#nothing is resolved! nothing is fucking good and light and happy! it's all MESSY

[love-strike]

appreciating seungkwans thighs: a drabble

pairing: boo seungkwan x afab reader rating: explicit (18+) word count: 1.2kish genres: pwp, smut, boyfriend!kwan warnings: switch kwan (but mostly sub), switch reader, kissing, biting, unprotected sex, riding, some dirty talk, creampie a/n: this was brought on by the few convos i've had with my anons about… seungkwans thighs! it is not easy to get rid of seungkwan thigh brainrot. as long as someone else besides me enjoys this i'll be happy :-*

Seungkwan is gorgeous.

His soft skin, pretty face, and warm eyes — you could stare at him all day. You actually like when he catches you staring; he flusters so easily that it pleases you.

When it comes to the dynamic in the bedroom between you and your boyfriend, it changes a lot. Most of the time, Seungkwan enjoys taking control. However, sometimes you can’t help yourself.

“Do you feel good?” you ask from your spot between Seungkwan's legs. You’ve been taking your sweet time covering his chest and torso in kisses, enjoying the little sounds he lets out. You watch him swallow and lift his head, face flushed and dark hair messy.

“Yes, but I need more,” he says with pouted lips. You laugh softly and pull yourself up to kiss him, and he chases after your lips when you break apart.

“Needy baby,” you say teasingly. Riling him up is part of the fun, too.

“Not needy,” Seungkwan replies quickly. “I can take care of myself.”

You gasp theatrically at his words and you can see him smile a bit. He quickly grabs onto you like he’s scared that you’ll actually leave him like this. Your teasing resolve instantly weakens as you look down at him. Instead of saying anything, you lower yourself back down between his legs. You take a moment to appreciate where you are, soothingly running your hands up and down his thighs. You can feel the muscles relaxing under your touch.

“What are you — oh,” his impatience is quickly cut off by the feeling of your lips touching the skin of his thigh. You begin leaving open-mouthed kisses across the soft skin, letting one of your hands move up to rub circles on his stomach. You decide to test the waters by gently nipping at his thigh, smirking when you hear him whine loudly.

“Your thighs are so sensitive,” you mumble, more to yourself than him. You see his unattended erection twitch ever so slightly. Instead of giving him what you know he wants, you gently bite into the flesh of his thigh and then lave your tongue on the area.

“Oh,” Seungkwan moans again as if he's run out of words. “You're… you're gonna leave marks.”

“Don't you like when I leave marks?” you counter quickly, continuing your trail of small bites across his skin. He moans and you take it as a sound of affirmation. You take a moment to look down at your handiwork; you love seeing the small marks that will eventually turn into light bruises. You also notice that Seungkwan’s cock is hard — so hard that he’s leaking precum and the sight alone makes your mouth water. He must see your hungry gaze because you watch him wrap his hand around his erection, a drop of precum running down the length.

“Please?” he says so breathily that your mouth waters even more. You only see this side of Seungkwan when he allows you to, all vulnerable and wanting. You’re so close to giving in.

Instead, you place yourself in your original position to continue your mission of worshipping your boyfriend’s thighs. You lick over all the marks that you left in an attempt to soothe the delicate skin. If he was trying to be quiet earlier, that notion has completely flown out the window — he’s now writhing underneath you and openly moaning in pleasure. Each pretty sound that comes from his mouth makes you wetter by the minute. You suddenly feel Seungkwan’s body move as his hips stutter, thrusting up into nothing. You can’t help but bite your lip at the sight.

“I need to be inside you, please?” Seungkwan whines, almost quietly. “I need to fuck you, so badly.”

A relenting sigh leaves you and you're almost disappointed in yourself, but you need your boyfriend as much as he needs you. In reply, you strip your underwear off and leisurely crawl up Seungkwan's body until you're positioned on his lap as he continues laying. You watch his face as he lowers his eyelids in anticipation.

“What do you want?” you ask softly, taking your hand and grasping his cock like you've both been wanting all night. He gasps and his cock throbs a little in your grip.

“You,” he moans and delicately places his hands on your waist. “I want… I need to feel you.”

You smile in satisfaction and rub the tip of his leaking member between your folds, letting him feel how wet you are. He curses loudly and you let out a little moan yourself when you accidentally stroke your clit with his tip. The feeling has you clenching around nothing, eager to be filled up. The teasing has become almost unbearable for you as well.

In one movement, you line up Seungkwan's cock with your entrance and sink down on him with an exhaled breath. Once he's fully in, his hips thrust up slightly and you can feel him hit you deeper.

“Oh god,” you moan loudly. You hear him chuckle beneath you, causing you to narrow your eyes at him.

“What happened to your self control?” he breathes out, still looking as desperate as before; you can't help but think that he regained some of his cockiness.

You tighten around him and begin to move your hips, effectively shutting him up for a moment. His breaths escalate into moans, and then into drawn out whines as you move on his cock. You're moaning his name out, alongside a string of curses and other unintelligible noises.

In your frenzy, you feel his hands tighten on your waist as his hips move to match your rhythm. The both of you know at this point that you're giving up control, if only a little bit.

“You're so wet,” Seungkwan says, voice shaky. “You're soaking my cock, baby.”

His lewd words hit you in just the right spot and you can feel the involuntarily twitching of your pussy around him. You see him grin smugly and intensify his movements. Your dazed feeling is becoming almost too much as you move a hand down to rub circles on your swollen clit.

Seungkwan drinks in the sight and throws his head back in pleasure, groaning alarmingly loud. You know that he's close too.

“Gonna cum,” you whimper out. “Cum for me, Seungkwan, inside me. You've been so good for me.”

His hips stutter in reply, and you feel your orgasm hit you seconds before his cock throbs, his cum spilling inside you. You're both moaning in unison as you ride out your highs, cursing and mumbling each others names out loud. His cock is still twitching and emptying inside you after a moment, and you can feel his cum spill out of your entrance. Your overstimulated whine causes Seungkwan to drag his eyes away from the sight where your bodies are connected. He gently pulls you off of his cock and you roll into the spot next to him on the bed.

“Holy shit,” he says after catching his breath. “That was amazing.”

You grumble and wrap your arms around his body, leaving little kisses on his face. He hums and hugs you tightly.

“Look who's being all cute and clingy now,” he coos and plants a kiss on your head. You sigh loudly in an effort to hide your embarrassment.

“Don't talk to me, just go to sleep,” you reply and squeeze his arm, grateful for when he finally lets up on his teasing so you can both doze off in peace.

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

could you write about peter parker (t.m) brings his gf, reader for a study date but instead they fuck on his bed while aunt may is at work or something! please! doggy style, blowjob, boob job, missionary, daddy kink

The Study Date

A/N: This was meant for Tobey's spiderman but feel free to use your imagination!

Warning: Oral- facefucking(male receiving); Hair pulling; Creampie

Light from the sun streams in from the open window highlighting the books and note cards scattered across Peter's messy bedroom floor. There's not a cloud in the sky, and I can hear boisterous laughter from people walking by on the street; everyone sounding free and upbeat made me beyond jealous! Its absolutely unbelievable that on this beautiful breezy bright day my wonderfully amazing boyfriend convinced me to study for our upcoming exams. Hell, even Aunt May had plans to be home late as she and Happy had a date after her shift.

We both knew I'd rather be doing anything else. Better yet, I know WHO I'd rather be doing. Glancing up at a frowning Peter sitting criss-cross with his back against his bed, I watch him scribbling quickly on a notepad. Another pencil clenched between his teeth, he pauses his note taking to read the book in his lap. I can't help but admire the firm set in his jaw contrasting against that adorable baby face. Peter's short messy brown locks dust his forehead as his brows crease. God, his pretty ocean blue eyes never fail to pull me in. Fuck... His sexy ass in only a pair of light gray sweats was leaving nothing to the imagination. My baby's lean but chiseled chest rises slowly with each breath as I stare unabashedly.

I lay prone in front of him a few feet away, legs up behind me and crossed at the ankles, thoroughly enjoying the view. Normally I wait for Peter to initiate anything sexual but it always ends before he can fuck me. Rather it be May interrupting or his Spiderman duties calling, we haven't had a chance to do more than a bit of steamy dry humping. But today, as the drippin in my panties turns to a leak just from lookin at him, Peter's def in for somethin new.

He's concentrating so hard that I'm sure he doesn't notices the aggressive and very thorough eye fuck I'm giving him. He can't possibly be this damn clueless! Opening my mouth to speak Peter surprises me, looking up from his book, beating me to the punch.

"If you're done eye raping me, can you hand me the whiteout?" He teases, his knowing smirk almost making me embarrassed. ALMOST. Lord only knows I'm way to damn wet right now for the shy act.

Without replying I get on all fours and slowly, sensually, crawl to my Spiderman. He immediately sets down everything, spreads his legs and pulls me into his lap. I slip my shirt off quickly, leaving me in nothing but my soft shorts. My lips are desperate for his so I kiss him lustfully, deepening it as I grind ontop of him. My dark blue and red cotton shorts hardly get in the way as Peter starts to swell against me. My wetness seeps out of my empty clenching core, soaking my bottoms and his sweats.

"Peeeete, take off your pants. I wanna play. Lemme suck it." I moan into his mouth.

"Sweetheart-" Peter starts in protest but I quickly cut him off with another soft wet kiss. If he wants to play hard to get then so be it.

I lick into his mouth, before sucking the tip of his tongue between my lips. My fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, lightly tugging as Peter's hips cant upward on each small pull. Short low moans come from his as he breaks our kiss to look down at the small wet patch forming where I drip on top him. Our breathing accelerates as I speed up the grinding on his fully hard dick, moving my lips to speak softly in his ear.

"Please Pete, pleeeease. Lemme suck you. I wanna make you feel good. I want you to cum in my mouth, down my throat. Fuuuck, feel your dick twitch on my tongue." I nip at his ear as I watch his resolve crumbling piece by piece. His head falling back on his mattress as he struggles to submit. I don't know why he's resisting and I don't give a fuck. I'm gettin that dick TODAY.

He might be Spiderman but I'm pretty damn quick my self. I'm off his lap and eye level with his crotch, pulling out that impressive fucking dick and cramming him between my lips before he can pick his head up. I lick and suck around his tip with messy loud slurps as watch him closely; his head dips farther into his bed and his arms hang limp at his sides against the floor. He involuntarily spread his legs wider, giving me ample room to work on his cock.

With eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open wide gasping for breath, Peter immediately loses the will to combat himself on this. When I notice, I smile with a mouth full of dick and, with a little difficulty, slide him deeper into my mouth. My unexpected gagging and salivating has him moaning and groaning so fucking seductively. I've never heard anything more alluring. I want more of those moans. So I slide my mouth up and down his lengthy cock fervidly. The taste of his salty precum explodes across my tongue and I moan around him this time, the vibrations making Peter shudder in return.

The soft sounds he makes increase in volume as I speed up the pace of stuffing my new favorite treat down my throat. His hips start to fuck his dick between my lips as one hands slide into my hair firmly as holds me place. 'Fuuuck, Daddy' repeats like a mantra in my head. That dam spider strength makes it so I can't move a single inch as he pistons in and out of my mouth recklessly. I feel his wet balls slapping my chin as my spit smear cheeks, chin, and naked breasts. All I can do is grip his thigh and focus on breathing through my nose as Peter tries to fuck himself into throat. My gagging doubles but I get no reprieve, not a damn lick of empathy. I couldn't dream of anything better

"Uh, uh, uh, f-fuuuuuck. Uh, AH! So fuckin good, princess. Bout to cu-uuum." His lusty cry makes me slip my shorts to the side and finger my throbbing sensitive little button.

I choke around him, eyes rolled back as I let him use me. 'Yeeees Daddy fuckin explode down my throat, lemme taste.' I think as his strokes turn erratic. One last pull out before Peter pushes his pelvis to my nose and unloads 3 strong gushes outta his twitchin dick to the back of my throat, so I swallow to not choke. He pulls back a bit, hand still firmly hold me, as the next 2 land on my tongue. Pete's gasping and panting, staring at me intently while he let's the rest of his warm cum leak onto my lips as he smears his spasming dick in the mess.

When he's finally done ruining me, he releases me reluctantly. His cock is still hard, glistening with my drool and his cum, balls still drawn up tight against his body. I take my hand outta my shorts and remove them, wiping his cum from my face. His eyes widen when he realizes I was playing with my pussy while he face fucked me.

"Did you like that Pete?" I ask seductively, kicking books out the way and laying on my back perched up on my elbows with spread legs.

"Hell yeah, princess. More than like. You got damn drained me. But now I want a taste of you."

Peter rushes to duck between my legs, trying to dive head first to eat me I assume; but I grab a handful of his soft chocolate colored hair and pull him up my body till his dick taps against my desperate messy soaked little puss.

"Fuck that, you can eat this pussy some other time. You better fuck me right now, Parker." I growl out.

That unsure look crosses Peter's face once more and I decide it's time to take matters into my own hands again. I grab for his dick and hastily stuff him inside. Although just a bit more than the tip crams inside, my back arches and I moan loud and long like a whore. I stare at the ceiling with wide unseeing eyes and an open mouth as I tug a couple more inches of Pete's cock into my wet core. My insides clutch at him frantically as I fuck on his leaky dick about half way.

My fingers rub my throbbing little button in quick fast circles, crying out as Peter stares at me in surprise. His shock obviously prevents him from realizing how close I am to cumming. As his breathing and the buildup in his balls upsurgesfrom watching me fuck myself on him, it's clear to us both that I need no assistance. I know my end is near. The intense pleasurable beating in my pussy makes me gasp for air while humping Petes dick wildly. 1 circle, 2 circles, 3 more circles on my clit and I combust. My head thrashes left to right as my cream gushes Peter endlessly.

"YES DAAAADDY, YES! Fuck me, aaah, fuck meeeee! FuckmefuckmefuckmeDaddy!" My intense orgasm draws every filthy thought from my mind through my open mouth into mindless shrieks. There's no room for embarrassment.

Suddenly the world seems shaken and upside down as I find my self quickly turned on my stomache. Peter forces a hand under me to fiercely finger my clit, burying his meat in me almost to the hilt. My back bowed, orgasm prolonged, I feel dizzy from how insanely intense it all feels as he digs into me repeatedly.

"Noooo, no-no-no-no-no, not yeeeeet.." Pete's words melt in one long endless moan and 4 earth shattering back breaking strokes later, he's gripping at my plump ass cheeks and audaciously fills me up. His cum dribbles from around his dick to mix with mine on the sheets. Neither of us move beyond the occasional shudder. Peter remains lodged inside as we try to catch our breath. Small drizzles of cum leak irregularly from his unhurriedly softening prick when we hear 3 light knocks on the locked bedroom door.

FUCK!!!!! May's home..

[equalseleventhirds]

quick disclaimer before fic: this is not meant to excuse or absolve melanie and georgie of outing jon; what they did was wrong and they should not have done it. instead it is an... examination of a character who is Maybe working some things out but, due to Internalized Issues, is harshly rejecting it both for herself and other people. (i’m aware i wrote something with the exact same FUCKING premise back when i was in the sh*rl*ck fandom dear god don’t read that linked fic it is from a deeply shameful time of fandom i only linked it as proof i did the same thing before. almost like i’m still working through the same stuff via writing fanfiction. hm.) (further discussion on THAT in post-fic notes; i wanted to keep it under the cut for personal reasons.)

furthermore: warning for discussion of sex (but not explicit depictions of sex), characters experiencing aphobia both internalized and not, mention of sexism wrt jobs, characters outing other characters without their consent (more than once, and more than just jon), and mention of consensual but unwanted sex (as in, consent was given, but the consenter did not enjoy it, and consented due to expectations).

- - -

It starts with: “I don’t, I, I usually can’t—Lately. I mean. Lately I can’t.” Melanie shuts her eyes so she won’t have to see Georgie, her hand on the sheets, judgment questions in her eyes. “Since I got—shot. It’s more difficult, is all.”

“Melanie—”

“You can still try,” she says, the words falling too fast, too panicked. “If you want, sometimes other people—and it’s fine! I’m always, it’s fine to try. Sometimes I do. I just might not. You know.”

“You might not orgasm,” Georgie finishes for her. It’s hard to tell how she’s feeling about it—until her fingers brush Melanie’s chin, turning her face up.

Reluctantly, Melanie opens her eyes, and then she’s glad she did. Because Georgie’s smiling, not a mocking smile, gentle. And they said this was just, just casual, just between friends (there’s too much going on with ghosts and the Institute and Georgie’s ex sleeping on her couch when he isn’t being kidnapped for it to be more than that), but Melanie’s glad Georgie is smiling.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Georgie says. She’s sitting up now, not lying almost-not-quite between Melanie’s legs anymore. She looks gorgeous, naked and cross-legged on that horrible mattress with a microfiber sheet wrapped around her shoulders, and Melanie wants to curl up in the sheet with her and eat the leftover pizza from earlier and fall asleep together with grease on their hands.

No. Focus. “It’s okay,” Georgie says again, gentler. “If you can’t right now. If you don’t want to. You certainly gave me a lovely orgasm—”

“—or three—”

“—yes, thank you, and if you’d rather just call it there, I’m not pushing it. As long as you enjoyed yourself.” She frowns, suddenly, glancing down at Melanie’s hands. “You… did enjoy yourself? I hope we didn’t—”

“I did!” She always does, when it’s other people coming, when she gets to be touching warm skin and watching someone fall apart. It’s… nice. “It’s just, you know. I got shot.”

(And isn’t that a convenient excuse, she sneers in her own head, and it sounds like Toni refusing to come back to the team, it sounds like the most sarcastic videos about her breakdown, it sounds like Elias. Isn’t it convenient that now you can blame your little problem on blood flow, or nerve endings, or stress. Never mind that you didn’t have those excuses a year ago. Or two years. Or back when you had a real girlfriend, and you always said yes but she got tired before—)

Georgie tucks a strand of hair behind Melanie’s ear. “Okay, good. If we, you know, try this again sometime? If you’re feeling better? Then I can try.” She stops, licks her lips, watches Melanie’s expression. “Or I can… not try, if you’d still prefer that. Later. You know. If.”

“I’m not—” And she’s rushing again, always rushing, she doesn’t even know if she and Georgie will ever—

“No, I know! It’s fine! But like—Look, this isn’t exactly new for me, you know? If that’s something you want. Something you don’t want. Or I, I’m saying it’s not a problem, if you do or don’t want me to make you come in the future, or even if you don’t want to have sex at all, I mean, when we were dating Jon didn’t—”

That’s where Georgie stops, as if talking about Jon is too much, as if she hasn’t been speaking Melanie’s secret insecurities out loud in bed like it’s something they can talk about, as if all of this hasn’t already been too much and too terrifying already.

Melanie stands up, grabs the comforter as a makeshift cloak (because Georgie has the sheet, and suddenly she isn’t sure she wants to share the sheet with her). “Right.”

“I’m just—I have a friend. Who you might talk to, if you wanted to talk about this.”

She steps away from the bed, towards the door. “Sure. Pizza? I’m hungry.”

-

The problem is, Melanie doesn’t much like Jon. He was such a dick about the Youtube thing, and about her statement, and about Sasha. And even though she knows (sort of) that part of it hadn’t been his fault, she still isn’t going to talk over her disinterest in sex with him. It’s mortifying. Even if he wasn’t her boss. And Georgie’s ex. And currently out of the Archives, anyway.

But she wants to talk to somebody, about Georgie’s words running around and around and around her head, about the sheer panic mixing with almost-relief and then the visceral no no no churning low in her stomach that had made it a struggle just to choke down her pizza. She wants to ask someone is this normal, am I allowed, is it even enough to be halfway to ‘not at all’ or should I just suck it up. She wants to talk that out desperately.

It’s just… she doesn’t have many friends left, after her whole fall from Youtube ghost hunter grace. She’s not going to ask Georgie about it, any more than Jon, although for pretty much the opposite reason. Who’s left? Her shiny new coworkers? Tim, who seethes and hates everything and everyone in the Archives? Martin, who’s still upset that Jon so much as spoke to her while he was on the run? Basira?

-

When Melanie met Sasha—the real Sasha, the one apparently no one but her even remembers—she’d been the only woman in the Archives. And Melanie had chatted with her about haunted pubs, and maximizing SEO, and how to talk to people who’d seen a white dog while they were drunk and thought it was a ghost. And about their jobs, of course, which led to both of them scoffing about the sexist bullshit of academia and how someone like Sasha could be just an assistant and the only woman on her team.

And then Elias hired Melanie to replace… the thing that replaced Sasha. Hired another woman to replace the only woman. You learn to see patterns from the kind of person who might say diversity the same way as toilet plunger: something necessary, but distasteful. Melanie was filling a role he needed filled, and she could live with that.

And then Basira.

Who wasn’t there because she wanted to be, of course, but was still there. Was still another woman in the boy’s club of terror they’d apparently signed on for. Could maybe, maybe, be someone Melanie could connect with. Someone she could talk to.

Maybe.

-

“Do you know if he and Jon ever…?”

“No clue, and not interested!” She’s laughing, about to just dismiss it out of hand, but… maybe. She can feel the questions she never asked Georgie, the words sharpening their claws on the edges of her mind. The no, not me, not allowed sinking in her gut.

“Although…” Make it light. Make it interesting. Make it about someone else. How to hook an audience without having a public breakdown and becoming a— “According to Georgie, Jon… doesn’t.”

It feels wrong as soon as she says it. Like she’s dirty. Like she’s lying. Like a thousand eyes are looking at her, watching her, waiting for more. Make it a story. Engage your audience. Like it’s 2013 in a convention hotel room and Pete just told everyone Don’t worry, Mel likes girls actually, and even though they were all fine about it that moment of sharpshock terror in her throat as they all looked—

“Like, at all?”

The one thing she never learned was how to stop talking. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, that does explain some stuff.”

And that’s… it, really. That does explain some stuff. Jon is a dick, has always been a dick, overfocused on work and not on other people, and that does explain some stuff. Right. Yes. Like her last girlfriend had told her, about all you do is work, I can’t even get you off. An explanation, just like she always knew it would be.

It doesn’t really matter. She has a boss to go kill.

-

“I think,” she says, slow, like every word is being dragged out of her, “that I might not like. Sex. As much as, you know, people do.”

“You’re a person,” her therapist says, firm, and she has to bite back a sarcastic laugh.

“Right. ‘Course.”

