this time. Bucky leans into the kiss and sweeps his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. He props himself up with his vibranium hand, and his right hand moves back to Jo's breasts, teasing each nipple in turn.

"Tell me what you want," Jo says as Bucky's teeth bite gently at her pulse point.

Bucky presses his lips against Jo's ear and whispers, "Touch yourself. Please. I want to watch you fall apart."

Jo whimpers. She catches the look on Bucky's face as her hand travels down her body and into her shorts. His pupils are blown wide, barely a hint of blue visible around black. She knows her own eyes look much the same.

She hisses when her fingers meet the bundle of nerves between her legs, then slide lower. Bucky can't decide if he wants to watch her hand beneath her shorts or her face. He settles for moving his eyes between her face and breasts, watching them rise and fall with each breath she takes. Finally, he lowers his head back between her breasts and traces the outline of the tattoo there with his tongue. Jo moans and bucks her hips.

Bucky presses his own hips against the couch, trying to find the smallest bit of relief. He's not going to last. It's been too long since he's been with someone this way, and his body feels like a live wire. He reaches up to push the fabric of her shorts aside, moaning when he realizes she's not wearing anything beneath them.

He feels Jo's fingers pull away, and he growls, "Keep touching yourself." She does, her fingers rubbing hard circles into her clit. "Good girl," Bucky praises, and Jo keens, Bucky's name falling from her lips.

He slips his own fingers inside of her. She's so wet and warm, Bucky is afraid he'll finish just from this. Or maybe it will be the sound of her moans that do me in, he thinks. Because she sounds lovely, better than she did on stage last night. And she feels perfect wrapped around his two digits. He adds a third, and Jo's whole body tenses. Bucky can feel her warm heat tighten around his fingers as her legs bend and draw in closer to her body. The sight of Jo coming pushes him over the edge. He's spilling into his sweatpants like a teenager, and he doesn't even care. All he can think of is the sound of Jo, the feel of Jo, the look on Jo's face.

Bucky collapses onto Jo's body, his full weight resting on her for a second before he props himself up again and looks at her. She's smiling sleepily, a slightly dazed look in her eyes, and he can't help but admit that it makes his ego swell to know he can make her smile like that.

"That was..." he starts.

Jo hesitates, then runs her fingers through his hair softly. "Good? Great? Amazing?" she says.

Bucky breathes out a laugh and rests his head on her chest for a moment. "All of the above," he replies. Jo hums, and Bucky continues, lifting his head again to look at her, "You're fucking perfect, doll."

Jo laughs, and replies, "You probably say that to all the girls, Sarge."

Bucky sobers. "No, Jo, I don't. Really." He brushes a strand of hair from her face. "When I said I haven't done this in a while, that was an understatement," he says. Dr. Raynor told him he needed to open up, nurture friendships (or whatever this is turning into), so here he goes. "I wasn't really planning on this happening — not that I'm not glad that it did..." He pauses.

"But you live in New York, and I live here. And we just met,” Jo finishes.

"I don't know how things like this work these days," he says. He's looking at her with such sincerity that Jo thinks her heart might burst. "I told you I wanted to do this right. Dinner, flowers, the whole nine yards.”

Jo cocks her head to the side and smiles. "Let's start with dinner."

_____

They lay in silence for a while, Bucky's head resting on Jo's naked breasts, her fingers running through his hair. Jo's starting to think he's fallen asleep when Bucky speaks again.

“I should probably go,” Bucky says reluctantly. "Sam was expecting my help with the boat today."

"I'll drive you," Jo says. "Just let me get dressed."

"You don't have to do that. I can call a cab."

"Delacroix's, like, an hour outside the city. It'll cost a fortune. Let me drive you."

Bucky hesitates, but Jo nudges at his right shoulder gently until he agrees. He presses a soft kiss to her lips before he stands and offers her a hand. While Bucky moves into the bathroom to change back into his own boxers and jeans, Jo slips into her room. She comes back out wearing jeans and a vintage Lilith Fair t-shirt; she's traded her glasses for contacts. Jo shoves her feet into her combat boots at the door and turns back to kiss Bucky quickly before they leave the apartment.

_____

The drive to Delacroix is quiet except for Jo's Paul Simon playlist thrumming from the car speakers. Bucky thinks he might actually like the music. Or maybe he just likes listening to Jo sing every word.

When Jo pulls up outside Sarah's house, Bucky turns to her from the passenger seat. “I don’t have your number,” he says.

“Give me your phone," she responds, smiling and holding her hand out.

Bucky unlocks his phone and hands it over. Jo saves her number before texting herself so she has his, as well. She deletes the text conversation and hands his phone back.

"There you go, Sarge," she says with a wink.

Bucky leans across the car's console and wraps his vibranium hand around the back of Jo's neck. He pulls her close and presses his lips against hers gently. Jo responds by running her fingers across the stubble on Bucky's jaw and sweeping her tongue into his mouth. A moan rumbles through Bucky's chest, and he tries to move closer to Jo's body, but he knocks his knees roughly against the center divider.

"Shit," he curses, pulling away. "It was easier to kiss a dame in the front seat of a car in the '40s," Bucky complains.