- - -

post-fic notes: i myself personally have previously identified as: heteroromantic gray-ace, heteroromantic ace, aroace, aro gray-ace, aro bi, bi, arospec bi, aro bi again, and aro bi but sex ambivalent. part of that has been natural progression and change; part of that was bcos some people i considered friends got very into aphobic discourse, and i internalized a lot of what they said. in recent months i have been examining my sex ambivalence (sometimes repulsion) and considering what that means about whether or not i am on the ace spectrum. i’m still thinking about these things. i’m still, deep down inside, afraid of the aphobic people i respected and cared about hearing about this.

in part i wrote this to work through some of My Own Shit regarding this. in part i wrote this bcos i will get my grubby little aspec hands (bcos regardless of anything else, i am aspec, whether that’s ace or aro) on every character i can. yes, even the ones who did an objectively shitty thing to jon, the one canonical ace character. bcos sometimes people (like me) internalize things and make mistakes.

[duskholland]

Stuck With(out) You - Mob!Tom Smut

tom was having a really nice day until the metropolitan police decided to crash his date.            or, when the law finally catches up to london’s most notorious mobster, tom learns that nothing is fair in love and war.

word count ↠ 15k. warnings ↠ angst with a happy ending, alcohol, a car chase, extensive depictions of prison, violence (very minor injury detail), tattooing, pregnancy, bad language, smut! there are extended nsfw warnings below the cut but this is 18+ so minors please do not interact.  a/n ↠ this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be taken 100% seriously! similarly to every other fic I’ve written about mob!tom, I don’t condone any of the actions shown in this story and all depictions of the mob and prison are entirely fictional. please do not date members of the mafia even if they are tom holland !!!!! + this fic was conceptualised before the release of cherry, and there are no purposeful links to the content of that film! the image from esquire that I’ve used is what led me down this path lmfao...esquire I love/hate you. ++ the biggest thank you ever to the wonderful @uglypastels​ for helping me with the initial brainstorm on this one, and for just generally being so supportive as I’ve struggled with writers block :’) I wouldn’t have ever been able to think this up let alone have the motivation to write this without you, so thank you and ily z <3  +++ there is a pov change halfway through this fic! it is intentional and you should be able to see it pretty easily but I’m just flagging it so you don’t think I lost it halfway through ahahha. enjoy!

nsfw warnings ↠ car sex, soft!dom!tom ft minor sir kink, oral and fingering (fem-receiving), multiple orgasms with brief refs to overstimulation, minor pregnancy kink, unprotected sex ft cumshot. 

✧ *:･ﾟStuck With(out) You･ﾟ:*✧

There’s something wrong with you, and Tom can’t quite put his finger on it.

He wonders if it’s the wine. He’d spent hours debating the type of grape and ideal bitterness, scouring his memory in search of the perfect blend to share with you on your date. Eventually, he’d settled on the same deep red that he’d shared with you the first time he’d visited your flat, back when your love was just a small spark. Three years have passed since then, the nerves of early romance melted away and replaced by knowing and love, but the wine has recurred each time one of you has decided to treat the other, so what better blend to bring along to the picnic that Tom had so meticulously planned?

You haven’t touched your glass, and Tom—for all his confidence and charm—is deeply unsettled by this.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks for what feels like the tenth time, with brows furrowed so tightly his forehead aches. Tom reaches across the gingham blanket to join your fingers together, surprised to feel the clamminess of your skin as you gently squeeze his hand.

You hum. “I’m fine,” you say, voice devoid of any intense emotion. You sigh softly before bringing your eyes to meet Tom’s, and the man feels his heart constrict in his chest. You’re perfect, even with your hair messy from the light spring wind and the nerves that sit across your face. When you squeeze his hand again, and Tom glances down to see the engagement ring on your fourth finger, the ache in his heart sharpens.

He never knew love could be this fulfilling, nor so easy. Breathing is harder than it is to love you.

“Okay,” he replies. “Do you want to go home?”

You’ve been so quiet for the entire date, which is strange because usually, you match his energy effortlessly. Tom has been away for a few weeks doing business in Liverpool, and this date by the river is the first time you’ve been properly alone since he returned. He’d really expected you to enjoy the date—or, on a very basic level, at least look like you want to be here. With your quiet answers, avoidance, and nervous stares, he can’t confidently say that you do.

You shake your head. “No, no.” You fiddle with some of his rings before pulling your hand away from his. As you sit up a little straighter, you turn away from Tom to stare instead at the River Thames.

The river behind you is lit by the mid-afternoon sun and flooded with boats. It’s such a lovely day that Tom almost doesn’t notice the horrible brown tinge to the water. Lining the bank are small groups of people—families, friends, couples, tourists. They all stay clear of the two of you, undoubtedly wary of the security guards lingering near their boss. He rarely goes out so obviously like this, but you’ve always loved London, and he’d wanted to treat you. He’d wanted this to be a nice day.

“You know you can talk to me, don’t you?” he checks, voice catching slightly.

Your eyes snap up to his quickly. “Tom,” you say, voice wrapped endearingly around his name. Moving easily, you slip closer to him, carefully shifting around the food and the glasses until you’re close enough to reach out and touch his cheek. “I love you.”

Tom’s teeth graze his lower lip as he feels you pad your thumb across his jaw. “I know,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze. “I love you too.” He pauses for a few moments, savouring the closeness and the scent of your rosy spritz. He’d missed you so much that it almost hurts to have you so close again. “I know you have something on your mind, darling… Can you tell me what it is? I want to help you.”

“I…” A breathy exhalation follows. You bring your hand away from his cheek and rest it on the red silk material covering his shoulder. He’s in a loose designer shirt, the top two buttons unbuttoned and showing off the silver-linked chain he has hanging from his neck. “Tom, I just…”

“What?”

A small smile twitches at your lips. “Not here,” you seem to decide, voice a little stronger. “I have something I need to show you.”

“At home?”

“Yeah.”

Tom feels the weight rolls from his shoulders. It’s fine—everything is fine. You want to let him in, want to trust him with the cause of your anxieties. You still want him.

“Let’s go, then,” he decides, knowing he’s far too impatient to spend another hour laying by the river. Tom offers you a hand, and you take it. He tugs you away from the picnic setup with ease. He doesn’t need to bother with putting the things away—someone else will do it. Just one of the perks of his job.

“I missed you,” you say, smoothing your thumb over the back of his hand as you walk together towards the car. “It gets lonely without you in the house. Our bed is ridiculously huge without two people in it.”

Tom chuckles. “Good job I’m back now then, eh?”

The noise you release is stacked full of so much relief it makes Tom feel guilty for ever leaving to begin with. As he watches the bright, genuine smile flow across your face when you meet his eyes, he resolves to never leave for business again. Never. Not without you.

“A very good job,” you clarify. When you reach the car together, Tom holds the door open for you, ushering you in dramatically until you’re laughing and making fun of him for fussing. The only way he can stop you from your jovial whines is by leaning across the dashboard and pressing his lips to yours, so really he can’t complain. “This car is stupid, too,” you decide.

“Oh, that’s too fucking far,” Tom murmurs, glancing in the rear mirror as he peels away from the pavement. He’s glad the air between you has lightened. You seem happier now you’ve decided to spill your secrets. He rests his hand on the back of your headrest as he twists in his seat, eyes on the road as he reverses. “This car is a beauty.”

“This car is confusing,” you say, and Tom feels you staring at the flex of his bicep. “I tried driving it when you were gone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm. Couldn’t even get it up the drive.”

“Well, not to be rude, darling, but it’s hardly fair to blame my beautiful car for the fact that you’re an atrocious driver.”

If looks could kill, Tom knows he’d be six feet under.

“Fuck you, Tom,” you seethe, but your voice is charged with laughter. “I take it back. I didn’t miss you at all. Go back to Liverpool, see if I care.”

Tom cackles. “Maybe I will,” he teases, “just to see how long it takes you to start begging for me to come back again.”

You grumble something incoherent at that, then the words between you lull into a comfortable silence. After a few moments, you shift your palm to rest on his thigh, your hand gentle, warm. Your fingertips trace tiny love hearts over his slacks.

“Don’t,” you say eventually, voice quieter. “Stay this time.”

Tom risks a quick glance to you, growing breathless in the depths of your eyes. “Of course,” he says, voice thick. Tom returns his gaze to the road, his chest feeling tight. “I’m never leaving you again.”

“I mean, you can leave sometimes if you want—”

“No. Never.” Tom’s cheeks ache. “I’m never leaving your side.”

“Alright, Tom.” You sigh lightly, feigning exasperation. “I guess there are worse things than being stuck with you.”

“I’m charmed, darling. So relieved you like spending time with your fiancé.”

You shift in your seat at that, and Tom doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re flustered. You’re always shyer around him when he mentions the fact that your futures are intertwined, almost unbelieving that he’d slipped that ring onto your finger. It doesn’t matter how many times Tom tells you that he cherishes you—you never quite make peace with the fact that he wants to chase the moon with you. That doesn’t mean he’ll stop telling you, though. You hang the stars in his sky.

“I love spending time with you, Tom,” you mumble. “And I hope that what I’m about to tell you doesn’t change how you feel about me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Wait— what?” Tom scrunches the tip of his nose up as he squints in your direction. “Y/N, what—” He pauses, concentrating on keeping his voice level. “Angel, nothing you could ever do would change the way I feel about you. Nothing.”

You smile quietly. “It’s not a bad thing,” you add, almost sensing his unease. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Perfect.” Tom sits a little straighter in his seat. “Then there’s nothing to worry about—”

Sirens cut into his words. Tom startles, glancing in the mirror to see a police car with a whirring blue siren perched atop the grimy vehicle.

“Tom,” you say slowly, voice filling with dread. Your tone sends shivers down his spine. “Did you do something?”

Tom bites his lip.

He’s been trying his best to stay above the law recently, but… Liverpool had been messy. Very messy. He hadn’t intended on things going quite as terribly as they had, but one thing had led to another, and he’d had to fuck a few things up. The crime is nothing as intense as he’s been booked for in the past, but he’d had to write a few irregularities into his taxes and business agreements to smooth over the waters. It’s not as bad as murder, but it’s tax fraud nonetheless.

Tom had thought he’d been fine. Apparently not. He’s been a hot target for the Metropolitan Police for years, and they’ve consistently unearthed every tiny discrepancy he’s tried to get away with. He should’ve been more fucking careful.

“Shit,” Tom mutters. As he brings his eyes back to the road in front of him, he realises the police car behind you has been joined by another two, closing in from side streets and boxing him in amongst the traffic. He swallows thickly. “I messed up.”

You curse. “Idiot,” you mutter. You sit forwards in the seat and start to point to a gap in the traffic, right across the square. “Go there,” you say, voice pitching higher. “If you go fast, you’ll make it.”

He could book it. Tom’s run away before, in situations of peril where the alternative had been the law and escaping would give him the chance to alter some books and clear his name. It would be easy to slam his foot on the accelerator and dive down side streets, dodging the thick London traffic.

“Tom!” you say again, voice stressed with desperation. “Tom, go!”

The gap in the traffic is narrowly closing, the window of time Tom has to zoom through and get to safety shrinking before his very eyes. If he was alone, he’d do it without a second thought, but you’re here.

You’re here, and that means he can’t be selfish. Tom couldn’t ever risk you, not with such a treacherous manoeuvre like the one that you’re suggesting, nor with the repercussions you’d face if he books it. You’d either have to come on the run with him, or you’d end up captured and grilled by the Met, and neither of those options is the types of things he’d ever bring willingly upon you. You would never deserve that, and he refuses to make it a possibility.

Tom slows down the car.

“Tom,” you say, shock filling your voice. “What are you doing? They’ll get you.”

He nods. “I want you to listen to me, very carefully,” he says quickly.

“But—”

“—Darling, please. Please.” Tom stops the car abruptly. He calculates he has mere seconds before the officers ditch their vehicles and start storming across the traffic to haul him from his seat. “Don’t say anything to them. They want me, not you.” He turns off the engine and grabs your hands, holding them close as he stares into your eyes. “Call Harrison. Whatever shit they’re bringing me in for won’t hold up for long. They’ve— they’ve done this before. They never win. We have backup plans for this crap.”

“Tom,” you whisper, eyes welling with tears, “but they—”

“I know. I know, baby. I know.” He presses quick kisses to your knuckles, clinging so tightly to your fingers it’s like he’ll drift away without your touch. “I’m sorry. I am so bloody sorry. I love you so much.”

His throat hurts. The sight of the pain in your eyes makes him hate himself for ever bringing you into this faithless way of life. He doesn’t give a fuck that he’s destined for a cell—Tom cares that he’s hurt you.

“I love you too,” you say. You lean closer, undoing your seatbelt and popping his too as you reach up to cup Tom’s cheeks in your shaky hands. “It’ll be okay,” you stress. “I’ll get you out of there, baby.”

You lean in closer to kiss him, and Tom aches. The scent of your perfume is overwhelming, and he feels fragile beneath the hold you have on his face. The kindness in your eyes makes it hurt even more. It’d be easier if you’d let fury consume you and spend these last sacred moments denouncing him instead of loving him, but of course, you’re not like that.

The car door opens, and Tom is hauled from the car the moment his lips touch yours. Before he can process it, he’s being pushed up against his car, stiff arms keeping him pinned in place. He closes his eyes, firming up his face and shoving down his feelings as he forces himself to dry up, become stoic. He won’t show weakness now he’s outside.

Tom hears you exit the vehicle a few moments later, the crash of the door coupled with a few scuffles. He drowns out the words of the officers whilst they reel off a list of fabricated crimes, smugness evident in their voices. Good for fucking them.

When they eventually release him, he’s cuffed and weaponless, his spirit bent in two. The metal of his car had hurt his face, but nothing breaks Tom’s heart more than the sight of you being held back by two officers, tears streaming down your face. You bring your hands into the shaky outline of a heart, and it’s the last thing he sees before he’s pushed into the back of a van.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s day goes from bad to worse.

It’s clear that everyone at the station has been waiting for him to fuck up. He’s met with sly smiles and teasing comments as he’s reacquainted with some of his most despised wardens and guards. He’s held in a temporary cell for almost a day and quizzed on the shreds of ‘evidence’ they’d procured from his house during a raid, and though Tom declines to answer every single question they throw at him, their smugness never fades.

He walks into the trial already knowing he’s going to be locked up, and not even the sight of you beside Harrison and Harry on the benches soothes him.

Five years. He’s charged with five years.

Now, Tom isn’t worried. He knows he won’t actually be held in a cell for that long. He’s already had correspondence with Harrison, who’s assured him that he’s working on it, and there’s really nothing much to worry about. Tom has been in this situation twice before, and on both occasions, he’d been released in less than a month. The connections he’s built from his years heading up the mob are reliant and unwavering, and he knows he won’t have to serve even a fifth of his sentence.

The only difference between the times before and now is you, and Tom can only fucking pray that you don’t despise him for dirtying your name with his crimes. You’d been normal before him—a waitress, aspiring painter, an innocent. Despite your insistence that you love him with all strings attached, his guilt weighs him down. He doesn’t give a fuck about the law and whatever twisted loopholes the jury had bought, but he does care about you and what you think of him. That’s the hardest part.

Two weeks pass achingly slowly.

Prison isn’t that bad for Tom. He’s pretty fucking lucky, all things considered. He has friends here—blokes he’d met around town, most of whom are willing to welcome him in. A few of his old guys are locked behind bars with him, unwavering in their loyalty and more than happy to absorb him as members of their group. Those who don’t know Tom know of him. His reputation as a murderous, cold-hearted killer follows him inside, regardless of its falsity. Tom hasn’t taken a life in three years, but these men don’t need to know that.

“Holland! Get the fuck up. You’re in the gym.”

Tom glances up. He’s lying on top of his bed, one hand propped behind his head, the other holding open a book. He isn’t an avid reader like you, but you’d sent him a copy of your favourite book with scribbled annotations in the margins, and he’s been spending every hour since its arrival clinging to the pages.

He sighs as he puts the book down and stands from the lower bunk. He’s in with a young lad, Ollie, booked on a minor drugs charge. Why they’d paired someone on such a minimal sentence with a member of the mob, Tom will never understand, but the fear in the lad’s eyes every time he looks at him is enough to keep his wavering ego bobbing just above the waterline.

“Step away from the door.”

Tom does as instructed. A moment later, there’s a loud buzzer followed by the swinging of the heavy metal door.

In walks Luther, Tom’s archnemesis. If the inmates fear him, the guards despise him, and to be fair, Tom understands why. He’s a bit of a dick when he’s behind bars. Usually, when he’s free, he operates with a level of poise and charm that comes with his position as leader. He speaks to his men with a firm but kind hand, respects everyone he deems his equal and commands supreme authority without becoming a tyrant. However, when he has his freedom stripped away, and he has to bend to fit the system’s will, his attitude becomes… problematic.

“Holland,” Luther barks. A moment later, he appears in the doorway, coughing loudly, cheeks flushed a ruddy red. He snarls at Tom, his voice like jagged glass. “Come on.”

“You alright, mate?” Tom asks. “You sound fucking terrible.” He looks it, too, with a dripping nose and red-rimmed eyes. He looks ill.

Luther’s features sharpen. “Get over here now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tom swaggers to the door and dodges a little as Luther cuffs him, the man digging the metal into his skin with extra ferocity. They start to march down the long, grey corridor towards the fitness suite, Luther prodding Tom forward with a hand digging into his back.

“How’s your wife?” Tom tries, tired of the echoing footsteps.

Luther sighs. “How’s yours?”

“She’s doing very well, thank you.”

The guard tuts. “Does she like having a criminal for a husband?”

“Does yours like being married to such a wanker— hey!”

Luther pushes him down the corridor with haste. “Quiet, Holland,” he mutters. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Well, then it’s too bad you’re stuck with me,” Tom replies. “Did you know that if me being here annoys you so much, you could always let me go? That would sort out your problem.”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah? Let London’s most wanted convict escape?”

Tom raises a brow. “London’s most wanted?” he echoes. “Wow.” Pride seeps into his voice. “That’s an accomplishment.”

“Not a positive one. Self-absorbed bastard.”

It’s easy to laugh. Letting the comments bounce off his back is easier than admitting the jibe about you has irked him. Do you like having a criminal for a partner? Even Tom, for all the world has jaded him, knows no sane person would rest well with the knowledge that their significant other has lied, stolen, and killed. It doesn’t lie well with him, and he was born into this.

They reach the gym.

Tom sticks to the same workout regime he has at home. He does his cardio for twenty minutes on the wobbling treadmill, then sits around on the bench press and does curls with a few of the guys. He keeps quiet, his mind loud, only adding a few comments when necessary. His sullenness adds to his image, and he’s busy with thoughts of you. By the time he’s finished, he feels arguably worse than before. The endorphins from his workout are overshadowed by the guilt Tom feels, clawing at his heart, heavy and persistent in its certainty that he’s a lousy partner.

He can handle being a bad guy, but a bad man? A bad brother, bad friend, or bad lover? The opinions of the guards mean nothing to him, and neither does the law, but when it comes to the people he cares about, their opinions mean everything. Tom has let Luther get into his head, and whilst he knows that was the guard’s intention, the seed of doubt has been planted. As he pumps iron, he feels it grow, taking root, blooming taller.

“Holland. Time to go.”

He grunts as he stands. Sweaty and sore, Tom hobbles to the doorway, feeling considerably smaller than he had when he’d left his cell. The cuffs hurt his wrists as his hands are clasped back together, and the walk back feels even longer than before.

“You had a parcel delivered,” Luther says, breaking the silence. “It arrived last week.”

Tom’s eyebrows pull together. “Last week?”

“I thought I should hold it back until you’d settled in,” comes the patronising response. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many new experiences, Thomas. Not that being in here is anything out of the ordinary for you, though.”

He feels his jaw twitch. He flexes his hand, knuckles burning for movement. Not yet, not yet. He has to wait, has to play the long game.

“You’re a dick,” Tom decides. He doesn’t care that he gets thrown roughly into the cell. He trips over the floor and barely manages to scrape himself to his feet, but he throws out a smirking “fuck you,” before the door slams shut. He’d follow it up with more snide remarks, but he becomes distracted by the sight of the parcel sitting on his bed.

It’s neat, despite the obvious intrusion into its contents by the guards. He flops onto his lower bunk, glad his cellmate is absent as it allows him to drop the ruse. Lips sagging into a frown, Tom rips open the package.

He releases a fragile sound as the contents pour across his duvet. Polaroids fall across the sheets, glistening slightly, neat and pristine. A lump comes to the back of his throat as he shuffles through them, finding images of you, Harry, Sam, Tess… The list carries on. For every person he can think of, there’s an image captured perfectly in time. He even appears in a few of them, with his hand around Haz’s shoulder or his lips pressed to your temple.

He finds a note attached at the bottom.

Tom, I thought you’d want some reminders of home while you’re away. We’re all looking forward until the day you can come home to us. Love you forever, Y/N <3

As Tom traces the edge of his nail along the outline of your face, his eyes well with hot tears. You always know what he needs, even when he doesn’t. You know him, inside out, and you’re continuing to support him, despite it all. He is indebted to you, and he knows already that as soon as he’s let out, he’ll spend every second of his life trying to repay that.

The seed of doubt burns away.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Two weeks later, Tom finally gets to see you again.

The prison visiting room is fucking grim. Toned in sludgy shades of grey and brown, it’s about as ugly as it could be. There are window slits pressed high into the walls, but the primary source of light is from the musky bulbs set above each table. The chairs are uncomfortable, and the decor lacks inspiration. Tom often wonders if the room was designed to be as revolting as possible.

Despite this, as Tom shuffles into the room that smells suspiciously of plasticine, he couldn’t be happier. It doesn’t matter that his wrists ache from the cuffs, nor that the garish shade of orange clashes horrendously against his skin: you’re here, and that makes everything better.

You’re sitting at the table in the corner of the room, drumming your fingers pensively over the surface. His eyes catch on the glinting ring wrapped around your fourth finger, and the sense of longing that had settled in the hollowness of his chest is quickly burnt away. Sensing his movements, you glance up, and when your eyes meet with his, Tom feels his heart come home.

You raise a hand in greeting, smiling shyly, and he tries to look as non-threatening as possible. He knows the new buzzcut and the stupid get-up probably don’t help, but you don’t look at him like he’s any different.

As he draws nearer, Tom finds himself blinking a few times, questioning how long you’ve been separated. The version of you he has holed up in his memories pales in comparison to the woman that he sees before him now, but he can’t quite pinpoint why. You seem fuller somehow—vibrant, glowing, alive, your face doused in a heavenly glow and your skin bright with health. Your figure has changed slightly, and Tom can’t stop himself from running his eyes all over you, trying to memorise every tiny detail his memory had blurred away. You look so beautiful, every single part of your form enhanced and bright, and your chest—

Fuck, it’s been a long time.

“Y/N,” he exhales the moment he’s been pushed into his seat. His guard unclasps his cuffs, and Tom immediately reaches out across the table, almost moaning from relief when you wrap your fingers around his. Your skin is so warm.

“Tom,” you whisper. Emotion seeps into your voice, and he feels his chest crack as tears pool in your eyes. “Are you okay? I— I missed you.”

He hums, biting his lip. “I’m fine, baby. I’m okay. Are you?”

You nod quickly. “I’m okay too,” you say. “Things are strange without you, but we’re working around the clock to get you out of here.” You drop your voice slightly. “I think we’re near a breakthrough.”

Tom’s teeth brush his lower lip. “Good, good,” he says. “How’s Tess? And Harry, and the others? Are they looking out for you?”

“Yeah,” you say. You squeeze Tom’s hands tightly. “They’re all okay. Mainly just worried about you.”

He shrugs, trying to lessen the furrow in your brow. “‘M all good, darling,” he promises. “Don’t worry about me.”

Your eyes skate across his face. “I like your hair,” you say gently. For a moment, Tom thinks you’re going to try and reach out to touch the buzzed fuzz, but you seem to remember that anything beyond handholding is prohibited. You have to settle for a slightly suggestive smile. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks, lovie.”

Your smile is sad but it’s still hopeful. Whatever emotions you’re feeling, it’s clear that you’re trying to smooth them away and keep them to yourself. “There’s something I wanted to tell you,” you say, easing into the words with difficulty. Tom watches as you look away, doubt casting across your face.

“What is it?” Vaguely, Tom remembers how skittish you’d been the day he’d been taken away, the memory distorted from the noise of everything else that had happened. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You bite your lower lip. “Uh, just first… how are you holding up in here? Like, actually. Don’t bullshit me and play the tough guy.” Your eyes are wide and persistent. “How are you actually doing?”

Tom blinks a few times. “Fine,” he shoots immediately. He clenches your fingers tightly in his, clinging on for a moment until he exhales. “I wish I could be here for you properly, though. It worries me that I don’t know what’s happening on the outside…” He hates being left out in the dark, but it isn’t your fault. It’s his. “I wish I could be a better boyfriend to you.”

“Fiancé,” you correct, the word soft like it’d left your mouth without thought. “You’re already a good boyfriend, Tom. I knew what I was signing up for. I wanted this back then, and I still do now.”

“Still,” he grumbles. He tries to even out the heaviness of the conversation with a smile. “I think about you all the time, baby. And the others too, but… mostly you. I just hate that I’m missing out on our life together.” He has to stop for a moment as he recollects his thoughts. “I’m sorry that I did this to us, and I’m sorry I let you down.”

You crack a wry smile. “You can’t change the past, Tom. You can only affect the future.” You pause, your expression hardening. “I need to know that you’ll go slower when you get out. I know this is your life, but some things need to change. We— I need you to stay out of trouble. Do you understand?”

He nods his head immediately. “Of course, of course. I don’t ever want to get arrested again, darling.”

You drop your voice. “I’m not saying you need to quit everything, just… get better safeguards and be smarter. I love who you are, Tom, but this…” You break off to gesture around, pointing vaguely at his cuffs, the jumpsuit, and the guards. “This isn’t good for you or for me. And I love you, but I won’t stay if you don’t try.”

It’s hard to hear, but he knows it’s what he deserves to hear. He knows you deserve to stand your ground.

“I know,” Tom says gently. “I’ll get clean when I’m out, Y/N. I promise. I’ll be a good man by you.”

You squeeze his fingers tighter. “You already are,” you promise, “and I love you so much, even when you’re being an idiot.”

He laughs breathlessly. “Thank you, darling.” Tom tilts his head to the side. “What was it you wanted to say?”

Conflict briefly colours your face, manifesting itself in the arch of your eyebrow and the biting of your lower lip. You inhale sharply, only to exhale again a moment later.

“I’ll tell you when you’re out,” you say softly.

Tom scowls. There’s no anger there, just confusion. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

You shake your head. “I… Pretend I never said anything,” you say. You follow it up with a quick, “if I thought you needed to know, I’d tell you.”

He doesn’t want to push it, so Tom lets the topic slip away. You sit together silently for a few minutes. It’s hard to talk, difficult to express how much he misses you, how much he’s sorry. He knows that you understand—you always do, and you have similar tears wobbling across your eyes. Talking can come afterwards when he’s out and he’s free. All he needs now is the feeling of your hand back in his.

The visit is over far too soon.

Leaving you is difficult. Tom isn’t allowed to hug you or go any nearer than the linked hands on the table, but you tug at his fingers until he feels the imprint of your engagement ring rubbing against his skin. He even manages to kiss your knuckles a few times before he’s pulled up from the table and cuffed again.

“Be on your best behaviour,” you say, soft with your parting words. “The lawyer says the better you are, the easier it’ll be to get you out early.”

Tom has a bit of his spark back. Even as he’s pulled back, he manages a devious smirk. “When am I ever not on my best behaviour, darling?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few days later, Tom snaps.

To be fair, it isn’t really his fault. He’s pushed to the very verge of insanity, prodded at and provoked beyond the point of return.

It happens when he’s in the barber, huddled in the back corner of the room as he gets a new tattoo. Tom is used to the pain of the burning needles as he already has a few pieces on his arms and his hands, so he’s able to take the fresh marks to his knuckles as the ink stains black against his skin. However, he’s a bit on edge from the sharp buzzing, which is perhaps why he responds so negatively to the taunting he starts to receive. It comes from Toni and the rest of his snivelling gang. They’re all members of the East London mob, ruled over by Tom’s nemesis Gordy. Most of the time, they stick to their side and Tom sticks to his, but they’ve caught him in a vulnerable position, and Toni never seems to know how to pick his timing.

It’s basic teasing, instilled with a brutal hard edge that would phase him if Tom cared enough about their opinions of him. It doesn’t hurt him when people attack his character or his honour—Tom knows the truth about his life, and he couldn’t give two shits about an outsider’s opinion of him. However, he finds it a lot harder to grin and bear it when the man changes angle.

“Word is, a couple of our guys saw your missus out with Haz the other day,” Toni taunts. “He said they were getting real close if you know what I mean.”

Tom’s jaw flexes. The action is minute, but it doesn’t go undetected. Toni smirks.

“Eh, you don’t like that, do you?” The man steps a little closer and Tom tries to ignore him by looking down at the needle pressing into his fingers. “Don’t like the idea of your best friend hanging around your wife. Can you even trust them?” He breaks off, laughing coolly. “They think you’re so stupid, did you know that? You’ll get out of here, and they’ll have cut you out of everything—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tom murmurs. He flexes his right hand, shaking out his knuckles. With every passing day, he’s felt tetchier. He can feel his anger burning, churning deep within his stomach, growing brighter, harder. He knows he shouldn’t lean into it, but… He wants to. He craves that rush of the fight, selfishly so.

“But she’s not your wife, is she? You aren’t actually married. Have you ever thought that maybe she’s just using you? Maybe they all are? Look at you, Tom.” Toni breaks off to throw a disdainful hand in Tom’s direction. “You are so weak in here… How are any of your guys going to respect you when their leader can’t even stay out the slammer?”

The guy tattooing Tom’s hand finally pulls away, glancing up at him with knowing in his eyes. “You’re done,” he says. “Don’t do anything with that hand, though.”

“Thanks, man.”

Tom stands up, Toni mirroring him. The man looms in front of him, 6’2 and stocky. He’s larger than Tom in every respect, but he’ll never be the bigger man.

“Get out of my way,” Tom sneers.

“Make me, twat.” Toni smirks. “Or are you too much of a pussy to follow through on that as well?”

Tom sees red. Acting on the edge of adrenaline, he pounces, rushing the man and jumping with so much unexpected force that the larger man goes tumbling to the floor. Tom hears the shouts of the guards, but they pale in comparison to his need to straddle the man’s chest and make him pay. With each meeting of his fist with Toni’s face, Tom feels better. He’s never been an excessively violent person, but old habits die hard, and it’s so, so, so fucking easy to pummel the guy who dared breath an uncomplimentary word in his family’s direction. Tom would put the whole city six feet under if they so much as breathed wrong around his loved ones, so really, Toni had it coming.

The prison guards don’t agree.

He ends up in solitary, and when he’s put back into the normal population, Tom is given restrictions. He isn’t allowed visitors for a fortnight, and his calls are reduced to once a week. All other privileges he’d had are taken away again, and he’s relegated to the very bottom of the pecking order.

It’s still worth it.

When he’s finally allowed visitors again, Tom is surprised to learn that his next meeting isn’t with you or his lawyer. Things only make sense when he shuffles into the meeting room and sees his right-hand man settled in the corner, and if Tom had found the room drab before, it appears even more depressing with the addition of the blond man sitting in it. Harrison sucks the life from the room, any hints of happiness at being reunited with his friend overshadowed by the pinched expression on his face.

The guards don’t let Tom take off his cuffs. He has to sidle into the chair, falling into the heavy silence as he places his hands on the table. Metal links click, and Harrison just stares. He stares, and stares, and stares, his blue eyes almost black.

“So,” Tom eventually says. “Hello.”

Harrison’s jaw twitches. He brings his hands to rest on the top of the table, flexing them as he takes a moment to find the right words. “Tom,” he says, speaking very slowly. “You are a twat.”

He blinks. “Wow,” Tom mutters, chuckling slightly. “Okay. Good to see you too, mate.”

“Do you…” Harrison breaks off, groaning. His forehead develops angry ripples. “Do you understand how detrimental this has been to your case?”

Tom bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.

“You’ve been pushed to the bottom of the pile,” Harrison says, voice controlled but simmering with unspoken anger. “We were about to get your appeal passed for early release.” He sits back, crossing his arms as he shakes his head. “There’s been a penalty applied due to your stint in solitary. Your case won’t be assessed until it’s lifted.”

Tom feels his stomach drop. “Shit,” he mutters. “That’s not ideal.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Harrison sits forward, leaning on his hands. “You are a bloody idiot. Stop acting like a child… Why… Why did you even attack him? You must have known this would happen. Are you stupid?”

He doesn’t like the patronisation in his tone. Tom’s already beat himself up enough about this in solitary. He doesn’t need Harrison questioning his judgements, doesn’t appreciate his friend breathing down his neck so obviously.

“He deserved it,” Tom says firmly. “I would do it again.”

“You can’t. You absolutely cannot.”

“I think you’ll find that I can, Harrison.” There’s a stupid smirk on his lips now. Tom’s missed being a little shit to his friends. He knows it’s not the time, but he’s vibrating. The callous concoction of shame, anger and isolation make him volatile and abrasive. “I’m pretty sure I can do whatever the fuck I want, actually.”

The expression that mars Harrison’s face looks very out of place against his demeanour. The man is in a long black trench coat with a tight grey turtleneck layered beneath it. He has a few pendants hanging from his neck, the gold metal bringing out the warm tones in his curls, mussed in a way that screams of old charm and perfect romance. Harrison’s illusion of control falters only under the pressure of the anger that manifests itself so clearly on his face.

“Tom.” Harrison bangs his fist on the table. The ring wrapped around his pinky clangs against the wood. “You can’t keep this up. If you do, the case gets pushed further, and that is unacceptable.”

Tom scowls. “Well, Haz, last time I checked, I was the one who has to deal with the consequences of my actions. Not you.” He can’t stand the expression of condescension hanging over Harrison’s face. “If I want to throw a few punches, I bloody well will. You have no idea what it’s like in here. No idea at all.”

Harrison’s angered expression fades a little, but only for a moment. When Tom hardens the curve of his eyebrow, Harrison devolves into irritation again, almost snarling as he narrows his eyes. “Your actions affect everyone in your life,” he snaps. “Stop pretending you’re the only one paying for the things that you’ve done.”

“I’m the one with the cuffs, Harrison. I’d say I’m paying considerably more than anyone else.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah? Tell that to the men who had their property searched and their possessions seized. Tell that to your family, who continue to be pulled in for questioning. Tell that to Y/N, who—” he breaks off awfully quickly, cheeks flushing slightly. “Nevermind.”

Tom’s blood goes cold. “Y/N?” he repeats sharply. “What about Y/N?”

“Nothing.”

He sits up straighter. “What about Y/N, Harrison?”

“Nothing.”

Tom is angry now. “Tell me right now or god help me, I will find a way to kill you.”

Harrison rolls his eyes, then covers the movement with a sigh. “I can’t. It isn’t my place.” He seems regretful as he jumps in to add, “she’s fine. She just needs you. We all do.”

The guilt returns. It falls over Tom like a wet blanket, extinguishing his frustration and leaving him cold. “Does she… Does she hate me?” He’s looking down at his cuffs.

“What— no. No, Tom.” Harrison looks guilty for the first time, but at least he isn’t confirming Tom’s deepest insecurities. “Nothing like that at all. Just… Listen to me, alright? You need to behave. I know it’s hard in here, I know that, and I understand it must be frustrating. You just… You can’t let that rule you, Tom. You have to look at the bigger picture. You need to come home, and the sooner the better.”

It’s easier said than done, but he knows Harrison is earnest with it.

“Fine,” Tom grumbles. “I’ll behave.”

Harrison nods. “Thanks, mate,” he mutters. “We all miss you, myself included.” He glances up at him, eyes finally back to the cool blue tones Tom grew up beside. “It isn’t the same without you around.”

Tom manages a tight smile. “I miss you too.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

IT’S BEEN THREE MONTHS since Tom was taken away, and you are miserable.

Every day has been the same. You wake up, nauseous and alone, always on Tom’s side of the bed despite forcing yourself to fall asleep on your own. The mornings are a blur of paperwork and phone calls that follow you into the afternoon. You work around the clock, Harrison, Harry and Sam at your side as you go over Tom’s case, again and again, only stopping when night falls, and one of you throws in the towel.

You had been so close to springing him until he’d gone and got himself demoted to solitary, and there’s not a morning that you don’t think about that. You’d submitted the appeal, stacked full of so much evidence that there was no way the judge would deny him freedom, only for Tom to get into a fistfight the day before the hearing. Just like that, the floor had vanished from beneath your feet.

You’d taken it badly, the others too. Losing Tom to the judge’s gavel had been hard enough, but for his escape to be taken away by his own actions hurt a thousand times worse. You know it’s worse for him, being alone in a cell, but that doesn’t stop the bitterness seeping into your mouth every time you think about the lost chance. Harry and Sam had been incensed, their anger fuelled by the void of a missing brother, and you know Harrison’s frustration comes from similar veins.

Even now that Tom’s served his time in solitary, the frustration lingers on, manifesting itself in the way none of you could decide who should go and visit him first. Under normal conditions, you would’ve been there in a heartbeat, but… Things have been complicated, even without recent events, more so than they’d been when you’d visited two months ago. When Harrison had bitten the bullet and volunteered himself, all of you had been more than happy to let him go.

He’d left this morning, and the house has been quiet ever since.

You’re sitting up in one of the spare rooms as you wait for Harrison to return, your back aching and your mind spinning. You twirl the rings on your fingers as you think, taking turns alternating between your engagement ring and the silver signet rings you’d taken from Tom’s dresser. Keeping him close makes everything easier. You’d take any reminder of him you could get, be that his rings, his shirts, his cologne, or…

The baby.

You shift a hand down to sit on the swell of your belly. Tears prick your eyes as you let them close, a frustrated sigh tumbling past your lips.

You’re four months pregnant, and that throws a spanner in the works.

Sure, you would’ve tried equally as hard to get Tom released under normal conditions, but the biological countdown that has now been sprinkled into the mix has only given everything an air of desperation. Even if it isn’t you vocalising what everyone else is thinking, the fervour to get Tom out before it’s too late is there. You can see it in the way Harrison never lets you go anywhere unaccompanied, and Harry and Sam have been working nonstop to get their brother’s freedom. Everyone around you is aware of how vital Tom’s release is, even when the man himself remains oblivious.

Exhaling gently, you shift around on the cosy armchair. The nursery smells of fading paint, and as you move around, you glance at the messy borders of the walls. The sex of your baby is still a mystery to you, but a few days ago, the twins had freshened up the room with a shade of light green whilst you and Harrison were in court. Neither of them is particularly artistically inclined, but they’d done a pretty decent job, all things considered.

Tom’s family have all been good to you—very kind. You haven’t felt alone, even with half your heart locked away in the outskirts of London. It just hasn’t been the idyllic pregnancy you’d dreamt about with your fiancé.

Guilt falls across you as you look down at the rising swell of your belly.

It’s been hard trying to decide whether or not to tell Tom what you’d tried to come clean about three months ago, down by the Thames. You’d wanted to tell him when you’d gone to visit him, but you couldn’t find the heart to come clean and admit that he’s missing out on the one thing he’s waited for his entire life. Telling him would hurt him immensely, and he’s already hurting being away from you. You don’t want to tell him until he can be part of it, and with that uncertainty present, you’ve kept your lips sealed.

Visiting him today in place of Harrison is all you really wanted to do, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You’re vulnerable and explosive, and you want to come clean to Tom when the situation is better. There would be nothing worse than storming into that dingy meeting room, flaunting your obvious pregnancy but being too distracted by your anger at your fiancé to explain everything else. You won’t hurt him like that by taunting him with the one thing he wants but can’t have. You refuse to.

All you can do is hope that he forgives you for holding the information back, pray that he understands your motivations, and, above all, hold onto the hope that he’s there when your child comes into the world.

“Y/N? Where are you?”

Blinking yourself from your reverie, you look up through the open door.

“In here, Sam.”

A moment later, Tom’s younger brother appears in the doorway. The man looks as exhausted as you feel, deep shadows hanging beneath his hazel eyes. When he sees you, his mouth pulls into a small smile and he lifts his hand in greeting, and you can tell that he’s trying. You try to match him by sitting up a little straighter and smiling back.

“Hey,” he says. “I was just… bored, I guess. Thought I’d come and check on you.” Doubt briefly flickers across his face. “Is that okay? Are you busy?”

“I’m bored too,” you admit. You stand from the armchair and groan as you stretch your arms, your stiff back aching. “Do you want to do something?”

Sam grins. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “Can we try the mural?”

Wincing, you manage a smile. “Okay… But if it looks terrible, I will paint over it.”

“As if. I’m the artistic one here, Y/N. Just be glad Harry’s still away.”

“Did someone mention me?” Harry’s voice rings through the air, startling you. With a hand clutching your heart, you look to your side in time to see Sam’s twin taking his place at your side. Where Sam is in a shirt and tie, Harry is clad in a pair of deep denim dungarees. He offers you a rusty smile. “We’re just filling in these lines, yeah?”

Sam’s the one to nod. He gestures at the wall and you notice the faint outlines, scratched in pencil. “Be precise,” he informs, “it took me bloody ages sketching it.”

Harry rolls his eyes, shooting you a silent smirk. “Yes, sir,” he mutters. “Anything you want, sir.”

“Fuck off.”

Harry pulls a face. “Well,” he says, looking at you pointedly, “I hope you’re keeping a record of how many times Sam is swearing around the baby, Y/N.”

Brows furrowing, you pick up a paintbrush. “Why would I be doing that?”

The ginger grins. “Just betters my case for being the better uncle,” he says.

“Oh, what? Don’t you mean the boring uncle?” Sam chides, bristling beside you.

Harry laughs. “I will be the favourite uncle. I don’t care what you say, Sammy. Both of us know it.”

Rolling your eyes at the argument you’ve heard a thousand times before, you give them both a nudge. “Shh,” you plead. “Paint, don’t fight.”

Sam shoots you a soft smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

With a smile lingering on your lips, you watch as Harry puts on one of his playlists, then relax as the three of you get to work. None of you say anything, but the air is full enough—tickled to life with Sam’s quiet whistling and the sound of paintbrushes thick against the wall. You concentrate on the intricate details of the mural, like the outlines of the clouds and the spirals of the grass, and marvel at how wonderful it is to be so content in silence. It’s indicative of how tight your bond has grown, you think.

No longer despising solitude, you’ve found a comfortable middle ground around the men. You and Tom’s inner circle have learned to work together well, stringing together complex case files as you’ve organised accounts. Nothing you’ve been doing recently is legal, but you would’ve left a long time ago if you genuinely cared about the law. You can stomach a few fixed accounts if it means Tom gets to walk free—you can stomach a whole lot more than that, actually, for Tom. You’d set the whole world on fire just to see him smile.

Like the splotchy mural covering the walls, your team has got the job done. Your case for the court is watertight, if a little messy, but you know it’ll be enough to spring Tom. It has to be. You need him, and your child needs him. Everyone in the house needs him.

“Guys? Where are you?” Harrison’s voice joins the mix just as you’re stretching up to flick a few rays of gold into the sun. Harry is at your feet, crouching on the balls of his feet as he tries to paint a few red flowers to the sprigs of grass.

“Nursery,” Harry calls out.

A few moments later, Harrison joins you. You fail to meet his eyes as the focused man sweeps into the room, billowing coat swirling around his feet. His expression is terse as he jerks off his jacket and grabs a paintbrush, dipping the tip in a bit of sky blue paint before standing at the end. You don’t rush him. He’s vibrating with something, his face flushed and his eyes dark, so you give him space.

A few minutes pass, illustrated by Harry’s playlist and the colours of the rainbow. Just when you’re beginning to worry, Harrison speaks.

“Tom is an idiot,” he states, drawing a laugh from one of the twins.

You bite your lip. “Did you explain?” you ask.

Harrison nods. He glances at you, and you note the fleck of purple paint pressed into the pale arc of his cheek. “He said he wouldn’t do it again,” he tells you. “He was angry, though. I think he’s having a bad time.”

Harry hums. “It’s hard in there,” he mumbles. “Was he still himself?”

The blond nods. “Yeah,” he says. “As snarky as ever.”

Sam smirks. “That’s Tom, alright.”

“Good news, though,” Harrison adds. “I went to the courthouse on my way back.”

“Oh?” You look away from your cloud, your heart skipping a beat. “And?”

“And,” Harrison continues, a semblance of a smile twitching across his lips, “I submitted the appeal again. They said they’d probably process it next week. So, if things go according to plan this time, he might be out by next Friday.”

You almost drop your paintbrush. Eyes widening, you turn to face him properly. “Wait, really?”

Harrison’s expression softens. “Yeah.” He puts his paintbrush down, tugging yours from your fingers as if he can tell you’re close to dropping it. “He’s almost out, Y/N.”

Relief spills across you, uncontrollable and overwhelming. Closing your eyes before those easy tears can fall down your cheeks, you step closer and push your way into Harrison’s embrace. He’s ready and waiting for the action, eager to comfort his friend.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Harrison’s chest is warm, and though his hugs aren’t as good as Tom’s, you’ve come to rely on them. You’ve come to rely on all of them. “That’s amazing news.”

“Mhmm.” He squeezes you. “This nightmare is almost over.”

“Thanks, man,” Harry speaks up. You pull away from Harrison’s hold when you hear the quivering tones in his voice, quickly glancing to the man to find him glassy-eyed and flushed. Biting your lip, you extend a hand towards him.