Jo laughs. "Kissing a lot of dames in cars, were you?"

"I got around," Bucky says, a grin on his face.

He feels like himself around Jo – not exactly the person he was before the war, but close. He almost feels like he could be a better version of that man; he wants to be that for Jo. For now, though, it's easy to flirt and laugh with her, watch her eyes light up and her smile brighten.

"I believe it, Sarge," Jo teases. Over Bucky's shoulder, she notices Sam standing on the front porch of the house. "I think I've stolen you away from Sam long enough," she says.

"Please, doll, steal me away anytime," Bucky flirts. He kisses her once more. "I'll see you Tuesday," he whispers, his hand lingering on her cheek before he climbs out of the car.

“Looks like someone had a good night,” Sam laughs as Bucky ascends the front porch steps.

“We are not talking about this,” Bucky grumbles.

“Oh, we’re definitely talking about this,” Sam says, clapping Bucky on the back.

______

next chapter

[rikorene]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 // k. tsukishima

genre: fluff (yes, finally, fluff)

[ a/n : omg i just finished watching given and was immediately inspired to write this thing. idk if i’m gonna make a part 2, but i hope that you all enjoy it! after this i’ll be writing BNHA stuff hehe and probably change my layout AGAIN HJAHJASHAJH ]

It was just a band.

           Nothing could ever change Tsukishima’s opinion on that thought, all of them were second years. He was in an active band that Yamaguchi joined in their first year, at first, Tsukishima Kei was skeptical about the concept on forming a group with people he hardly knew. A bright orange-haired man that’s in charge of the electric guitar and the vocals, a blueberry eyed boy that seemed to be arrogantly confident in everything he did back then that played the drums, a boy with freckles that was beautifully scattered on his cheeks that was on the bass and Tsukishima himself that was in charge of the keyboard.

           But even if he was skeptical about everything, being cautious and all, he somehow managed to stay in the band for a year now. It has been a regular routine for him to instantly go to the studio that the previous third years rented for them when they still attended Karasuno, they were in a different band with some second years back then but they didn’t see Tsukishima’s band as a threat or as a competition. Well, maybe they saw each other as rivals. But nothing serious.

           Of course, it’s normal for bands to have disagreements on some things. It isn’t something new if he found Hinata and Kageyama on each other’s throats during practice. He’d just scoff at their idiotic attempts on pissing each other off and make some snarky comment about their personalities.

           Aside from Yamaguchi that would usually break them up before they destroyed the equipment that they were using, there was a second-year manager that took care of the paperworks, Yachi. She was reliable in Tsukishima’s opinion, a bit timid and sort of a push-over, but reliable, nonetheless.

           Then, you came.

You were a transfer student. Someone who transferred to Miyagi Prefecture in the middle of August that came from the Kanto region. Tsukishima observed that you were pretty timid but was the type to get along with everyone pretty quickly, you sat next to him and he would catch you often scribbling in your notebook, sometimes you would doze off, and sometimes you would actually put an effort into listening to the professor’s lecture.

It was an accident that he stumbled upon you in your empty classroom, pen tapping as you sang a song. Tsukishima didn’t mean to eavesdrop on you, he was frozen in place at that time, absolutely entranced at your angelic voice. Soft, yet loud. Aggressively beautiful that held power in it. You had talent and he knew that. Yamaguchi saw his friend frozen in place at the door before peeping in and saw you, he heard your voice and was also shocked.

“Beautiful.” Yamaguchi breathed out. Tsukishima was still staring at your back as you continued to sing. He nodded at Yamaguchi’s comment. And he was smitten.

Yamaguchi talked to Hinata about how they could use a main vocalist other than Hinata in their band, he talked about the pros and benefits if he convinced you to join their band, of course Hinata would agree and Kageyama was fine with it as well, saying that they could use an extra hand, Yachi was fine with it too. And it was settled.

“[last name]! please join our band!” Hinata said as he bowed down with Yamaguchi and Yachi, Kageyama was avoiding your confused glances at him and the others while Tsukishima was just there, staring at you intensely. You were obviously surprised and flustered at their approach to you after school, you nervously fiddled with your fingers then looked at them with a hint of redness on your cheek.

“A- alright.” You stuttered out and gave them a sheepish smile, Hinata busted out and tackled you into a hug, dragging you along as Yachi followed in tow. Yamaguchi sighed in relief as Kageyama yelled at Hinata for being too rough on you.

“BOKE! HINATA, BOKE!” Kageyama fumed. Tsukishima was quiet but he was glad that you had agreed.

           It’s been a few months since you’ve joined ‘Fly’ you were now comfortable with the members, keeping them on a leash especially Hinata and Kageyama. You just fit right in as Tsukishima predicted. Your kind and caring nature swayed their hearts as it did with others, normally you were the calm and mother of the group giving them the reassurance and the love that they needed for when they were feeling nervous before a gig. But among the others that craved and gained your attention, where was he? He had no greed of wanting your affection all to himself, after all, you were someone that would outshine the sun, and he was just someone that was stuck in the dark night sky.