A group hug unfolds, as it’s had the tendency to do since Tom was taken away. The first time had been stoic and cool, with frozen elbows and embarrassed shuffling, but slowly, each one of them has loosened. They’re tough men, burdened and hard, but love ties them to you, and at your request, you know they’d do anything for you. You also know that they all enjoy the physical comfort more than they’d ever let on.

It’s been hard without Tom, and you’d do anything to have him back, but if there’s anything his absence has taught you, it’s that his brothers have become your brothers as his best friend has become your own, and you’ve never really been alone.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tom’s release day comes quickly, hidden behind the retrial and the quick-paced days in court. It’s busy at the trial, and spaces are limited, so Harry and Sam attend in place of you and Harrison. You get them to take in a few letters for Tom and pass on your condolences for your absence, but you don’t allow yourself to get too hung up on it. When Tom’s release is announced, the weight that rolls from your shoulders is immediate.

As you wait outside the prison, you try to find solace in the rays of the mid-afternoon sun. It’s quiet in the car park, allowing you to ruminate in peace, and though you’re comfortable resting against the bonnet of Tom’s car, your thoughts are far from restful.

Anxiety weighs heavily in your chest, mixing with your excitement and creating a volatile concoction. You find yourself pacing, biting back your nerves as you try to reason with yourself. Draped around your shoulders is a long coat that obscures your bump, chosen as you’ve decided you don’t want to overwhelm Tom with too many things at once. You hope it does the job. The coat twitches in the wind as you walk, noisy and obnoxious.

Things around you are still until there’s a sudden, loud buzzing noise from the prison compound. You jerk your head around to see two men leaving the main building, small in the distance but gradually growing larger. They’re still enclosed in the fenced courtyard, but they’re on their way to the exit, and every rational thought you have flies from your mind as you see him. Tom. Your Tom.

He’s in the clothes he’d been arrested in—red shirt, black slacks, shiny shoes. Looped around his hands is his Rolex and his rings. Tom seems almost identical to how he’d been on that cursed day, just his head is buzzed and he looks a little smaller. He’s carrying himself with confidence, though, and when he looks fervently around the car park and spots you, his entire face swells with happiness. The sight of that large, lovely smile hanging from his lips brings immediate warmth to your eyes.

Every breath is easier now you have him in your sights. Overwhelming love gluts your insides, warm and emotive, choking you up. It takes everything in you to stay still as you wait for Tom to finish talking with his guard, a tall man you recognise from all of his stories, Luther. Tom’s smirking in a way that’s obviously infuriating, and the guard doesn’t hesitate to give him a light punch as your boyfriend saunters out of prison, leaving the compound with a swagger to his stride and a smile the size of Saturn.

The sight of Tom jogging towards you breaks you from your reverie, and you push yourself away from the car to meet him somewhere in the middle. Nothing matters until you’re colliding with his front, finding warmth in his arms, feeling his entire body shake as his tears fall into your hair. Nothing matters unless it’s him.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper. Your grip on the back of Tom’s shirt is hard, a violent sprawling across your knuckles, but you won’t let go. You’re giddy with love. “Fuck, Tom, I missed you so, so much.”

You pull away from his chest and look into his eyes, your lower lip wobbling as you note the fresh tears on his face. You use your thumbs to brush beneath his cheeks, flicking away the tears as you clean up his handsomeness.

“I missed you so much more,” he promises. Tom brings a hand to rest on the back of your head, breath hitching as he meets your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He kisses you, and it’s so intense you end up pressed against the side of the car. Tom moans with relief as he strokes his fingers over the side of your face, delicately reacquainting his lips with yours as they meet again and again. You keep your hands gliding over his back, his arms, his shoulders, letting your tongues come together as tears flow down your cheeks. The kiss is everything and nothing, familiar and new. The kiss says I missed you. It says I thought about you every day. It says I would wait a thousand dawns if it meant I got to wake up beside you again, but thank fucking god you’re here right now because I missed you more than I ever thought was possible.

“Baby,” Tom murmurs. He pulls away but keeps your foreheads pressed together, the cool tip of his nose brushing yours. “You’re so perfect. I missed you so much that it hurt me.”

He tries to move closer, but you become aware of the pressure to your belly, so bring a gentle hand to push his shoulder away. Hurt immediately floods to his eyes, his expression twitching as Tom takes a few steps back.

“Tom,” you say, voice soft. “I need to tell you something.”

Tom’s jaw twitches. “What is it?” he whispers.

“A good thing,” you clarify. You reach up to wipe the residue of your tears away, then bring your hands down to the tie of your jacket. Biting your lip, you take a steadying breath. “I hope you aren’t angry that I didn’t tell you sooner,” you preface, “but I did it for you.”

Tom nods intensely. “Okay,” he says. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s fine. I’m… I’m here, okay? For anything. It’s me and you. Just… me and you forever.”

A smile flickers across your face. “Me and you, and…” You gently open the front of your coat, then reach out for Tom’s hands. Guiding them slowly, you bring the warmth of his palms to rest on the rise of your bump.

“Wait…” Tom shifts his hands around your belly before staring up at you, slack-jawed. He doesn’t try to hide the obvious tears in his eyes. “You’re…?”

Nodding your head is easier than trying to speak.

“Oh god.” Tom sniffles. “What?” He immediately drops to his knees in front of you, his fancy dress trousers getting dirty in the dust. “How— how far along?”

“Almost five months,” you whisper. “I found out right before you got back from Liverpool. I was going to tell you when we went on that date, but…”

“But I fucked up.” Tom sounds wrecked, his aching eyes fixed on the curve of your belly. “I fucked everything up. I… I left you alone for this entire time, and you had to do this all without me.” He rests his forehead against your bump, very, very gently, and you see him close his eyes. “I am a terrible partner.”

Rolling your fingers over the scruff of his hair, you guide him up to look at you. It’s second nature as you roll a thumb over his cheekbone, trying to instil the action with love and reassurance.

“I’m not angry,” you tell him. “You didn’t know, and you didn’t get arrested on purpose. If anything, you should be angry at me for keeping this a secret.” Your teeth catch your lower lip. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I thought telling you would only make things worse. I’m sorry.”

Tom shakes his head. “No, no. Don’t apologise.” He rests a hand on your leg, the other still on the curve of your front. “I’m sorry.” He drops his voice and looks at the bump. “And I’m sorry to you too, little one.” He nudges his mouth forward and deposits a soft kiss to your stomach. “I love you too.”

Digging one of your hands into your coat pocket, you pull out a photo. “Here,” you urge, handing it to your boyfriend. Tom takes it after a moment, his eyes slow to move away from your front.

He releases a noise somewhere between an exclamation and a choke, nimble fingers gripping the image from your ultrasound. His cheeks flush a brilliant rose.

“When was this?” he whispers.

“At three months,” you reply. You continue to run your hand over the top of his head, trying to soothe him as he absorbs so much information at once. “I went with my mum and Haz.”

“Haz?”

You nod. “Harry and Sam lost a bet.”

Tom hums. He looks between the photo and your bump, then nudges forward to kiss the rise again. His lips are so warm you can feel them through the material of your dress. “Have they been looking after you well enough?”

A light laugh slips past your lips. “Yeah,” you promise. “They helped so much, Tom. It was hard at first… Really hard. Especially when we thought you’d be in there for five years, but… Things worked out.” You have to pause to gather your thoughts. “We converted one of the rooms into a nursery. There’s still stuff left to do, and we can do that together, of course, but… They were all really helpful.”

“Good.” Tom looks up at you, still kneeling, and your hand slips down to cup his face. “I’m sorry,” he adds. “I wish I could’ve been here for all of this.”

Shrugging gently, you squeeze his face. “You can be here for the rest of it,” you promise. “And, I guess… If we have another one, you’ll be there for all of that, right?”

“Of course, darling.” You smile as Tom tilts his lips to knock against the side of your palm.

“So it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Chuckling softly, you nod. “Yes,” you promise. “I love you, and I’m so happy this has happened for us, even if the timing was difficult.” Feeling yourself well up, you exhale slowly. “We’re going to be parents, Tom. Isn’t that crazy?”

“It’s brilliant.” Tom’s eyes sparkle. “I’m going to be a father.” He blinks. “What the fuck.”

Laughing, you move your hands to the crown of his head. “Yeah, it’ll take a while to get used to that.”

“I’ll get there,” he states. Tom returns his attention to the bump. “Hey, little one,” he coos, voice all silk and amber tones, “it’s going to be the biggest honour of my life being your dad.”

Tom spends a while at your feet, speaking softly to you and your bump, and you keep your hand resting on the back of his head. He’s weary when he finally climbs to his feet but regains some of that spark when you step forward to kiss him. You don’t mean to make it as heated as you do, but it hasn’t only been your heart that’s missed Tom. You’ve craved him, constantly, during every single lonely night, and now that he’s here, you’re willing to take everything you can get.

“I love you,” you say, hushed against his mouth.

Tom’s teeth brush over your lower lip, and you moan when he tugs. There’s a fervour to it, hot lust burning through sensitive emotions. He releases your lip and pulls back to stare at you, his eyes rippling darker.

“I love you too,” he murmurs. He brings his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. “I love everything about you.”

Your mouths come back together, and it’s messier than before, your lips wettening as your kisses become wilder. Tongues dance and teeth clash as your body temperature starts to rise. Now you’ve moved through the emotional reunion, you’re left with an underlying pulse—a heat throbbing persistently between your legs. The fire builds as you hear Tom’s grunts and feel the desperation in his hands when they grab at your sides and jerk you closer, his mouth devouring yours until your lips are puffy and tender. You’re greedy, chasing more, desiring everything you’ve missed out on in the months you’ve been apart from your lover.

“Darling,” Tom murmurs, breaking the kiss to whisper hotly against your lips, “I missed you, but if you keep this up, we’re not going to get home.”

Desire takes hold of you. “Who said I wanted to go home?” You push in closer, shifting slightly until you’re able to feel the hardness of his crotch pressing up against your thigh. The familiarity of it all makes you inhale sharply. You drop your tone, trying to seem coy as you speak, “I don’t think you understand how badly I needed you whilst you were away, Tom. I missed you.”

The tips of his teeth glint as he arches his brows. “Well…” Tom mumbles. “I owe you about four months of lost opportunities.” He swallows, briefly breaking from the lust-filled headspace to look guilty. You smooth it away by reaching down to squeeze at his hands. “If my radiantly stunning fiancé decides she wants me to start repenting for that now, then who am I to stop her?”

Rolling your eyes, you step away from the car. “You’re a suck-up,” you taunt. You plant a light kiss to his lips. “C’mon,” you urge. “The car.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “The backseat?” he teases. “Shit, angel. You must be desperate.”

Warmth tickles your face. “Shut up.”

Tom smirks deviously. “It’s okay,” he soothes. He darts forward to open the car door for you, resting his hand on your lower back as you step forward. “I’m just as desperate as you, baby.”

“I hate you,” you murmur. Tom follows you into the car, shutting the door behind you both. You wait for him to sit before straddling his lap, your legs stretching until you have a shin planted on either side of his thighs. The position is comfortable, with enough space between your bump and his chest for you to breath, and you whimper as Tom bends nearer to ghost his lips over yours.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs.

You want to tease him, but you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You’re alright with too much adoration to even think about pressing it down.

“I really don’t,” you agree.

Tom makes a soft noise of vindication, the tip of his nose brushing yours for just a moment until he’s bearing down and bringing your lips together. You sigh, reaching up and urging him closer. His lips are lovely, and you enjoy kissing them for a while, but then you find yourself distracted by the open expanse of his neck. With his hair buzzed, you’re keenly aware of his throat, pale and sensitive, and if there’s one thing you remember about your boyfriend, it’s his affinity for lovebites.

You bring your lips to the side of his neck, nuzzling your mouth against the long, pale stretch of his throat. Smirking against his skin, you start to suckle deep hickeys against the side of his neck, revelling in the throaty gasps Tom deposits into the air in response.

“Fuck, darling,” Tom whines. He has a hand on your back, urging you closer. When you graze the tips of your teeth against his skin, he whimpers. “Shit. More.”

“More?” you tease. “Forgotten all your manners, Tom?”

He growls. The hand on your back shifts to the back of your head, and he jerks you ever closer. He’s still mindful, especially of the bump laying between you, but he knows just as well as you that you aren’t a piece of porcelain; you like being tugged around. You’ve missed it.

“Give me what I want, and maybe I’ll return the favour.” He says it like you’re oblivious to the desperation in his words. You decide to oblige him.

“Okay,” you murmur. You look up to meet his gaze, his honey-brown eyes full of appreciation. For a moment, it knocks you off balance. It’s so strange readjusting to having Tom back—almost overwhelming to be able to touch someone who had existed only in your memories for so many weeks. You drop your head and give him what he wants.

Tom’s skin tastes clean, and it smells distantly of pinecones. He groans, fisting at your hair and holding you close as you kiss and suck along his skin, drawing deep hues to the surface of his neck. He shifts in his seat, basking in the pain and whining every time you soothe a fresh mark with the warmth of your tongue. You keep your hand resting on his hair, the cropped length of his buzz prickly and coarse beneath the pads of your fingertips.

“Oh god yeah,” he murmurs, voice mingling with the wet noises coming from your lips. “Your mouth is so fucking good, baby. I missed it.” Grunting, he brings a hand to your waist, squeezing the flesh of your hips hard. “I thought about you all the time in there.”

Tom releases his hold on your hair and begins to stroke his hands over your back. As you continue to mark his neck, he starts to tease you, gradually dropping the heat of his palms lower and lower. You can’t stop yourself from bucking down into his hold, moaning against his neck as he grabs handfuls of your ass.

“Tom,” you break off to whimper, panting softly. You feel dizzy on the taste of his skin. “You’re being mean.”

“Mean?” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “How am I being mean?” Tom squeezes the curves of your figure, his slender fingers warm against your skin. You’re in a dress, the material thin, and he doesn’t hesitate to curve his hands beneath the hem and bring them to rest over your panties. “You’re the one who wanted to come in here and get your hands all over me… I’m doing what you asked.” He breaks off, chuckling darkly. “That’s not how things usually work, though, is it?”

The air between you shifts.

You pull away from Tom’s neck, your mouth inflamed and throbbing. You have to dig your teeth into your lower lip to muffle your whimper when Tom brings a hand to the front of your legs, gently brushing two of his long fingers over the front of your panties. He’s teasing with it, eyes alight with deviousness, jaw set in a determined line.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Maybe I want to be in charge this time.”

Tom laughs gently. “Oh, yeah?” He rubs your cunt a little faster, causing you to suck in a sharp breath as you feel the delicate pressure on your clit. The contact makes your passage clench, growing wet enough to dampen the front of your panties. “So you don’t like this, hmm? You don’t want me to follow through on everything I have planned for you?”

“What have you got planned?”

He tuts. “Oh, I’m not going to tell you, angel. That’d be too easy. Either you want me to be in charge, or you decide to call the shots.” Tom smirks as he feels you buck down against his hand. Maybe if the circumstances were different, you’d find the strength to push back, but you don’t. It’s been so long, and your cunt is weeping already just from the husky tones in his voice.

“You’re in charge,” you whisper. The vindicated smirk he flashes in response is enough to send shivers down your spine.

“Damn right, baby.” Tom moves his hands away, pressing them to your waist instead. “Can you lay down for me, please?”

You shuffle across the car seat as instructed, Tom shifting until he’s kneeling in the footwell of the backseats. It’s a good thing the car is obscenely huge, otherwise, the already-cramped fit would be unworkable.

Draping your legs over Tom’s shoulders, he pushes the hem of your dress up, bunching it just above your bump. The hungry fire in his eyes fades slightly.

“Is this okay? Are you comfy?”

“It’s fine,” you soothe. “Are you okay down there?”

Tom nods. The scruff of his buzzed head scratches against your inner thighs. “I’m bloody perfect,” he responds. “Can I touch you?”

“Please do.”

The tip of his nose nuzzles against your covered clit. “Perfect,” Tom purrs, his breath hot against your panties. “I think it’s time I remind you who owns this fucking pussy… As hot as it was when you were trying to tell me what to do, it’s not on.” He brings his mouth away from your core, and you whimper as his tongue laps gently across your thigh, the muscle deliciously slippery. “I’m the one calling the shots.”

You’re throbbing, every inch of you aching for his touch. The burn is visceral—pulsing, wet. “Yes, sir,” you return. Tom’s eyes snap to yours. “Do whatever you want.”

“Say please.”

Swallowing the dryness in your throat, you add, “please.”

“Good, baby. You sound so pretty begging for me.” Tom easily pulls your panties down your legs, returning to push your thighs further apart. He brings both of his thumbs to your sensitive lips, humming when you whimper. Using the pads of his fingers, he gently parts your centre, groaning softly at the sight. “Say it,” he murmurs, entranced by the paradise between your legs. “Tell how badly you want me.”

He’s incredibly infuriating, but you play right into his hand. “Please, Tom,” you whine. “Please touch me.”

He hums. “Of course, lovie,” he murmurs. He glances up at you. “All you had to do was ask.”

The first touch of his tongue against your slit makes your eyes roll back. A breathless whine slips past your lips as his mouth envelops your clit, the strong tip of his tongue nuzzling over your sensitive skin in a way you’ve only dreamed of. You’ve been able to get off in his absence, but nothing can simulate the sizzling heat of his mouth and his tongue, nor the scratching of his short hair against your fleshy inner thighs.

The way he unravels you is obscene, toned with the sounds of spit and lazy lips, the sensations of desperation. Tom devours you, using his elbows to push your thighs apart as he buries his face as close to your centre as possible. You can barely see him over the rise of your belly, but you can certainly feel him. When you start to grind down against his face, things only escalate, your eyes fluttering shut as your spine arches in response to his feverish movements.

“Oh god,” he murmurs, voice thick as it vibrates across you. “Missed this… Tastes so fucking good, sweetheart.”

Your high rolls over you suddenly and without warning, manifesting itself in a silent cry as your body goes rigid. You hear Tom hum in surprise, then feel his hands lock around your thighs, holding back your legs as they shake in the face of absolute pleasure.

“Sorry,” you pant, recovering gradually, “I didn’t know that was going to happen then.”

Tom runs his tongue over your slit, still sensitive and throbbing. “‘S okay, lovie,” he replies, voice warm. He nuzzles in closer and brings two slender fingers to push against your entrance. Your hole is hot and pulsing, pooled with your arousal. You hear it pucker as he gently presses against your cunt, teasing your entrance with his fingertips. “I’m not done making it up to you, though. Is that okay?”

Exhaling, you nod quickly. “Fuck yeah,” you say, struggling to think. “Oh.”

He slips two fingers into you, your eager walls parting and welcoming him in. Tom removes his mouth from your heat and replaces his tongue with the pad of a thumb, and when you release a loud noise of strangled enjoyment, he begins to crook his fingers into you. He strokes his digits against your walls with poise and elegance, nudging up against your g-spot and stroking, again and again, chasing the noises you release.

“So pretty,” he coos. “My pretty baby. Making all those beautiful noises.” Tom smiles almost proudly. His chin is wet with your arousal. “I love your cunt… Look at how well it's taking me.” To prove his point, he feeds a third finger alongside the others. “So greedy for me, eh? Greedy little pussy. So hot. So wet. God…”

Tom drops his head again, disappearing from your sight of vision. You moan, body jerking as you feel his tongue move around his fingers, catching the arousal that seeps from your pussy as he works you open. He releases an obscene moan before dragging his mouth to your clit, stimulating you with his hands and tongue in tandem.

“Holy fuck,” you whimper. You feel hot in the best way, your skin becoming sweaty as you writhe over the leather seat. “Feels so good, Tommy.” It feels like heaven—especially when he bends his fingers and the tips of them stroke up against your sensitive spot. “‘M gonna cum again.”

“Already?”

“Yeah.”

Tom chuckles. “I’m so good at this,” he murmurs. “Go on, angel. Don’t hold back on my account… You’re so pretty when you cum.”

The tide breaks, and your climax rolls across you, legs trembling as Tom holds you in place. You writhe as you bask in the heat, your knuckles losing blood as you clench your hands into hard fists. The press of your nails against the soft flesh of your palms hurts, but you don’t care. It feels far too good to think about anything beyond Tom.

You ride it out, and Tom eventually draws his face away from your clit. He kisses along your inner thighs as you gasp for air, only removing his fingers when you start to whimper. As good as the climaxes have felt, panting for breath on the backseat, it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough by far.

“Get up here,” you say breathlessly.

Tom chuckles as he appears from between your legs. He gives your thighs a little tap before he closes your legs, wriggling out of the footwell as you sit up. Easily, like you’ve done a thousand times before, you swing a leg over Tom’s lap, straddling him when he sits with his back against the car seat.

“Are you okay up there?” he checks, bringing his clean hand to rest on the curve of your stomach. When you nod, his brown eyes darken. “Perfect…” he hums. “Clean off my fingers, will you?”

You nod, opening your mouth expectantly and moaning as Tom slips three of his fingers between your lips. Fighting your smirk, you maintain eye contact with him, your pride swelling as you see his cheeks darken. He gently fucks his fingers into your mouth, making you moan at the movements and the taste of your heat as it spreads across your tongue. He’s messy with it, and you feel your lips and chin grow heavy from spittle.

“Pretty,” he coos, “so, so pretty.”

Tom goes to move his fingers from your mouth, only for a detail to make you pause. Eyes straining, you reach up to catch his wrist, holding his hand in place just as his fingers pull away from your lips.

“What’s this?” you query, narrowing your eyes. You drag Tom’s left hand nearer your face, gasping softly as you take note of a new tattoo resting at the bottom of his ring finger.

“Oh.” Tom shifts around slightly, biting at his lower lip. “I got your initials tattooed… When we get married, the ring will cover them, but I wanted you with me—I want you with me—all the time, even without a bit of metal.” He hesitates. “Is that okay?”

You press a delicate kiss across the letters. “Yes,” you say. You feel shy as you meet the eyes of the man who loves you so immensely. “That’s really, really sweet, Tom.” You bite your lip as you look up at him. “Gone soft on me, baby?”

“‘M always soft on you,” he says gruffly, guiding a hand to your face. He brings you closer, encouraging you to lean higher on your knees. “Love of my life, angel. You know that… My wife.”

You shift on his lap, smiling bashfully. “I’m not your wife yet.”

“Soon, soon, soon,” he whispers.

Both of you come together, no words needing to be exchanged for you to know what to do. Tom loses his clothes as you sit up a little straighter, one of your hands curling around the headrest of a seat as Tom angles himself slightly. With the rise of your bump between you, you aren’t able to be flushed together like times before, but the man beneath you is quick to readjust so he’s laying further back, giving you plenty of room to move in a way that’s comfortable. He kisses over your knuckles as you run his hard cock through your slit, his interested eyes fixed firmly on the sight of his length as you finally begin to move down.