           You would constantly come up to him and help him with the keys on the keyboard as you knew how to play the keyboard and the guitar and give him some pointers on how to improve his skills as you did with the others. You were patient with everyone, always sheepishly smiling if they made a mistake while playing, not giving up on teaching them. And Tsukishima admired that about you.

           Confessions were almost regular to you after all, who wouldn’t love your kind personality and your pretty face? Juniors and seniors would come up to you at least twice a week asking if they could take you out and you would politely decline, saying the right things. You would choose your words carefully before telling it to others. And he liked that.

           You let out a deep breath as you nervously fiddled with the pretty pearl pendant on your neck that was given to you by your mother before she passed away, you and the band was on a stage in front of a rather large group of people inside of a large building. Over a hundred people would be watching you on stage singing a song that you and the others wrote. The others were setting up their own instruments as you tried counting down, you were nervous and Tsukishima knew that. He came up to you and placed a hand on your head.

           “Focus. You’ll be okay.” Your eyes grew wide and a small blush appeared on your cheeks, your eyes avoiding Tsukishima’s as he stared at you. You nodded and Tsukishima sighed, patting your shoulder before going back to his keyboards. The action didn’t go unnoticed as Hinata smirked and went to Tsukishima and began poking at him.

           “Ehhh?~ It seems like you DO have feelings after all” He whispered in Tsukishima’s ear as a vein popped on his forehead and hit Hinata on the head who just backed away from Tsukishima as he complained how Tsukishima kept on abusing him physically making you giggle.

           Soon enough they got into position as the curtains rose, the crowd was clapping and cheering for all of you and Kageyama tapped his drumsticks with each other.

           “One, two three!” Kageyama counted down and then you all played your hearts out. As you sang along with Hinata, the two of you holding your guitars as you both took turns in singing the lyrics the crowd as waving along the music. Tsukishima was staring at you as his fingers played along the keys, completely entranced by your passionate singing. Shit, he was falling harder than he thought.

           It was after the show when the group insisted on staying over your house since your parents were away and your house was big enough to let the group stay. They all laid out mattresses on your bedroom floor and goofed around before actually falling asleep.

           Tsukishima couldn’t sleep. His senses was filled with the thoughts of you. The way you smiled at him, the way you would talk to everyone in a gentle manner, the way you skipped on ahead of him when the two of you would walk home together. He was absolutely whipped.

           He quietly stepped out and went to your balcony, he stared at the moon and the stars and laughed at how they reminded him of you. Your eyes would sparkle and twinkle that would make all of the stars in the sky green with envy as you would outshine them. Even if he did compare you with all of the most beautiful things in this world, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

           “Tsukishima?”

           Your soft voiced snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked back, he saw the most beautiful sight. Your hair was messy as you wore baggy gray t-shirt and sweatpants. Even if you would say that you looked like a mess, to Tsukishima you were the most beautiful thing that he had ever laid his eyes on.

           “Yo.” He greeted you casually, silently cursing at how his heart was beating fast in his chest. He leaned against the stone wall and stared back up at the moon. You walked closer and placed yourself next to him, sitting on the edge as you were facing him instead of the view.

           “O- oy, you could fall.” He said, grabbing your wrist as you just smiled at him, the cool January wind blowing slightly as it went through your hair.

           “You would never let me fall.” You replied, he froze for a second and turned away from you.

           “I could push you right now.” He mumbled loud enough for you to hear, his head turned away so you couldn’t see his slightly red cheeks.

           “And I’ll take you down with me.”

           He sighed and ruffled his own hair, you giggled and tilted your head up and saw the sky full of stars.

           “The night sky is beautiful.” You said, he looked at you. He thought of how ridiculous it was to say such things when you were obviously the most beautiful thing in this world right now. But he nodded, humming in response.

           “Hey Tsukishima.”

           He looked at you, your cheeks were pink as your eyes stared at him as if he was something admirable. He would always note at how you would stare at something, if you loved that thing or if you disliked it. And right now you held something in your eyes that would make him shy away.

           “I like you.”

           His heart stopped beating for a second as he stared at you with wide eyes, you giggled at his frozen state and cupped his cheeks as you scooted closer to him then you pressed your lips on his gently. It took him moments to finally realize that he wasn’t dreaming and that you did confess to him and you were kissing him right now. He placed his hands on your hips and kissed you back softly.

           You both pulled away and you gave him a gentle smile. He sighed and pulled you into a hug as you buried his face into the crook of your neck inhaling your intoxicating scent.

           “we’re in a band you know.” Tsukishima said, noting of how band to band relationships would never work out.

           You just hummed in response.

           “This would probably never work.”

           “Hmmm…”

           “you could get hurt.”

           “If it’s you, I don’t mind.”

           Tsukishima sighed, finally giving in. He gave your neck a light peck as you giggled. The two of you cradled each other as you both had made each other silent vows without actually saying the words. The warmth of each other was enough for now.

           Meanwhile, as the two of you hugged each other for the longest time the four idiots that were peeking through the glass cheered, they had big grins on their faces (yes, even Kageyama) as they watched your sweet exchange. Now Hinata had something to tease Tsukishima about in the morning.

[ part 2 : soon ]