The moment the head of his cock pushes into you feels indescribable. The ache of the stretch falls away as relief pours over you, the closeness satisfying far more than just your arousal.

“Gentle, gentle,” Tom murmurs, hand resting on your belly. “Be careful.”

You chuckle, beginning to move but only slowly. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “it won’t hurt them.” Your eyes roll back slightly as you bring your hand down to rest on Tom’s shoulder, moaning quietly. “You can move too��� Please, move.”

“Okay, darling.” Tom gently starts to move his hips. He groans as he slumps back against the seat, beautiful face coloured light pink. You’d missed the expressions he makes, how emotive the slants of his features can be. His nostrils flare and his jaw tenses as you ride him, your cunt so wet the movements are almost effortless. “That feels… so good.” His voice is hollow, gutless. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about you. You, and your hot cunt.” He moans again, unable to sit around the words. Tom ruts into you a little harder, guiding you to move faster with the hand on your hip. “Taking me so well, darling. So fucking well. I’m not going to last at all.”

“That’s okay,” you murmur. “I won’t either.”

Tom manages a lazy smirk. He opens his eyes as he brings a hand to your clit, teasing the sensitive bud with his thumb. You jerk a little at the stimulation but start to ease into it, basking in the pleasure from the bud and Tom’s cock. He’s buried deep within you, pressing your walls apart, the curved tip of his head brushing deeper than you’ve felt in months.

“So tight,” he murmurs. Tom leans back, clearly enjoying the sight of you riding him. “My darling. You look so beautiful like this… I swear your tits are bigger, too.” The hand on your belly gently caresses the bump, Tom’s tongue briefly wandering out to wet his lower lip. “Look at how beautiful you are… I can’t wait to knock you up again.”

Stifling a moan, it takes everything in you to focus on your movements. “You feel so good, Tom,” you whimper, unable to hold back the praise he loves to hear. “I missed this so much.”

“I know, baby. I missed this too… Come on, now.” His voice hardens slightly. “I’m about to cum, but I don’t want to unless you’re right here beside me. So… will you be a good girl and finish with me? Please?”

Heat flushes through your system as you bounce your head quickly. Your eyes close, breath hitching as you feel your climax rise. It starts in the pit of your stomach, a coil pulling tighter and tighter until it bends and snaps, bursting wide and spilling pleasure across your body in warm waves of enjoyment. You cry out as you fall apart, holding Tom’s shoulder tightly as his hand clamps around your waist. You feel him mirror you, hear his loud groan as his cock pulses inside you, your movements unceasing as you ride it out together.

It ends, but you stay joined. Tom sits up, the distance put between you by your belly requiring him to stretch closer and seize your lips in a smouldering kiss. His hand returns to your cheek, yours to his, and the look in his eyes is dizzying.

“I love you so much,” he speaks, words soft like a promise. “Everything I do from here on out is for you, and…” He glances back at your stomach. “And our child.” Words thickening, you see Tom’s eyes well with tears again. He chuckles, cheeks flushing red. “Sorry,” he adds. “I get a bit choked up thinking about it.”

You stroke your fingers over the back of his hair, spiky strands smooth against your hand. “Don’t apologise for expressing your emotions, baby,” you whisper. “It’s been a very long day.”

Tom nods. “Love you,” he murmurs again. He nuzzles his head into the palm of your hand, his eyes closing.

“I love you too,” you say, words truer than they’ve ever been before. You bend down to kiss his forehead. “Do you want to go home now?”

He hums. “Y/N,” he whispers. Tom blinks up at you, eyes soft. He catches the palm of your hand with a few kisses as he sits up a little straighter. “I’m already home.”

Teeth grazing your lower lip, you hold back your smile as you marvel at how clichéd he’s become. You bend down and kiss him very gently. “Sap,” you murmur. “Love you, though.”

Tom pulls a face. He rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice—only love. “Love you too,” he says. “Yes, though,” he adds, “I would love to go home.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

finis

yay

that’s probably a wrap on mob!tom ! i don’t have any more fic ideas for him :( that being said, this was a lot of fun to write, and i really, really hope you liked it :D ik the theme isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, so if you read it all, i love you very very much

please let me know if you have any thoughts!!

masterlist through the link in my bio <3

[babblydrabbly]

Hihiho! May I have: [  KITTEN  ] ;  the sender calls the receiver ‘kitten’ with Eddie Munson, please and thank you?! P.S. iluiluilu. 😘

Eddie Munson x f!reader - smut - 840 words - warnings: Language. Kissing. Fingering (f receiving). Thighfucking.

Nononono iluiluiilu uwuwuwu

“Fuck. Please?”

It’s his breathless, messy kisses across the nape of your neck. The squeeze of every finger into your soft skin as he roams over every inch. 

Eddie is the first guy who doesn’t actually pester or barrel through to get his pleasure out of you. No, there’s a patience you suspect he’s more than happy to bask in— especially on nights like tonight. No D&D, no band, no deals— just you tonight, princess. 

He knows there’s nothing that gets you wetter than your little red light, green light act. The way you let him push the boundaries before reeling him back. And tonight you want to savor every minute.

A needy whine against the shell of your ear makes you shiver. 

Through his coarse denim jeans, you feel the press of his arousal against your panties. Your legs, still twisted up in your own pants, entwine with his as the two of you let the radio play a Saturday night mix. 

For all his curated tastes in music, he’ll let you play anything when you've got him wound up so delectably tight.

“Not yet.” You tease with a sly smile. When you glance over your shoulder, you catch the way his eyelashes flutter beneath his curls; feel the puff of air as he huffs at your cheek. You rock back against him as you reach your hand for his hip. 

Eddie’s lips capture yours in a hungry kiss. You reward him with another roll of your hips, eliciting a deep groan from the guitarist as he licks and sucks at your bottom lip. You can’t help the way your fingers slip over his zipper, dragging over the line of his ready cock. Eddie reaches down and grasps your hand.

“Now?” He tries again eagerly. You grin and hold back a giggle. 

“Uh uh.” You tsk.

Still, you let out a faint little whine of your own when he unzips himself. He pulls length from his boxers with ease as his lips return to your neck, fist pumping himself a few times as he laves just under your earlobe. The feeling of his hot arousal against your rear and his mouth on your skin makes you light-headed.

“Wanna make you feel good.” Eddie murmurs quietly. A soft tone reserved just for you.  

He nuzzles into your neck. Presses his chest to your back. You let Eddie break your resolve with every grind of his hips. 

“Maybe you could-” A gasp catches in your throat when his length pushes between your thighs. Heat builds unbearably between your legs just from the way the tip of his cock presses against your underwear. You squeeze your thighs together.

“Shit.” Eddie moans. He thrusts his hips, knocking you forward a little. “Fuck, kitten. Fuck, you’re so wet.”

You flush. Your slick mixes with his precum as he glides between your soft thighs; drags himself across your damp panties. You squeeze his hip wordlessly and crane back to find his face once more. 

“Eddie.” You whimper.

His hand slips under your shirt greedily. He cups and kneads where he’s already taken off your bra before the two of you lied down. Tweaking your nipple between his ringed fingers, he coaxes a steady stream of whines and gasps from you as he continues to fuck your thighs. The familiar sound of his skin slapping against yours turns the heat up inside you so much it nearly burns. 

You whine his name again between sloppy kisses; reach up and grip a fistful of his hair. Eddie hisses at the sharp tug, his hand flying down to slip into the thin fabric of your underwear. You buck when his middle finger makes contact with your clit, mewling his name again.

“You like that, kitten?” He slips two fingers down further and presses them into your entrance. You grind yourself down on his palm as he keeps up his own pace, meeting your hips hurriedly as he pants against your lips. You nod up at him with glazed eyes. 

“You’re so goddamn pretty.” He grins. “You gonna come for me?”

He cuts off your eager nod with another kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips without hesitation. Adding a third finger, Eddie thrusts, more swears tumbling from his lips and past yours.

“Don’t stop,” You plead. 

Your vision fuzzes around the edges as the fire builds in your lower belly. Your hands fly to his when it finally crests, and your loud moan fills the quiet room. And it sounds better than any song playing on your small radio now, if you ask Eddie. 

You snap your hips against his palm again and again, legs still pressed tight around his cock. When you still, however, so does he- his hard length giving a throb when you finally slip off of him. 

“How was that, baby?” He prods. Heavy lidded eyes watch you maneuver your way down his body, his hand reaching for you. You take his fingers into your mouth and taste yourself on him. 

You hum. “Wanna taste you next.”

[bluemusickid]

Ok so I have been this fantasy about Chris Evans lately... the reader and he are friends and Chris has a girlfriend but she’s not satisfying him in the bedroom and you guys get a little tipsy one night and you end up making all his naughty dreams a reality... and there will be lots of dirty talk like, “she can’t make you feel like this... or does her mouth feel as good as my mouth does, etc”... I need you to work your smutty magic on this one! Could be for any of his characters too! Whatever you’d prefer! ❤️

As much as I abhor cheating........this is a sexy one. Thanks for this one, nonnie!!

Pairing:  Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, SMUUT, NSFW, minors DNI, drunk sex, dubcon (if you squint).

A/N: wHEW, this one was a toughie. I wanted to draw the line somewhere lol, but oh well. Hope you like it! MINORS PLS DNI. Not beta’ed, all mistakes are my own. You are responsible for your media consumption. Dividers by @firefly-graphics.

This is my entry to my own challenge (lol). The colour I have chosen is red, which symbolises passion, danger, excitement. <3

You took a swig from your bottle, grimacing at the bitter taste, the sight in front of you even more bitter than the drink itself. It would have to be your worst luck that Andy Barber was here at the party, but his girlfriend as well? Killed you.

It was especially worse since you had a humongous crush on him, which didn’t seem to go away, no matter how hard you tried. It was even worse that you had to act normal around him at work, for fear of being mocked or ridiculed by your coworkers.

Andy Barber had completely encompassed your world and was a part of every waking moment. You watched him get tipsier as time passed, dancing around with his friends, his girl not leaving his side even once. If looks could kill, she’d be dead by now.

Deciding that you needed some air, you stepped out, only faltering a bit as the alcohol was steadily making itself known. Trying to light a cigarette, you heard a few voices from the garage. Your good manners were screaming at you not to eavesdrop, but you couldn’t help it. The liquid courage was winning over.

“So she doesn’t go down on you?” a voice asked. You raised your eyebrows at the question.

“Uh..” you heard the answering voice sigh, followed by a nervous chuckle. Oh my gosh it was Andy. You waited with bated breath for his answer, not knowing what to expect.

"I mean we're happy with each other, she's a great girl, very kind and she's great with Jacob. But there's just no spark." He trailed off, slurring a bit at the end.

You didn't know what to feel about this little tidbit you heard; your brain was telling you that it was wrong to feel good but your senses, your mind was in jubilation. You scuttled off inside before you were caught, this new piece of information even more intoxicating than the alcohol.

You stumbled your way into a bedroom, trying desperately to find a washroom. Why was this place so goddamn big? You mused, relieving yourself, the earlier conversation playing in your head on loop. Shaking yourself mentally, you realised there was nothing you could do about it.

Stepping out, you nearly fell as you bumped into something, your foot getting caught in the doorframe. Strong arms grab onto your biceps, steadying you as you managed to straighten yourself. You looked up to thank the stranger, instead finding yourself looking into the eyes of your dream man.

"Are you ok?" He muttered, his voice soft against your ears. You inhaled sharply, your core tightening in response.

"I am now that you're here." You rasped, unsure of the words coming out of your mouth. Did you just say that? You had no game, generally.

He chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Who are you and what have you done with my sweet, innocent coworker?"

Mesmerized, you gaze at him in wonder. "Who said anything about me being innocent? I'm not a goody two shoes, I'm different." He looked at you, mildly amused. "Oh yeah? What makes you different?"

"Well, for starters, I know how to go down on my man." You whispered in his ear, moving past him, your hip brushing against his.

You had no time to register when he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him, his chest colliding against your back. You gasped, turning around to face him, annoyance etched on his face. “What did you say?” he growled, his breath fanning your face.

Smirking, you ran your fingers through his hair, smoothing the crinkle between his eyebrows. “The walls have ears too, you know.” you murmured, stepping closer to him. The rough material of his pants was grazing your thigh, your core throbbing with need now.

Running a finger down his torso, you stopped at the button of his jeans, looking into his eyes, wanting some reaction. Silently, you softly palmed him through his jeans, revelling in the sharp intake of his breath. You looked up at him, for permission to continue, acceptance slowly seeping into his eyes.

Undoing his zipper, you graze your fingers over his boxers, the tent in his underwear causing your core to clench. 

“Can she get you this hard with just one touch?" You softly whispered, running your nose along his. He closed his eyes, his palms closing into a fist. You could feel him mentally warring with his emotions, his body betraying him.

You entangled your lips with his, tugging on his lower lip, as you pulled down his underwear. "I bet she can't do this."

You ran your tongue in one single strip along his length, the tip of your tongue circling around the tip of his member. He moaned softly, his hands undulating, as he tried to stop himself from burying them into your hair. Grinning salaciously, you said, "Answer me, Andy. Can she?"

He gulped, his mouth thinning into a line. "No." He muttered, through gritted teeth. That's just what you wanted to hear. And so you began your amorous assault, taking him in your mouth till he was buried to the hilt. You swirled your tongue, letting your underside work his length. He groaned, his hands finally making their way into your hair, his resolve now fully broken. Bobbing your head around his length, you could feel him slowly thrusting deeper into your mouth.

Suddenly, he pulled you up, throwing you over his shoulder and dropping you unceremoniously onto the bed. Stunned, you were about to retort, but were cut off by his insistent lips. Gathering your wrists in one hand, he tried to tug off your panties, his impatience winning over as he tore them off, the material dangling limply from one of your legs. He circled your nub, his need to be within you ebbing steadily.

Bracing himself on his arms, his fingers locking with yours, he thrust into you in one move, leaving you breathless. His eyes trained onto you, seeing every emotion on your face, spurred him on, as he pounded into you. There was no other way to describe it except frantic coupling. Crossing your ankles, you pushed him deeper, the new angle hitting your front wall, your thighs quivering from the sensory overload. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be fucked thoroughly, like a whore?". You gasped, unable to form coherent thoughts, the depth and intensity in his eyes scaring you a bit. "Drop the act, sweetheart. I've seen you in office, swaying those fuckin' hips, batting your eyelashes. Don't act like you didn't want my cock in your pretty pussy, fucking you till you wept."

His words made you feel ashamed but in the deepest, darkest part of your heart, they turned you on like nothing else. They fed your libido, which was already wound tightly around his manhood. This man had you wound around his pinky, but you didn't mind. If that was the cost you had to pay to make him yours, you would pay it.

Pushing your legs up, he let go of your hands to caress your swollen bud. You screamed as the new position left you seeing stars, your legs nearly losing sensation, a warmth seeping through your body. Your silky walls grasped him tightly, to the point where you became one, as he shouted his release. Pulling out, he panted as he glanced at the sight in front of him; your overstimulated lips swollen and wet, messy from your intermingling fluids. He cleaned you up with a wet washcloth as you dozed, leaving as quietly as he could.

You woke up after some time, your limbs and pussy sore, you relishing the ache. You didn't see Andy anywhere, but you did see your clothes neatly kept in a pile at the foot of the bed. You were just about to reach for them when your phone dinged with a message alert. Bemused, you checked and saw it was from Andy.

"See you in office, sweetheart. P.S. Wear a skirt. Don't be late."

Part 2

Tags: @donutloverxo @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @gotnofucks @imdarkinme @ozarkthedog @savior-adriana @chrissquares @a-little-counter-esperanto @denisemarieangelina @chris-butt @patzammit @tenaciousperfectionunknown @worksby-d @starlightcrystalline @tinylumpiaa @whosmarisaaarw @jbreenr @melli0112 @harrysthiccthighss @bigchoose @violentyoshi 

[rocorambles]

Mission: Seduce Kuroo Tetsurou

Pair: Kuroo x Reader

Genre: NSFW, Slight Angst, Fluff, Porn With Plot

Warnings: Degradation, Master/Pet Dynamics, Sex Toys, Overstimulation, Cum Play, Nipple Play

Prompt: "Guess I'll just have to cum inside you."

Summary: You really should have just spoken to Kuroo about your insecurities instead of letting everything spiral out of control. But that’s okay, your husband is more than happy to thoroughly remind you that you’re the only woman he’ll ever want.  

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this spicy prompt. (Masterlist goes live Monday 31st August 11:30pm U.K. time!) 

You stretch your arms over your head as a big yawn rumbles throughout your entire body. It’s too early for any sane person to be up, even the sun is barely creeping in through the windows of your apartment, but your husband has hardly been sane recently with the crazy amount of hours he’s been pouring into work. You’re lucky that you even woke up before he left and you smile as you hear your overgrown house cat rustle around your bathroom and bedroom, getting ready for the day. 

“Tetsurou, hurry up so you have time to eat at least a little breakfast before you head out! You’ve been skipping it too much recently. You wouldn’t want me to leave you for one of those pro-athletes you work so closely with when you become just stick and bones, would you?” 

You bite back a laugh when your husband’s messy bed hair peeks out from around the corner and hazel eyes narrow at you, but you’re not laughing when he finally saunters over to you in his suit and traps you against the kitchen counter between his long arms, leaning in so close your noses are brushing and just when you relax and close your eyes, waiting for him to kiss you, you rapidly blink your eyes open as he gives you a quick light peck before ambling off to pour himself a cup of the green tea you’d brewed. With a pout, you warm up the rice balls you’d bought last night and place them on the dining table, wrinkling your nose in displeasure at the smirk on Kuroo’s face, but it’s all forgotten as the two of you lightly chat over breakfast, Kuroo’s long legs spreading into your space across the table, your calves gently rubbing against each other as you laugh and eat. But all too soon it’s time for him to go and he gives you another loving peck before racing out the door and with a sigh, you wash the dishes before getting ready to leave for work yourself.

You love Kuroo with all your heart. Your feelings for him have only gotten stronger over the years and even after tying the knot with him, you can’t help the way your heart flutters and warmth fills your chest whenever the two of you lock eyes. But when your mind replays the teasing scene from this morning, your thighs clench and you bite your lips. Kuroo’s always been a tease and you love it as much as you hate it. No one knows how to rile you up like he does and he uses that to his advantage, rendering you a desperate, needy mess before finally making good on all his dirty promises. But lately, he hasn’t been following through. You can’t even remember the last time you’d done anything more than heatedly make out. 

At first, you had tried to be patient. You know far too well exactly why he hasn’t been in the mood recently. It’s so obvious to you. It’s obvious in the ever growing and darkening circles underneath his eyes. It’s obvious in the way he can barely stay awake when you do manage to spend some time together when he comes back home from work. It’s obvious in the way he immediately passes out as soon as his head hits the pillow. Hell, even his messy bed hair that usually defies gravity seems to slump more and more with every passing day. He’s exhausted. You’ve always loved how dedicated and hardworking Kuroo is. It’s one of the many reasons you’d fallen for him and you know how important his job is to him, but you wonder if it’s time to intervene as you watch your husband walk around your shared apartment like a zombie. Also, more selfishly, you have needs and it’s been months since you’ve been stuffed full by him and really, this is all Kuroo’s fault for training your body to constantly yearn for him after all the years he spent pleasuring you over and over again. With a determined glint in your eyes, you begin to scheme. Let Mission Seduce Kuroo Tetsurou begin.

You scan yourself in the mirror pleased with how you look in a strappy lingerie set you know drives Kuroo crazy. It’s a delicate and intricate creation of lace and ribbons that barely covers you, only accentuating the curves of your figure, but you know it’s the one strip of ribbon that travels in a single bold line between your breasts and leads up to a delicate lacy red collar wrapped around your neck that will specifically catch Kuroo’s eyes. Checking the time, you excitedly perch yourself on the bed, positioning yourself seductively, candles flickering and enhancing the mood as you wait for him, but a hour passes and you unwillingly succumb to sleep, ignorant of the way your phone buzzes with an apologetic text from Kuroo, letting you know he’d be home even later than usual. Blearily you open your eyes and wince as daylight sears your vision. Wait...daylight? You scramble to sit up and check your surroundings and your shoulders sag in frustration when you find yourself still in your lingerie set, but carefully tucked into bed, blankets wrapped around your body, Kuroo’s side of the bed empty and cold. You reach over to look at your phone, getting up to get dressed for work, when you see a new text from your husband. 

Sorry, kitten. You must have been waiting a long time for me last night. You looked absolutely beautiful. Look! I even took some pictures so I could remember. But maybe next time try not to fall asleep while the candles are still lit ^.^  

Your face heats up at the lewd pictures he’d taken of you while you were fast asleep and your heart warms at his compliment, but you stubbornly shake your head. There’s no time to be distracted. You’re still a woman on a mission. 

Attempt two takes place that weekend and you watch your husband from the shadows, lurking behind him before finally pouncing on him as he sits at his desk, answering a work phone call. You saucily wink at him as you saunter into his view and you smirk at the way he clears his throat and gulps at the sight of you dressed in nothing but his old Nekoma jersey and black thigh highs. And when you sink to your knees and arch your back just so, you almost snicker at the way he hisses when his jersey rides up and your bare ass is displayed. But he collects himself enough to firmly, but gently shove you away from him as you try to pull his boxers down and despite a few more attempts on your end, you instantly stop when he puts his phone on mute and sternly says your full name. 

But Kuroo’s always been weak against your puppy dog eyes and with a slight roll of his eyes, he beckons you to sit on his bare thigh and as he calmly and professionally continues his call, you heavily pant with your tongue lolling out, drool dripping from your mouth as you grind against his strong muscles like a bitch in heat, smearing your arousal everywhere until you’re almost sliding back and forth against the taut surface. And as he clenches his muscles and digs his leg further up into you, your body convulses and he barely has time to end the call before you loudly moan as you ride out your orgasm. He whispers filthy praises into your ear about what a good slut you are, what a desperate pet you are, what a mess you’ve made all over master’s leg, but when you finally exhaustedly slump onto his chest, he peppers butterfly kisses all over your face and holds you for a few minutes before carrying you to the bathroom and washing both of you off despite your protests that you still want to play more. 

He at least has the decency to apologetically kiss you for ending things so abruptly as he throws on slacks and a button-up before rushing off to work to take care of the emergency he had just been on a call about despite the fact that it’s a weekend, but you can’t help the growing insecurity that begins to eat at you as you spend the rest of that Saturday alone. Were you not as attractive as you used to be? Was Kuroo getting tired of you? Why does it feel like you’re trying so hard to get his attention? Does touching you feel like just a husbandly duty for him now? Thought after crippling thought sears through you and you have to hold back the tears that threaten to spill when Kuroo returns late that night and, thinking you’re already asleep, turns on his side with his back facing towards you and instantly falls asleep.        

You muster what little resolve you have left with the last few scraps of your self-confidence for a final attempt. Raking through your mind for memories of what would hopefully bring some passion back between the two of you, you perk up as your eyes scan a black box crammed underneath the bed. Kuroo hates it when you masturbate, when you touch yourself, when you make yourself cum without him being physically present or at least on a call with you to hear all the pretty sounds you make. Surely this would be enough to finally have him fuck you senseless like he always used to. But when you purposefully time everything so that Kuroo enters your bedroom and finds you stuffed full with your favorite dildo, a wand vibrator pressed against your clit, and your back arched as broken cries fill the room, he just gives you a tired smile and sits on the edge of the bed before helping you by thrusting the dildo in and out of your gushing cunt. And it feels so good, but when you see how dull and lifeless Kuroo’s sleep deprived eyes look despite the fact that you’re laid out in an erotic display of lust, you can’t stop the sobs you let out as you climax. 

Thinking you’re just crying from the overwhelming pleasure and too tired to dig further into it, Kuroo absentmindedly tosses the toys to the side and cradles you in his arms as he falls asleep, finding comfort in your familiar scent and figure, ignorant of the way your body continues to tremble as you cry yourself to sleep. And as you try to keep your sobs and sniffles as quiet as possible, you decide to abort this mission, deeming it a complete and utter failure and you struggle to fall asleep that night as self-deprecating thoughts claw at your insides. Of course Kuroo didn’t find you sexy anymore. Your body has changed a lot since your younger days. You should be grateful that you still have a loving husband, a husband who works tirelessly to help provide for the two of you, a husband who always takes care of you, a loyal and devoted husband. And despite the longing pang for something more, something primal, for your base desires to be filled, you tentatively turn in Kuroo’s arms until you're face to face and you nuzzle into his toned chest and finally find peace in the rhythmic rise and fall of his sleeping figure. 

Life goes on normally after that. At least for Kuroo. He's too distracted and exhausted to notice the way your smiles are a little more forced, the way you're more hesitant about touching him, the way you wear more clothes to cover your body as self-consciousness plagues your mind. So it's just business as usual for him to excitedly tell you about the Japan Volleyball Association's annual summer beach party, but he blinks in confusion when you don't return his enthusiasm, mumbling a feeble excuse about not having a swimsuit for the occasion. Brows furrowed, he digs through the drawers of your wardrobe and triumphantly holds up a black bikini set you still have, waving aside your worries that it won't fit and that it won't look good on you anymore and that's how you find yourself a few weeks later, exiting Kuroo's car and walking side by side with him in said bikini, feeling like an ugly troll next to your stunning husband whose lean and toned muscles are on full display with him just sporting a red pair of swim trunks. 

But your insecurities are pushed aside as a loud "hey, hey, hey" echoes even over the sound of the waves crashing on the beach and you can't help but grin as Bokuto runs over slapping Kuroo hard enough on the back to leave a red mark before picking you up and spinning you around as he hugs you. "Alright, that's enough, stop manhandling my wife, you big dumb owl!" Kuroo pretends to grumble at the two of you, but you can tell by the amused glint in his eyes as Bokuto finally lets you go and the reassuring hand he places on your lower back as the three of you mingle with everyone else that he doesn't really mind. But as soon as you reach the thickest part of the crowd, Kuroo quickly kisses your forehead before running off to network with some players and coworkers, leaving you alone with Bokuto. 

The two of you have fun. Bokuto has always been the life of the party and you laugh the hardest you've laughed in a long time. But many drinks later and unable to keep up with his crazy stamina, you excuse yourself and find a quiet corner, drinking a glass of cold water to cool down and sober up a bit. It's been hours and you still haven't seen Kuroo since he separated from you and you're so focused scanning the venue for him that you don't notice the person drawing near you until you feel movement right next to you. Surprised you turn around and are met with a vaguely familiar face. Blond dyed hair. An ever present smirk. You don't realize how long you've been staring, trying to remember where you recognize him from, until he snorts and waves a hand in your face. "I know I'm good looking, but don't you think it's a little rude to just stare at me silently?" 

You try to stutter out an apology as you finally come back to your senses, but he laughs it off and introduces himself. Atsumu. Yes, now you recognize him. Bokuto's teammate. You've seen tons of pictures of him on Bokuto's social media accounts. He's a little rough around the edges and you can feel your face heat up as he blatantly looks you up and down, eyes lingering a bit too long on the swell of your breasts, but you can feel your confidence growing, feeling truly desired for the first time in months. What's the harm in a little flirting? 

The two of you banter back and forth and maybe it's the heat of the sun mixed with the alcohol still running through your veins, but you don't notice the way Atsumu inches closer to you until your thighs are pressed tightly against each other or the way he rests one arm behind you, slyly pressing it against your upper back. And you definitely don't notice how he suddenly swoops in to crash his lips against yours and you move to shove him away from you only to be interrupted by a flurry of motions and you stare in shock at Atsumu sprawled out on the ground and your husband furiously glaring down at him, fists clenched so hard his knuckles are turning white. 

You react just in time to lunge at Kuroo and you tightly wrap your arms around his tense figure as he takes a step towards the blonde setter, holding him still as realization finally dawns on Atsumu when he spots your matching wedding bands and he scampers off with a rushed apology. But even when he’s long gone and nowhere in sight, you still clutch your husband, not letting go until you feel his muscles relax. You let him shake you off as he turns around to tower over you and you whimper at the fire burning in his eyes, hazel eyes almost glowing as they pin you down. You’re thankful for the loud music and lively atmosphere, ensuring no one’s paying any attention to the two of you as he tightly grips your chin and forces you to maintain eye contact. 

“Someone’s been a naughty kitten. I leave you alone for a few hours and you let some other man just place their dirty paws all over you? Let them taste your pretty little mouth? If I hadn’t stopped him, would you have let him fuck your tight cunt too? Mark you up inside and out?” 

You hate the way you grow wet at his words, trembling when Kuroo notices your growing arousal and narrows his eyes in disdain. But it’s the brief flicker of hurt in his eyes that finally has you digging your hands into his waist as denial and reassurances come pouring out of your mouth. 

“Tetsurou, I had no idea he was going to kiss me. It happened so fast. I’m so sorry. Of course I would have stopped him if you hadn’t stepped in! I love you. I only want you.” 

You stare intently into his eyes, trying to portray all your love for him through your gaze and you sigh in relief when his eyes soften at your words, but your breath catches in your throat when his eyes sharpen into a familiar gleam and a dark smirk curves onto his lips. He finally releases your chin and leans down until his hair brushes against the side of your face as he purrs into your ear. 

“Prove it to me.” 

Kuroo has a reputation to uphold and, not wanting to risk anyone seeing what’s about to happen, he grabs your hand and guides you through the dancing crowd, laughing and greeting a few tipsy faces he recognizes in passing, but not once does he stop leading you towards the exit and you’re quivering in anticipation by the time the two of you reach the parking lot and he roughly shoves you into the back of his car. The door has barely closed before he pulls your bottoms down, not even bothering to fully remove them as he also hastily shoves his boxers down just enough for his cock to swing out. And you almost moan at just the sight of what you’ve been lusting for all these months, a small part of you taking pride in the fact that he’s not as unaffected as he makes himself seem behind his angry facade as you unconsciously lick your lips at the sight of his already fully hard length. 

You attempt to sit up and move towards him, desperate for a taste of the pre-cum leaking out of his tip, but you yelp when you’re shoved back down by a hand on your chest and you whine, only for that to quickly turn into a wail as Kuroo slams two of his fingers inside of your throbbing cunt. He growls as he rapidly pistons his digits in and out of you and you should be embarrassed by the way your cries of ecstasy and the sound of your squelching wet pussy fill the car, but you can’t bring yourself to feel any shame as you lose yourself to the delirious pleasure of your husband’s long fingers filling you, stretching you, always sure to rub against that spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars. But when your hand instinctively reaches down to rub your clit, you’re startled back to reality when it’s slapped away and his fingers are yanked out of you. 

He sneers down at you, a wicked smile twisting his face as he shoves his drenched fingers into your mouth and you obediently suck, making sure to clean every remaining drop of yourself that coats his skin. Satisfied, he finally removes his hand from your mouth and he quirks an eyebrow in amusement as you beg and plead for him to fuck you.

“Tetsurou, please. I need your cock inside of me. Please, I want it so badly. Please fuck me. Please please please. I miss it so much.” 

He mockingly coos down at you as desperate tears well in the corner of your eyes. “Aww is my little kitten crying for my cock? You’re such a fucking whore. You want my big fat cock inside of you so badly that you’d cry and beg for it like a desperate slut? You sure it’s my cock that you miss? I think you’d be happy with any cock fucking you. You’d let anyone stuff you full and moan like a whore, wouldn’t you?” 

And the tears finally fall as you sob and shake your head rapidly. “Only you, Tetsurou. Always only you. Please please please.” You’re still crying and incoherently babbling as he slams his entire shaft inside of you in one swift motion and Kuroo darkly smiles at the way your crying instantly turns to wanton moans at the sudden intrusion. But it’s been far too long since either of you have done this and both of you are so worked up that he knows he doesn’t have much time before you both reach your ends. And sure enough after just a few strokes he can feel your body begin to tighten and he grits his teeth at the sight of your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your head shaking back and forth, and your mouth wide open. But even as dazed as you are, when you feel the way your husband’s thrusts become uneven, you try to voice as much reason as you possibly can, fully aware of your husband’s tendency to paint your body with his fluids. 

“Tetsu-Tetsurou AH- Feels so good. Hngh D-don’t cum on me. Don’t have anything to- AHHH clean it up with and- OH we need to go back to the party.”

Kuroo grunts in displeasure at your words, but he knows you’re right and as much as he loves to see you covered in thick spurts of white, the thought of anyone else seeing that incites rage in him. You get ready for him to pull out and cum down your throat like you always do when you mess around in similarly inconvenient places, ready to swallow down any evidence of your sinful deeds, but you scream when his thrusts get even harder and faster. 

"Guess I'll just have to cum inside you."

And those words are the final shove you need to fall over the peak and Kuroo follows shortly after you as your pussy walls clench and milk his cock. He stays buried inside of you for a few more moments, wanting your tight walls to soak up as much of him as possible, but when he slides out of you, he quickly pulls your bottoms up, not letting a single drop escape, and you whimper as he purposefully tugs them up just a tad too tightly, teasingly wedging the fabric between your folds before finally having some mercy and letting you rearrange them. He opens the car door and steps out first, offering a hand down towards you and you grab it, gingerly standing up only to be pulled swiftly towards him and you stumble into his chest. But before you can fully find your balance, a large hand tugs your hair until you’re forced to stare up into cat-like eyes. 

“I want you to keep my cum inside of you for the rest of the party. I’m not anywhere near done with your punishment. I’ll be checking at home tonight to see if your pretty little pussy is still painted white.”       

The rest of the party is torturous. Kuroo doesn't let you step even a foot away from him as he continues mingling with the crowd and in any other scenario you'd love the attention he showers you with as he affectionately introduces you to countless faces, but not today. Not with your pussy desperately clenching in order not to spill a single drop of the white liquid coating your insides. Not with your touch starved body only yearning for more after getting a taste of what you've wanted all these months. And Kuroo only makes things worse with his subtle teasing. 

You know better than to think any of his touches are accidental or innocent and your body is so in tune with his that it reacts to every single bit of contact he dishes out. His arm grazes over your nipples as he reaches over to grab a drink. He leads you with a hand that just happens to slip from your lower back and land squarely on your ass. He wipes your mouth for you, claiming you have a piece of food on the corner of your mouth, but that doesn't really explain why his fingers briefly slip past your lips. But all hell breaks loose when he reapplies your sunscreen for you and his hands blatantly slip under your bikini set, teasingly close to where you want him most, but always just missing your clit and nipples and when he reaches your neck, a moan escapes you at the feeling of his hand subtly wrapping and tightening around your throat. 

"Tetsurou, stop teasing me! Can we go home? Please take me home. I need you inside of me again. I want you to ruin me." 

Kuroo's the one who's turned you into a needy slutty mess, but it's his turn to feel flushed at the sight of you lewdly begging him to do whatever he wants to you in broad daylight, in front of hundreds of people and finally losing his self-control, he brusquely grabs your hand and once again the two of you are leaving, but this time for good. The car ride is silent, the atmosphere thick and tense between the two of you as you clench your thighs together and Kuroo tries to ignore the growing bulge in his shorts. It's silent as both of you enter your apartment and Kuroo seats himself on your couch. But you break once you close and lock the front door and Kuroo impassively stares at you as you drop to your knees in front of him and beg him to fuck you again. You know you're barely making any sense, fueled only by your cock hungry thoughts, but you pause when Kuroo raises a hand to silence you. 

"Let's see if you were able to follow the one rule I gave you today, kitten." 

Eagerly you nod your head and you raise yourself on your knees, spreading your thighs apart before pulling your bikini bottom to the side and you think you could cum right there and then just from the way Kuroo unabashedly stares at the white trail dripping down your inner thigh as he pushes down his shorts enough to languidly stroke his cock. 

"Good girl. Did you like being my little cum bucket today? Did you like being filled by me? Bet if it were possible, you'd always want your little cunny to be drenched in my cum, right? Come sit on master's lap." 

Kuroo chuckles at the way you clumsily stumble in your haste to reach him as you blather affirmation after affirmation in response to his questions and he lowers his head to affectionately kiss you, lightly nipping your lower lip before he pulls back. He moves one hand to his cock to angle it as his other hand grabs your waist and urges you to move, but you hardly need any encouragement and you both groan as you sink down on his length until you're completely bottomed out and sitting in his lap once again. Immediately you try to bounce, but you whine when strong hands hold you still and you can feel tears of frustration forming as you pout at your husband's smirk. But any annoyance is forgotten when his hands fondle and pinch your nipples through the fabric of your top. 

"Look at you. I've barely done anything and you're already so worked up. Stop moving! Just sit there and take what I give you." You yelp when he roughly pinches your nipples and you cease your attempts to ride him, but you can't help the way your hips roll and grind as he continues. 

"Your nipples are already so hard, kitten. Look how obvious they are even beneath your swimsuit. Were they like this all day? Is that why Atsumu couldn't take his eyes off you? You think every player there saw how slutty your nipples are? Realized what a horny desperate whore you are? I bet they all wanted to get a taste." 

You wail when Kuroo shoves the fabric aside and latches a mouth onto one of your sensitive nubs, while experly flicking and rolling the other between his fingers. He alternates between the two sides and your frazzled mind can barely keep up with his actions as he switches up the motions of his fingers and mouth. He pulls off briefly and sharply tugs at your nipples. "Think you can cum just from your nipples?" You try to deny it, pleading for him to at least rub your clit, but your protests are ignored and you gasp when he dives back down and harshly sucks at one of your puffy nubs. Kuroo knows your body even better than you do and he continues to stimulate your nipples even when you topple over into an orgasm that takes you by surprise and you tightly clench around his cock as your back arches and only when you weakly paw at him to stop does he release your nipple with a lewd pop. 

You playfully smack him when he teases you about what a slut you must be to be able to get off from just your nipples and you hide your face in his neck as he shamelessly thinks out loud about all the nipple clamps, suctions, and vibrators he can use on you to train you even more. But you raise your head in alarm when you feel yourself being repositioned, Kuroo's erect cock still inside of you as he lays you on your back and hovers over you. 

"Tetsurou, st-stop NGH TOO SOON!"

"What did you say, kitten? Sorry, it's hard to understand you when you're moaning like a whore. Weren't you begging for this all day? Shouldn't you be thanking me?"

Kuroo thrusts sharply into you with every word and you can't think of anything other than how well he fills you, how perfectly he fits inside the cunt he's molded and shaped for himself after years of using it, how amazing the drag of his cock against your insides is. You babble thank you, thank you, thank you mindlessly over and over again, incapable of doing anything else as your breasts bounce and your body writhes underneath him. And when his hips finally stutter and he furiously rubs your clit as he adds to the mess inside of you, you break apart once again, your mind going blank as you feel the warmth of his cum sloshing inside of you.

But exhaustion slams into you as you come down from your climax, exhaustion from your third orgasm, exhaustion from being teased all day and all the barriers you’d put up finally come crashing down and Kuroo stares in horror as you sob, nothing like the pleasure filled sobs he usually wrings out of you. No, these are heartbreaking anguished cries for help and he immediately answers the call by tightly clutching you to his chest, your lower bodies still connected as he murmurs words of praise and love into your ear. 

“Hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart? I love you. You know that, right? I love you more than anything or anyone else in this entire world. I’m so lucky to be your husband. You’re so good to me, so loving, so supportive, so loyal, so beautiful.” 

The last word catches your attention and with a sniffle you hesitantly remove your head from his torso and look at him through watery lashes. 

“You think I’m beautiful?” 

Kuroo flounders for a second, disbelief choking the words in his throat, unable to understand how you could think otherwise. But when he sees the insecurity and doubt flooding your eyes he gently cradles your face in his calloused hands. 

“Of course I do. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, inside and out.” 

Your heart flutters at the sincerity you see in his eyes and that’s all it takes for you to break down in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tuck your head under his chin, and he silently listens as you reveal all the internal suffering you’d put yourself through over the past months as you let your anxiety and worry mix with your doubts and insecurities, letting them fester and ferment into a self-destructive time bomb. A slow-moving process he’d been too daft to notice, that you’d been too scared to talk to him about for his sake, not wanting to be a bother or another item he needed to check off his to-do list. And while you continue shyly speaking, tears stream down Kuroo’s face and his heart clenches at the thought of how long you’d quietly suffered, putting on a happy facade for him, taking care of his every want and need during the few hours of the week he was home and awake. 

Surprised to feel liquid drops plop down on your face, you quirk your head upwards and panic when you see your husband’s teary eyes and the two of you become a blubbering mess as you both try to wipe each other’s tears and soothe each other. It’s so silly to see two adults trying to out comfort each other that you accidentally snort at the strange image the two of you must make and there’s a slight pause, but then your laughter is joined by Kuroo’s trademark cackle and before you know it, the two of you are wrapped in each other’s arms, feeling the rumble of each other’s laughter through your connected bodies. 

Yes, there’ll be serious conversations later about being more open and transparent with each other when something’s troubling either one of you and discussions on how you can both work on your communication. You’ll jokingly complain that Kuroo is hovering over you too much for weeks after this breakdown as he practically scrutinizes you with those perceptive eyes of his, always making sure you’re really fine. And he’ll never give you any more opportunities to doubt how much he loves every part of you when you’re screaming his name on every surface of your home. But for now, feeling infinitely lighter with all your burdens finally shoved off your shoulders with the help of your husband, you’re content to close your eyes and relish in the warmth of the lean body pressed against you.     

[yoichichi]

Sweet Girl

Modern!Mikasa x fem!reader

18+ MINORS DNI

warning(s): dom!mikasa, oral(f) receiving, face sitting, fingering (reader receiving), some light titty slappin, if you think I need to add anything else please let me know!

a/n: Mikasa just loves her sweet little girlfriend <3 i got a mikasa x reader request about a flustered reader so i jus took it and kinda ran w it, I hope this is ok 😭 I hope it’s still smth you were looking for ! I’d love to hear anybody’s thoughts :) <3

“It’s ok pretty girl, you know I’ll take care of you.”

Mikasa’s soft voice sent a shiver down your spine, her warm breath tickling your neck and making your hairs stand on end.

She loved getting you like this, all flustered and desperate for her touch, so much so that your usual shyness was slowly being chipped away at little by little.

You were never known for having a bold demeanor, especially when it came to more intimate moments with Mikasa.

You’d always hide your face in the crook of her neck or cover it with your hands when she’d do or say sweet things to you.

Like when she’d make remarks about how no picture would ever be able to capture the beauty you emit while her delicate fingertips traced even softer lines across the natural path of your face. Or when she’d embrace you from behind with her nose buried in your hair, whispering about how good you smell into the back of your neck, chuckling quietly when you’d whine and turn around to bury your warm cheeks into her chest. It was one of her favorite things to do - make you feel all small and shy, it let her know how much her words really touched you. And that translated into all aspects of the relationship.

Nothing made her cunt clench more than seeing you whine and let your resolve fade away beneath her. Getting you so worked up that you lost all shame of telling her what you need, it drove her crazy, which is exactly why you are where you are now.

She was straddling your hips and holding your arms above your head, making it so there was nowhere you could hide your face or bare body from her. Her black bangs hung and framed her hazy eyes that were burning into you, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Her hardened nipples shown through the cotton white of her tank top as her tits bounced slightly from the way she started to grind herself down onto you. You looked down to see she was bottomless now, her soaking cunt only a couple feet away from your salivating mouth.

“If you want me, then tell me.”

Her sultry voice brought your attention back to her face.

You stared up at her with your mouth opening and closing as if you forgot how to form a proper sentence, hoping at this point she’d save you the embarrassment and relieve you of some of the built up tension, but of course the Mikasa you knew wouldn’t be doing that.

She let your left wrist go and brought her fingers to your lips. She gingerly traced them and licked her own lips before she abruptly shoved them into your open mouth to pull it down and open you even wider.

“Oh? Is my little girl all bored of me now?” Her tone was sickeningly monotone even though you could feel the thick waves of desire from her pussy pooling on your lower stomach.

You shook your head as quickly as you could and pathetically attempted to let out a “no I’m not I promise”, the words coming out jumbled around her fingers while drool was starting to drip down your chin.

She pulled her fingers out slowly and dragged them down your neck where she wrapped her hand around your throat, the cool air hitting your skin where your spit was sitting.

“Then tell me how bad you need me. Shouldn’t be hard for you right? I can practically taste how wet your pretty pussy is for me already.” Her lips grazed over yours as she rasped out the last sentence, making you mewl and squirm below her.

She sat up enough to promptly smack your exposed tit before grabbing onto it, squeezing it enough to get your attention.

“You’re only getting one more chance to answer me and be my good girl for the night.” Her voice got darker and you knew she meant it, Mikasa never doubled backed on what she said to you.

You sniffled and looked up at her, obediently nodding your head.

“Good girl”, she cupped your cheek with a soft smile.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach flutter at the gesture while the rest of your bare body grew unbearably hot at the thought of telling her what you wanted.

“I- I want you.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek and avoided eye contact, hoping and praying this would be enough to satisfy her.

She sighed and shuffled on you slightly, dragging her cold hands down your chest and over your nipples until they sat firmly on your sternum.

“That’s it? You just want me?” She looked at you expectantly with raised eyebrows.

Taking the chance to get away with it you nodded your head quickly with big eyes pleading for her to drop it.

“Anything my baby wants.”

She eyed you up and down like she wanted to devour you all while your eyes sparkled in her direction, just begging for a chance to touch her.

She sat up more and shimmied up your body until her dripping core was hovering above your face with her knees spread wide on either side of your head. Your arms shot up to wrap around her thighs and squeeze at the soft flesh there with anticipation.

She reached forward to grab onto the headboard in front of her and slowly inched herself down until she was close enough for you to please her.

As soon as she nodded her head to let you know she was ready for you, you wasted no time in lapping her up like he was your last meal.

She let out a shaky, content sigh while she left herself exposed so you could get to work.

You hummed in pleasure when you felt how messy she was getting you with her slick coating your chin, her thighs clenching when you moved to shove your tongue inside her aching hole. Needing more of a reaction from her you adjusted yourself once more to suck sadistically at her clit, moaning against it when one of her hands shot down to your head to hold you in place. You could tell she was doing her best to stay still on your face from the way she was biting hard on her bottom lip with her eyes closed.

“F-fuck, baby. Please, god, just like that.” Her voice sounded desperate.

Good.

You pulled your mouth away enough to speak,

“Please ride my face, please.” You were slightly muffled beneath her, but with the way she could hear your voice crack with desperation she wouldn’t deny you a thing.

She let out breathy moans as she started to move her to hips to grind her pussy on your face, your hands squeezing her ass harshly while you let out strangled groans beneath her.

“God, yes, fuck. You’re being so good, baby.” You could tell she was getting close with the way her voice sounded so strained.

“Please, cum on my face.” You were too smothered to get it out fully but she didn’t need to hear your words to know what you were asking.

“You want me to cum on that pretty face of yours? Huh sweetie?” She was panting now as you nodded your head to the best your abilities, moaning erotically beneath her.

You moved your hands from her ass and squeezed her hips as you brought her just above your mouth, making her unable to move while you sucked harshly one last time on her clit.

She squealed and clenched her thighs tightly around your head, her hips were spasming in your grasp as she finally came. You groaned and lapped up what you could until she shot up from the sensitivity.

Your eyes were big and full of adoration as you watched her use her shaky legs to rest beside you.

You sat up and crawled over to where she had her back against the headboard, the tank top sticking to her sweaty chest that was heaving up and down. Leaving sweet kisses on the side of her face you swung your left leg over her body to straddle her thighs. You leaned forward now so your forehead could rest against hers as she caught her breath with her hands rubbing up and down your back.

There was a moment of peace while the two of you just soaked in the others warmth from the close proximity, your chests touching at moments when your breathing aligned.

She brought her hand up to the back of your neck to pull you into a sweet kiss, humming against your lips when she got a taste of herself.

The hand that wasn’t holding you by the neck drifted down to your side until she was shoving it down between your thighs, just barely dragging her fingers along your outer lips, chuckling when she felt your breathing quicken.

“I think it’s my turn to make you feel good now, don’t you think sweetie?” You could tell she would be smirking with the pathetic way you quickly nodded your head and squeezed at her toned upper arms.

Her eyes watched the way your face scrunched up as she slowly shoved her middle finger inside you, only to pull it out and shove it back in with her ring finger accompanying it this time.

You tried to move to rest your head on her shoulder but she wouldn’t let you, her other hand now squeezing your cheeks to hold you in place, she loved watching you as she pleased you.

It was almost humiliating at how quick you were getting close to being finished, but you couldn’t help it with the way she was curling her fingers to push on that spongey spot.

“C’mon pretty, I wanna see you cum. Don’t you wanna be a good girl and make me happy?” Her voice was sweet as she worked to coax your orgasm out of you. And boy did it work.

You were a panting mewling mess as your weight nearly gave out onto her when your orgasm washed over you, her fingers only pulling out when you tugged lightly on the damp material of her top.

She brought her fingers up to suck on them as you caved and relaxed onto her, finally being able to nuzzle your face into the warmth of her neck.

She scooted down until you two were laying comfortably, sleep already starting to consume the both of you.

“Mm, love you baby.” She mumbled onto the top of your head.

Her arms were wrapped around you to keep you where you were, she loved falling asleep like this with you. There was something about your body weight on top of her with your warmth that made her so content and sleepy, no matter how often you’d protest she never failed to yank you on top of her and hold you there til you caved.

Sometimes she’d tickle your sides until you were catching your breath and laughing as you gave in. Other times she’d rub at the sore muscles in your back and kiss at your temples until you were too relaxed to say no. Or she’d draw designs softly with her fingertips on your arms while a movie played in the background, distracting you until you either forgot or were too comfortable to move. But wearing you out until you were too fatigued to protest worked for her too.

She adjusted the pillow beneath her head as she found a more comfortable position to sleep, and you grumbled something incoherent under your breath. She was worried she awoke you at first, but then she knew it meant her sweet, sleepy little girlfriend loved her, too.

——————

SORRY IF THIS WAS TOO LONG IDK AHSJSJJDN pls pls pretty pls leave your thoughts ! I appreciate and read all of them :(((( ily guys and I hope you enjoyed! <3

requests are open

-🐇out

taglist: @plutowrites @armins-futon @peachysimp (if you’d like to be added for aot, hq, mha, or all jus lemme know!)

[novoaa1writes]

candles

image source

pairing(s): dark!wanda maximoff x reader

summary:

you’ve been feeling strange for the past month, particularly when it comes to dating. 

you do your best to ignore it, thinking it’ll resolve itself on its own—given time, that is.

it doesn’t. 

(and it’s got everything to do with wanda.)

[also available on ao3]

word count: ~5,300

rating: mature

warnings: dark!wanda, NON-CON spanking (with a belt), NON-CON BDSM play, mental manipulation, partial mind control, emotional manipulation, mental coercion, trauma bonding, toxic dynamics, drinking, possessive!wanda, non-con mind-reading, vandalism, adultery (not in reference to you or wanda), brief instances of slut-shaming

notes: [requested by anon] reader’s sexuality isn’t explicitly stated, but ex-partners of different genders are referenced/mentioned

— —

wanda uses a couple bulgarian terms of endearment for reader here, so below is a lil’ list in the order of which they appear.

принцеса | printsesa | princess [feminine term of endearment] мила | mila | honey [feminine term of endearment] любима | lubima | sweetheart [feminine term of endearment]

*note: all of these are exactly one letter away from being precise matches to synonymous terms in russian. HOWEVER, the bulgarian alphabet and the russian alphabet are different—granted, in fairly minor ways. for one, while both are comprised of cyrillic lettering, russian has 33 while bulgarian only has 30.  

— —

You have no fucking clue what’d gotten into you. 

One moment, things were fine—good, even. And the next… well. 

You’ll explain. 

It was something like 11:30 on a Saturday night, and you were drunk. 

Well, not drunk. More like buzzed. 

But whatever, right? Considering the week you’d had, you deserved to let loose, even if only for a night. 

Monday night saw a very angry and decidedly unhinged soccer mom banging on your door, screeching vehemently about the ‘two-faced slut’ who ruined her marriage and demanding to be let in so that she could ‘make her sorry.’ Turns out, the older guy your roommate had been sleeping with as of late was married—not that he’d bothered to share that particular bit of information with her, obviously. 

The two of you spent the better part of the evening barricaded inside, passing a bottle of cheap wine back and forth while trying to explain to the 911 operator that you weren’t messing around, that there really was an angry soccer mom on your doorstep and you were actively fearing for your safety. 

She eventually left around 10:00pm—no thanks to the police, since the 911 operator hadn’t even bothered to give them a call. It wasn’t until the next morning when you left for work that you saw the woman’s parting gift to the pair of you: the word ‘HOMEWRECKER’ spray-painted across the front door in obnoxious red lettering. 

Bye-bye, security deposit. 

That same night, you made your roommate promise to start dating people in a similar age range—because really, the both of you were stressed enough as it was without worrying about coming in between yet another middle-aged couple’s dying marriage. 

The rest of the week wasn’t much better. 

On Thursday, your balding creep of a boss had made yet another blatant pass at you in the workplace, making you seriously consider (and not for the first time) the prospect of just quitting and being done with it. 

Then, at shit o’clock on a Friday morning, you awoke to an urgent phone call informing you that an ex of yours (one you were actually on semi-decent terms with) had gotten into a fairly serious car accident, and still had you marked down as her emergency contact. 

30 minutes later found you showing up at the hospital just moments after your ex’s current girlfriend had arrived, which then prompted the whole ‘you still being your ex’s emergency contact’ revelation when the current girlfriend demanded to know what you were doing there, which ended up being… well, you’ll just say it wasn’t pretty, and leave it at that. 

And your ex was going to be completely fine, anyways. She just had some minor cuts and abrasions, and would need to undergo a fairly minor (read: minimally invasive) surgery over the next couple days. 

Before leaving, you instigated a quick check-in with the doctors to ensure they had everything they needed—which then turned into you providing a list of allergies, as your ex wouldn’t likely be conscious for another couple of hours, and apparently the current girlfriend didn’t know of her sensitivities to penicillin and phenobarbital… which the current girlfriend was less than happy about, if the daggers she glared at you were any indication. 

Whatever. You were just trying to help. 

You thanked the doctors, told them to feel free to call you if anything went awry, then asked if they might tell your ex to call you when she awoke. You thought about offering some words of comfort to the current girlfriend as she sat vigil at your ex’s bedside, but the murderous glower she shot you the moment you got within ten feet of her was more than enough to make you think better of it. 

With that, you left. 

So… yeah. It’d been a shitty week. 

And now, here you were: a girls’ night out at the lively nightclub you and your roommate had scoped out just last weekend, tossing back $12 cocktails and letting the trashy EDM beat blaring over the speakers drown out the rest of your thoughts. 

You’d been feeling a little weird all week—all month, really. 

As far as you were concerned, this was exactly what the doctor had ordered.

 So, when a cute guy wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt that was at least a couple sizes too big yet did well to compliment his well-muscled torso came up to you and started chatting you up at the bar, you didn’t blow him off.

The exact opposite, in fact.

He was nice, and funny, and had a gorgeous smile that made your chest feel warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. When he flirted with you, you flirted right back. 

You felt a little guilty for doing so, though you couldn’t exactly put a finger on why that was. Either way, you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it for very long. 

After all, you’d been feeling hints of that for the past month, if not longer. It seemed to happen whenever you flirted with a cute guy, or went out on another Tinder date with a pretty girl, or even hugged one of your close friends. 

You’d get this painful tightening sensation in your gut, nausea roiling in your abdomen… a distant, lofty voice in your head telling you that this was wrong, that you already belonged to someone else. 

Which was pointless, really. Stupid. 

You were single. 

Your last serious relationship (barring the one with your now-hospitalized ex-girlfriend) had been over seven months ago with an eccentric guy named Lukas. He was kind, well-meaning… a bit of a dork at his very core, but you always found that more endearing than anything else. You’d dated him for four and a half months before deciding to break it off; because as much as you cared for him and enjoyed being around him, you didn’t love him, and you knew by then that you never would. 

You thought about him, from time to time—even missed him now and again.

And yet, the strangest thing about the shameful feeling you’d get whenever your roommate so much as brushed a friendly kiss up against your cheek—it had absolutely nothing to do with Lukas. 

You didn’t know how you knew that, but you did. 

Whatever.

This guy was not Lukas. 

His name was Des—short for Desmond, you learned over your fourth sugary-sweet cocktail of the night. He was charming and slightly foul-mouthed, but conscientious and passably polite where it mattered. He didn’t grope your ass or stare at your tits, nor did he make any lewd commentary about your body in any capacity. 

He also smelled… really good, like Old Spice and spearmint gum and the barest hint of cigarette smoke. 

That was more than enough for you. 

(Whatever, alright? Decent guys were in short supply these days.)

You smiled and let him buy you another drink, even after you’d insisted that he really, really didn’t have to. And when an obnoxious pop song with a beat that was far more catchy than you’d have liked to admit came over the speakers, you let him coax you out to the dance floor with minimal resistance. 

It was… fun. You liked the way his hands rested on either of your hips—gentle, almost careful; holding you like he understood he didn’t have a right to your body, like he was more than content that you allowed him this to even think of demanding any more.

Despite the twinges of guilt flaring in your gut, you let yourself get a little more comfortable… dancing closer and closer to him amidst a packed crowd of writhing bodies, letting your breasts graze up against his chest. 

It was teasing—provocative, even. A test, of sorts—one that Des passed with flying colors. 

He didn’t do a thing to rush you, just kept dancing across from you with his hands on your hips and his darkened gaze on yours—seeming fully content to let you set the pace for the moment. And God, but the way he was looking at you… patient but eager, like he wanted nothing more than to crush your body against his own and grind himself into you like an animal—and yet, still, he held himself back. 

You couldn’t help but find that attractive as hell. 

Looping your arms around his neck, you let your body to press flush against his as you swayed to the beat of the song, not shying away from the slight stiffness you could feel growing against your hip. 

That guilty, nauseous feeling in your gut pulled tighter. 

You ignored it, and, when he leaned a little closer to shout over the deafening music, “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”... well. 

You wasted absolutely no time in lunging up on the tips of your toes to capture his lips in a messy open-mouthed kiss, the strobe lights of the club fading into obscurity around you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours—tentative, at first, until you pressed a little harder and traced the seam of his lips with your tongue… and, yeah; that did the trick. 

A moment later, his lips parted to let out a quiet groan directly into your mouth as he began to reciprocate in earnest, setting every nerve ending on your body alight with electrifying want. 

And that’s when it happened. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a twisted sort of clarity hit you square in the chest—slowly, and then all at once. 

The next bits were something of a blur. 

You tore yourself away from Des, turned to forcibly elbow your way through a floor of grinding bodies. You thought you heard him call out your name, and more than a couple people on the dancefloor turned to glare at you as you rudely brushed past them without care—but, whatever. 

You texted… someone, telling them you were headed back to the apartment, so they shouldn’t bother waiting up. The group chat, maybe? 

And now… Now. 

Before you can blink, the past crashes into the present, and you find yourself back outside in the pitch-black night. 

It’s dark… chilly. A brisk wind catches you the moment you stumble out onto the sidewalk, assaulting every inch of your exposed skin like scores of needles piercing your flesh. You whimper, shudder, and hug your arms around your body—trying to warm yourself back up like a scared little kid who forgot their jacket. 

For the first time that night, you regret the tiny black babydoll dress you’d chosen to wear for the evening—and that’s not even to mention the four-inch heels. 

It’s miserable, to be sure, but you can hardly focus on it for very long. 

No, you have to go somewhere. You feel sick, and cold, and wrong in a way you’re loath to even begin explaining to anyone else. 

And your head… you’re positively aching for something—someone to make this better.

You need… Wanda. 

Yes, Wanda is the person you’re looking for. She can make all of this better. 

You don’t know why, but you’re sure of it. You just need to find her. Hopefully she’s spending the night in her apartment on that super cozy sofa of hers, drinking hot chocolate and binge-watching something on Netflix like the two of you did a couple weeks back. 

A fond grin curves your lips at the recollection as you stumble off down the sidewalk, headed for the nearest subway station. 

Another wintry gust of wind hits you square in the chest, and you pinch your forearm hard, silently willing yourself to focus. 

The station should be less than a block down, if you’re remembering correctly. 

At the next street corner, you manage to brandish your pepper spray in one hand while you rummage around in your purse for your MetroCard with the other. 

It’s cold as hell, and you’re probably a little too drunk to be walking through the City streets alone right now, but you don’t much care. 

All you gotta do is find Wanda. That’s all. 

She’ll make everything better again. 

— —

Where everything else is confusing, there’s one part that seems to make sense—Wanda. 

You nearly pick a fight with the card reader at the subway entrance when it makes you swipe your card three times to let you through, and even the stairs leading down to the lower tracks are more of a challenge than they probably should be… and yet, somehow, the rest of it is blessedly simple. A no-brainer, really.  

You know which train you need to take… the blue one that arrives in four minutes. You know you need to stay on it for five stops before getting off. 

Once you’re up at ground level, you’ll have a short walk ahead of you—one that you know like the back of your hand despite only ever having been to Wanda’s a couple of times. 

You’ll enter Wanda’s apartment building, take the elevator right up to floor four, and boom! Home free. 

You do exactly that.

It takes a short time (thankfully) and there’s not an ounce of uncertainty within you all the while, like you’ve done this 100 times before.  

In seemingly no time at all, you’re there—standing on Wanda’s doorstep, knocking a couple times just beneath the burnished bronze ‘4A’ nailed into her door. 

Your head feels all light and dizzy; you’re still shuddering from the time you spent out in the cold; but—

“One sec!” Wanda’s muffled voice comes from inside, the mere sound of it washing over you like a soothing balm—promising relief. 

You’re safe now. 

You made it.  

— —

The moment the door swings open to reveal a bleary-eyed Wanda Maximoff dressed in tiny grey pajama shorts, an oversized Star Trek T-shirt, and nothing else, it’s like everything falls back into place. 

It’s like… like you can breathe again.

You’re still drunk, and shivering, and more than a bit confused; but now that Wanda’s awake and here and smirking like she knows exactly what’s happening even if you don’t, you feel… better, somehow. Not nearly so lost as you were before. 

“Y/N,” Wanda greets, stepping aside and offering out a hand to help you inside. You’re quick to take it. “I was not expecting you,” she drawls, though everything about her demeanor is saying the opposite as she shuts and locks the door behind you. 

You pay it little mind. “Yeah, I... ” you trail off, turning to face her even as an embarrassed flush warms your cheeks. All of a sudden, you can’t help but feel rather ridiculous for knocking on her door and barging in so late—especially without calling first. “I’m so sorry, I...  I don’t know why I’m here.”

Wanda just tilts her head, appraising you curiously even as the ghost of a knowing smile curves her lips. “Are you sure about that?”

The heat in your cheeks seems to intensify tenfold at that. “I… I need to tell you something,” you hear yourself say, and the moment it’s registered, you realize that it’s true. 

You feel… guilty, all of a sudden. Nauseous, too. Scared. 

You danced with that guy—Des. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… You kissed him. Why would you do that?

In the present moment, Wanda nods, like that makes perfect sense. Like all of this makes perfect sense. 

“Okay,” she acquiesces lightly, flares of crimson flitting through her measured gaze. “Is it something I’ll have to punish you for?”

‘Punish’ me? What—?

You feel Wanda’s presence in your head… inconspicuous tendrils sifting through your thoughts, worming their way through your scattered memories. 

No point in lying. 

“Y-Yes,” you hear yourself say. Much like earlier, it isn’t until the moment you’ve confirmed it aloud that you know it to be true. You danced with someone else. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… kiss you. “I… I’m so sorry, Wanda; I-I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You see the moment Wanda finds it—your memories of the nightclub. Meeting Des at the bar. Flirting with him… Kissing him. 

The look on her pretty features goes from bemused to disbelieving to absolutely murderous in zero seconds flat, and the realization hits like a freight train that you’re really in for it now. 

Fuck. 

“Go to the bedroom,” she snarls, her typically blue-green eyes burning with scarlet light. “Then take off that slutty dress. I want you on the bed, face down, naked. Do you understand?”

Your head is spinning; confusion rears its ugly head in your gut even as every ounce of your being screams at you to just obey—‘cause if you can just do that, the rest of it will start to make sense. (Maybe.) “O-Okay.”

— — 

You don’t know how you know the way to Wanda’s bedroom, but you do. 

You slip inside a room shrouded in darkness, and no matter how it strains your eyes to look around, you don’t dare turn on the light. 

It’s a modestly-sized bedroom with hardwood flooring, fairy lights along one wall, and an adjoining bathroom just opposite the entrance. There’s a tall, wooden dresser pressed up against the wall directly across from a large, king-sized bed. That’s pretty much all the detail you can manage to make out in the darkness.

Well, either way, you suppose it isn’t really your business. 

Wanda gave you specific instructions, and you intend to follow them. 

Not for the first time tonight, you’re quite happy about the babydoll dress you’re wearing—particularly for how easy it is to pull it up over your head and off, leaving you in panties and a strapless bra in a matter of moments. 

You fold the dress neatly in your hands, then leave it atop the dresser. Your panties and bra come next. In seconds, you’ve formed a small, tidy pile. 

As you step out of your heels and approach the neatly-made bed, you’re struck with the strangest sense of déjà vu… like you’ve done this before.

It lingers in the forefront of your mind as you crawl up onto the bed, biting back a groan at how easily the plush mattress gives way under your hands and knees. 

God, you’d kill to have a nice nap in this absolute cloud of a bed.

You shake the thought off, simultaneously willing the haze of intoxication fogging up your brain to abate.

You’re not here to nap. 

You settle face-down onto the bed, just like Wanda said. You’re careful not to rest your face on the pillows, though, since you have the distinct feeling that’s not something Wanda would want you doing without permission.

Instead, you fold your arms and rest your head atop your forearm, staring straight down into nothing. You scrunch up your features and let out a quiet huff as the black duvet tickles the tip of your nose. 

It smells like her—all of it does. Cinnamon, vanilla, and something indefinable; something that belongs to Wanda, and Wanda alone. 

You feel your body stiffen as a familiar set of footsteps draw near, approaching the room where you lie—naked and vulnerable atop Wanda’s bed.

The patter of Wanda’s gait becomes almost soundless as she enters, circling around the bed over towards the nightstand. You don’t dare to turn your head and watch as she pulls out one of the drawers, rummaging through it until she finds… well, whatever it is she’s looking for, you suppose. 

A moment later, there’s the telltale chk! of a match being struck, and a hiss as the phosphorous tip lights itself aflame. 

It’s quiet for a minute... then two. The only sounds you can hear are your breathing and the strike of a match every time Wanda lights another. 

Gradually, gentle flares of light grow in your periphery, bathing the room in a dim, yellow-y glow. She’s lighting candles—a lot of them. 

You’ve always loved candles. 

A couple minutes later, she’s finished, and she returns to tuck the matchbox safely back in the drawer. 

You lose track of her as she retreats once more, and your mounting curiosity is more than piqued when you hear her rummaging through the dresser near the foot of the bed; still, you don’t dare turn and look. 

Instead, you wait, fetid nausea churning low in your gut, pinpricks of apprehension dancing across every inch of exposed skin. Your heart thuds painfully against your ribcage as she takes something out from the dresser drawer, then shuts it with an audible thud!

You swallow the lump in your throat and urge yourself to focus on your breathing. 

In, out. 

In, out. 

In… out.

“I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” Wanda’s voice comes from somewhere behind you, genuine hurt coloring her hushed tone. 

You have to fight the urge to shudder as a chill runs down your spine. “I… I’m sorry, Wanda,” you say meekly, pathetically, cheeks hot with shame. 

And the worst part? You’re not lying. 

You listen carefully for the sounds of her bare feet padding across the floor as she circles the bed once more, crouching down right beside you in the very corner of your periphery. 

“Look at me,” she orders, gentle yet firm. 

You do. 

The moment you meet her gaze, you can’t help the errant thought entering your mind that she looks so pretty like this—face bare of makeup; long brown hair piled into a messy bun atop her head; dainty features cast into darkened shadows by the low, yellow light of burning candles clustered together atop the nightstand. 

The muted light seems to soften her anger, her pain… allowing her to really look her age for the very first time since you’ve known her. 

“You think too loudly, Y/N.” Wanda’s words are dry, almost teasing as they jolt you back into reality. “Focus on me, please.”

You do. 

“You belong to me,” she asserts after a beat of silence, an uncharacteristically intent and almost solemn look splayed across her dimly-lit features. “I thought you understood that.”

The words confuse you even as they seem to resonate poignantly with some fundamental part of you… a part of you that categorically refuses to be ignored. 

“Wanda…” you trail off, bewilderment and contrition warring violently within your chest until it aches to draw breath. “I’m confused, Wanda,” you whimper out finally, overwhelmed tears burning in your eyes. “I-I-I don’t understand what’s happening—” 

Wanda cuts you off with a derisive snort. “Yes, clearly,” she agrees, her tone ripe with sardonic ire. “You’ve forgotten yourself. You’ve forgotten who owns you.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, desperately trying to make sense of it all. “Is that why…” You search Wanda’s eyes intently. “... I-I felt sick, an-and… guilty about dancing with Des.”

Something like anger flares in her gaze, hot and bitter, and you have to resist the urge to shrivel beneath it. “That boy had no right to touch what’s rightfully mine.”

“B-But then… why didn’t I remember?” you ask, utterly forlorn. “I-I felt it last weekend, too, but I… I didn’t—” 

“Last weekend?” Wanda repeats, features hardening.

Oh, shit. You feel your cheeks get hot again. “I… I shouldn’t have brought it up, Wan’, I’m sorry—”

“What happened last weekend?” she interjects, her tone cold and hard like a double-edged blade. “You can tell me yourself, or I can start looking.”

You shiver. “I… I went on a-a… a date with a girl that I met online,” you admit, tears welling in your eyes even as Wanda’s jaw visibly tightens. “I-It was just the one time! A-And nothing happened; we didn’t even k-kiss! I just… I didn’t… I didn’t know—”

“Yes. You’re right; you didn’t know.” Wanda stands abruptly, then, and it’s at that moment that you see the folded belt in her hands—thick, worn leather with a sterling silver buckle. 

An icy sense of dread blossoms in your chest, chilling you from the inside out. 

Is she going to—? 

“I was indulgent before… I let you get away with far too much. I will not make the same mistake again.”

With that, she turns to circle back around the bed, the belt buckle audibly jangling in her hands with every step. 

“I have to punish you, принцеса,” she continues, her voice scarcely more than a whisper as she comes to stand near the foot of the bed—and somehow, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s no convincing her otherwise. 

She’s going to punish you, and it’s going to hurt. Bad. 

All at once, panic seizes you. You squirm, writhing in an effort to get up and off the bed—

Only to be stopped by tendrils of lurid crimson curling around either wrist, forcing them together just over your head like magic—glowing crimson cuffs holding both arms fast to the headboard. On a whim, you test your legs—tensing and pulling, only to be met with iron-clad resistance encircling either ankle in a tight, unrelenting grip. 

Well, fuck.

“W-Wanda,” you plead, hardly paying any mind to the way your voice trembles. “Please, I—I don’t want—”

“I do not enjoy punishing you, мила,” she laments, almost sounding genuinely apologetic. It tugs at your heartstrings in a curious way—something you really don’t have time to examine right now. “But you did something bad. And when you do bad things, there are consequences. You understand that, don’t you?”

A tear trickles down your cheek, warm and wet as you steel yourself for the first hit. “Y-Yes.”

“Good girl,” Wanda lauds, and you can’t help the surge of warmth that washes over you at the simple praise—the pride that blooms in your chest at knowing you’ve finally done something right. “Now—try and relax, принцеса, okay?”

It’s all the warning you get before the first blow comes down upon your bare arse with a resounding Crack!

White-hot pain flares across your bottom, racing up your spine like wildfire and tearing a strangled whimper from your throat. 

Jesus fucking Christ, that hurt—

Crack!

Crack!

Holy fuck. 

The impact of the leather against your naked cheeks leaves strips of fire burning in its wake, expelling all the air from your lungs in a choked-out rush. 

“P-Please, no, Wan’,” you beg breathlessly, struggling in vain even as coils of vibrant scarlet hold you fast, “it hurts, please—”

Crack!

“This is for your own good, baby,” Wanda coos, sounding for all the world as though she truly believes every word of it. 

Crack! This one lands directly across your sit spot, ripping a shriek from your lips as molten agony rocks you to your core. 

“Wan’—Fuck, please, no—”

Crack!

“G—God, fuck, pleasestop, please—”

Crack!

“P—Please, hurtssobad, I’m—”

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

“FUCK !”

Tears stream down your cheeks, wetting the black duvet beneath your face. You’re absolutely beside yourself with torment, your bare ass aflame with a pain unlike any you’ve ever known. 

Crack!

Crack!

… And the hits just keep coming—raining down stripes of blistering heat across your sore, bruised buttocks; pummeling your throbbing, exposed rear until it feels as though the entire area has just become one puffy, pulsating bruise. 

Crack!

All the fight has completely gone out of you; now, your body completely slack—devoid of any resistance even as every hit seems to sear itself into your impossibly tender bottom like a third-degree burn… The pain is absolutely incredible, unlike any else you’ve ever known.

You’ll do anything—and you really do mean anything—to make it stop. 

“P-P-Please, stop it, Wanda, PLEASE—”

Crack! Another hit directly across your burning sit spot rips a watery sob from your throat, followed by—  

Crack!

Crack!

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating until you pass out. 

Crack!

Agony blackens the edge of your vision, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks as you await another strike… 

But it doesn’t come. 

Wh—?

“Have you learned your lesson, мила?” Wanda asks, and this time, her voice comes from closer… like she’s right beside you. 

You don’t have it in you to be startled when a feather-light kiss lands itself between your shoulder blades, nor when one hand begins stroking up and down your heaving torso in soothing motions. 

“Y-Yes! I—please, God, yes,” you babble, overwhelmed by the sensation of unadulterated pain branding every inch of your battered arse. “I promise I’ll never, ever, ever do it again, Wan’—Won’t ever be with anyone else—jus-just please stop hurting me—I’ll be so good, please—”

“Shh,” Wanda shushes you tenderly. You feel yourself twitch as the mattress suddenly dips beside you. “It’s okay, любима,” she soothes, coming to rest beside you. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

‘Breathe’...

Your pulse thunders in your ears; your ass is on fire with an anguish far beyond your years; and yet, there’s something undoubtedly soothing about her words as they wash over you in gentle waves… something that tells you you’re safe.  

Were you a little more lucid, you might’ve found that quite the nonsensical paradox—this feeling of safety and security with the woman who’d just beaten your arse raw without mercy no matter how you wailed and sobbed and begged for her to stop. 

But as it is, you’re not. 

Instead, you’re just broken and teary-eyed and in pain, and Wanda’s tenderness is a most welcome respite to alleviate that excruciating ache. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath, even if it burns your lungs something awful, and force yourself to let it out slowly. 

In, out. 

In, out.

In… out.

“That’s it, мила,” Wanda praises gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re doing so well… Just like that.” Her fingers come to rest beneath your chin, urging you to turn and face her…

And you do, far too exhausted to even think of doing anything other than what she tells you to. Your lungs burn; your nose runs; and the pain in your bottom hasn’t abated any—if anything, it’s intensified.

You’re more than happy to be given something else to focus on.  

When you look at her, her blue-green eyes are wet—glossy with tears.

“Wanda?” you manage weakly, feeling your brow crease with worry. “You ‘kay?”

Wanda sniffles, huffs out a watery-sounding laugh. “Yes, Y/N, I’m alright,” she whispers, then leans forth to plant a gentle kiss upon the tip of your nose. “I’m just so very, very proud of you.”

Despite yourself, you feel a pleased flush spread throughout your body at that. “Really?” you mumble, exhaustion drooping your eyelids until it’s a challenge just to keep them open. 

Wanda nods, a tear sliding out of her eye that you yearn to reach forth and catch with your thumb—but alas, you’re far too weak. “Really.” 

You hum, burrowing your face further into the duvet beneath your cheek—even if it is still damp with your tears. “‘M sorry I was bad, Wan’,” you murmur, feeling darkness near on every side. “Didn’t mean’ta make you upset.”

“I don’t like punishing you, принцеса,” she says once more, and this time, you have no reason to doubt that she means it. Honestly, you don’t know how you ever could. “It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

You hum again. Your eyelids feel too heavy to open. “‘M sorry,” you say. “Gonna do better… make you proud… I promise.”

Wanda chuckles. The sound of it makes your chest feel loose and warm and happy. “You already do, darling girl,” she murmurs. You don’t know if it’s because she’s whispering, or you’re fading into sleep, but you can barely hear her when she repeats it once more: “You already do.”

Sleep descends upon you, then, and you succumb to it willingly, feeling safer and more at peace than you have in a very long time. 

— —

tagging:

[marvel]: @normanijauregui​

— —

end notes: yeah i don’t know what this is either. i was only aiming for maybe 1,000 words or something, but things happened and...

look. i haven’t been to therapy in a hot minute, ok?

link to masterlist

[dreamingofaizawa]

Leaving Him, Finding Her

Professor! Aizawa Shouta x Fem! Student! Reader

College AU

***18+ Fic***

If you are not 18 please make your way to the nearest exit, thank you and enjoy the rest of your day.

Warnings: smutty smut, HEAVY DADDY KINK, DD/LG dynamic, Daddy Dom Aizawa, complete sub reader, a temporary collar cuz I have a thing for collars (don’t come @ me, a real collar was too big a commitment to put in a forbidden hookup), praise kink in here, light oral (female receiving), bondage, shibari, unprotected sex, Aizawa being softer than a baby’s bottom, angst, fluff

Word count: 4.6 k

Author’s Note: Alright, ngl I cried writing the end to this cause I’m a little bitch when it comes to the softness after angst. Like, the only thing that makes me cry more than a sad ending is a happy one, and writing these scenes as they pley out is making me absolutely fucking weak. Also, my daddy and praise kinks are beaming, and so is my absolute love for aftercare. I’m lowkey super proud of this one, I’m a sucker for soft doms. 

Update: I'm editing it. Timestamp: 3:23 am Fri, May 14. (Very minimal) Editing completed: 4:20 am Fri, May 14.

Enjoy the read~

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He's beautiful. Ruggedly handsome in every way. Long, wavy, raven locks pulled into a slightly messy bun, revealing the scruff kept just barely tame on his strong jawline and chin. The dark circles under obsidian bloodshot eyes did nothing to steal from his allure. The scar under his eye and a frame too muscular for a simple college professor made you wonder what he’d done before lecturing in your physics class. It also had you wondering other things.

‘(y/l/n)’

What exactly did all that muscle look like? What did it feel like? Running your fingers down his neck and chest, trailing down his abdomen. Or crawling your hands up his legs, caressing his thick, muscled thighs. At night your thoughts ran rampant with images of your physics professor. A very naked professor, to be specific. And you had a title for him that you’d never want to reveal outside of your dorm bedroom.

‘Miss (y/l/n)’

What did he look like under the white dress shirt that was just slightly tight over his chest? And his pants that were fitted perfectly around his thick legs. You're experienced enough to know how submissive you are, and you wonder if he’d be a good dom, wonder if you could be a good enough sub for him. What did it feel like to have him bend you over his desk? Or tie you up as he ravaged your body? What did it feel like to let him have his way with you, to give him control…

“Miss (y/l/n)!”

You jump, immediately snapped back to reality, and recognize who had called your name. Your words came tumbling out without a second thought.

“Yes da-” you catch yourself, “Mr. Aizawa!... Yes, Mr. Aizawa?” Your face burned and your eyes shot wide at the fact that you’d nearly just called him the title from your fantasies. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice, and neither did any of your other classmates.

“If you aren’t paying attention perhaps the material is not challenging enough for you?” You swallow and shake your head.

“No, sir! I’m just a little tired, that’s all! I’ll be more attentive.” He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly unconvinced.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been distracted during class. See me during office hours.”

With that he continued with the lecture on centripetal force. You groan inwardly, though you only have yourself to blame.

Your grades hadn’t slipped, even if you were zoning out in class. Mr. Aizawa hit the nail on the head when he asked if the material wasn’t difficult enough for you. You’d studied physics before, it was simple for you, and you only needed to ask for notes from your classmates to be sure you did the work the way your professor wanted it to be done. The only reason you’d been enrolled in the class was because it was a requirement, and it was your last year so you had to take it. If it weren’t for your smoking hot professor you’d have hated every second you needed to sit in the lecture hall. He released the class, and you quickly packed up and left, not seeing the darkness in your professor’s eyes as he watched you leave.

It's dark by the time you still back onto campus, Mr. Aizawa’s office hours are strangely extremely late. There's no movement in the dark hallways, the only light coming from underneath Mr. Aizawa’s office door as you approach. The fact that the institution is large enough to give every teacher their own office is beginning to bother you, your overactive imagination getting the better of you.

After a breath, you knock lightly, answered by a muffled, 'Come in'. Another breath. You twist the handle and step into the office, and the man mumbles, 'Close the door behind you please'. You oblige, though your heart is beating out of your chest.

“You wanted to see me, professor?” He hums, eyes flicking up to you as he sets a red pen down on the desk.

“Yes, miss (y/l/n). You haven’t been paying attention in my lectures.” You look down at your hands clasped in front of you, nerves and shame beginning to eat at your resolve.

“I apologize, I’ve been tired lately,” you lie, sticking with your story from earlier.

“And yet you have one of the highest grades in the class.” You keep your eyes glued to your hands, which are now fidgeting nervously. The silence is beginning to nag at your mind, your nerves buzzing.

“I think you’re lying to me.” Your eyes widen momentarily, then you force a confused expression as you look up at your professor.

“I’m not sure what you mean…” He leans forward in his chair, his elbows holding his weight on his desk.

“I mean I think you’re distracted for other reasons. If you were struggling to sleep it would be evident. I’m a prime example,” he motions to his face. You bite the inside of your lip, your heart thumping loud in your ears.

“W-what other reasons would I be distracted?” He stands up and slowly makes his way around his desk, stopping mere inches in front of you. The close proximity has your breath shallowing and your heart pounding. You keep your eyes locked onto his, something akin to fear - no, maybe it's closer to obedience - not letting you look away. He narrows his eyes at you, a skeptical but knowing look.

“Don’t think I didn’t catch that little title you let slip in class earlier.” Your eyes blow wide, your breath hitching in your throat. He walked to the door, locked it and walked back to you, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“I d-don’t…” Your words fall short when he leans down, his breath hot on your ear and neck.

“Don’t lie. What was it you almost called me?” Your body shook, your breaths jagged, but you don't answer. At your silence, he nearly growled in your ear. His left arm snakes around your waist, pulling your body into his. His right hand comes up under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Answer me, kitten.” The commanding tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine. You take a small breath before closing your eyes and answering.

“D-daddy. I...almost called you daddy.” He hums, the sound rumbling through your body.

“Open your eyes. Look at me.” You obey nearly instantly, swallowing as you meet his gaze. He let out a small sigh, words ghosted from his lips.

“Good girl.” The praise makes your entire body shudder, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Now, tell me why you would call your professor ‘daddy’ so automatically.” You felt your face burn, a mix of embarrassment and arousal coursing through your veins.

“I… I think about you… at night…” He tilts his head and quirks a brow, urging you to continue. Your voice is shaky, your eyes struggling to keep eye contact as you reveal your darkest secrets to the man at the center of them.

“I call you daddy when I’m alone in bed…”

“Or when you’re in the middle of a lecture.” You bite your bottom lip and nod as he finishes your sentence.

“Such a naughty little girl, aren’t you. What should you say when you do something wrong?” You swallow thickly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry.” His hand under your jaw turns and grips it hard, just enough to make you wince.

“I’m sorry, what?” Your eyes widen and your jaw quivers. Is he asking what you think he is?

“I-I’m sorry… Daddy." His grip on your jaw loosens as he turns your face to the side, leaning in and leaving a kiss under your ear.

“That's right. Such a good girl.” Your body shakes again, the feeling of his scruff on your cheek, his lips on your skin, and his voice in your ear, making your body react on its own.

“Do you have classes tomorrow, kitten?” You search your brain for the information he’s asking for, closing your eyes in concentration. After a few moments, you find the answer.

“N-no…” He pulls completely away from you, moving behind his desk and leaving you dazed. You watch, your body still recovering from whatever just happened, as he gathers his belongings. He holds the door open, turning to you.

“Come now kitten.” You blink at him, your mind trying to make sense of the situation. You follow him anyway, letting your body move on its own.

He’s a few steps ahead of you, and you follow him as he walks to his car, opening the passenger door. You get in, not quite able to question what’s happening, but trusting the man regardless. Soon the car pulls into a driveway, and you get out and follow the black haired man into the house, still dazed. His voice brings your attention to him, his hand under your chin again.

“Do you want this, kitten?” You nod.

“Use your voice, pretty girl.” God, hearing the praise is making your head spin.

“Yes. I want you Daddy.” His thumb strokes your cheek idly, grounding you in the moment.

“Good girl. Do you know what a safeword is?” You nod, the concept is more than familiar.

“Yes Daddy.”

“Do you have one?” Another nod.

“Gemini.” His hand lifts your chin gently as he leans down and slots his lips against yours. Your body relaxes, sinking into the kiss, focused on the sensations of his touch. His lips are soft, gentle, and his hands smooth down your back, landing on your hips.

He separates from you, looking down at your half-lidded eyes and blissed out state. You're already slipping into subspace. Your mind is floating, wanting to zero in on something. Anything. Your eyes aren’t quite focused, searching Aizawa’s face for a focal point. He recognizes that look. You need a platform to stand on, an anchor, and you need it desperately. He grabs your wrist and pulls you along behind him. He reaches into his bedside drawer and pulls out a small, but sturdy, black fabric choker. A play collar. Moving behind you, he loops it around you and clasped it at the back of your neck. When it's secure, he quickly moves in front of you and loops his finger under the material, giving a gentle tug. You shudder and take a deep breath, your eyes fluttering closed. It was enough. He hums, stroking your cheek gently.

“Is that better kitty?” You open your eyes to look up into his, and he swears there are hearts shining in them.

“Yes. Thank you daddy.” He pulls you into another kiss, this one more passionate. When his tongue licked at your lips you let your mouth fall open, his tongue searching the wet cavern fervently. He pulls away and tugs your sweater up over your head, tossing it somewhere in the room, doing the same with your bra. With your top half bare he pushes you backward until your knees hit the bed and you fall onto it. He leans over you, leaving soft kisses along your collarbones as he removes your jeans and panties.

Completely naked, he lets his eyes rake over your form laid out in front of him. A small, elated sigh rolls from his lips.

“So pretty, kitten.” Your eyes flutter closed from the praise.

“Thank you Daddy.” Aizawa groans and leans down to kiss and lick at your neck, letting his hands smooth over your hips and legs.

“Such a good girl. So obedient for Daddy.” He feels your body shiver beneath his fingers from that bit of praise. Getting up off the bed he reaches into a different drawer, pulling out three bundles of rope. Turning back to you, he gives a command.

“Middle of the bed, kitten. On your back, arms up.” At the order, you move, getting into the position he specified. 

He crawls over and begins to tie your wrists to the bar at the headboard, the rope secure, but not too tight to be uncomfortable. When he’s done with your wrists, he moves down to your legs. One by one, he lifts them and bends them at the knee, tying your ankle to your upper thigh, and spiraling the rope up to your knee, tying knots down one side and up the other in a beautiful leg tie. Finished with his task, he leans back to admire his work. You’re nearly purring. You know how much you love being restrained, and this man had made you into an artwork, laying out for his eyes, completely at his mercy. He can see the doe-eyes you're giving him, see how still you're being, how trusting you are of him to take care of you. And he loves it.

He moves between your legs, you automatically spread them to give him room, and he leans over, whispering against your lips.

“Such a good girl for me,” before giving you a soft kiss.

“Stay still for me, pretty thing.” He gets off the bed and swiftly undresses, returning to you. You sigh out, elated as your eyes trace down his toned body, drinking in the sight of thick corded muscle rippling under scarred skin. Your gaze lands on his already erect member, thick and long, a prominent vein running underneath. You’d imagined what he could look like, but reality far outshone your imagination. The sheer awe shone through in your voice.

“You’re beautiful.” His eyebrows raise slightly, surprised at your words. Leaning down, he kisses your neck sweetly.

“Thank you kitten. Now let me take care of you.” Back between your legs, he sits on his knees and kneads your breasts in his hands, pulling and tweaking your already hardened nipples, making you mewl. Your skin feels hot at his touch, your body relishing in the pleasure his fingers give you. He leans down and takes a bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking it before pulling off with a small pop and moving to the other, giving it the same treatment. Rough hands grope and knead down your body, giving appreciative squeezes at your hips, before smoothing his palms down your pelvis. He sits back on his heels and gazes at your glistening pussy, already dripping with arousal. Swiping a finger up your slit, he gathers the slick there and brings it up to his lips, sucking your juices off his finger with a groan.

“You taste so sweet kitty.” You respond with a mewl and another ‘thank you’. He takes his finger and slides it into your heat, and you sigh at the sensation as he pumps it slowly, before adding a second finger. The stretch is wonderful, and he begins to curl and scissor his fingers, searching. You let out a small moan and your back arches slightly off the bed when his fingers curl and hit that spongy spot inside you.

“There it is. Does that feel good kitty?” You nod, floating on bliss.

“Yes, Daddy, it feels good.” He hums and returns his attention back to the task at hand, increasing his pace as he pumps his fingers. His other hand comes up to your pelvis, and his mouth latches onto your clit. The stimulation has you gasping and squirming under his ministrations, and the hand on your pelvis holds you still.

He slips his fingers out and holds them to your lips, and you open your mouth to suck your essence off of them.

You can feel the coil in your belly tighten, winding up as Aizawa hits all the right spots inside you that has you softly moaning and straining against your bindings. Your wet walls are fluttering around his fingers, his tongue lashing at your puffy nub.

“I can feel you. Cum for me kitty.” He reattaches his mouth to your clit and sucks harshly, his fingers digging into that soft patch inside you, and your walls clamp down as you come apart, the muscles in your abdomen tensing and arching your back off the bed. Aizawa releases your clit, but keeps pumping his fingers, letting you ride out your high.

“Such a good girl, kitty.” He pulls your hips up onto his knees as he rubs his painfully hard cock up and down your core, gathering the slick on his shaft. You desperately want to feel him inside you, but you still yourself and hold back your begging mewls. Your resilience and need to be obedient and good for him makes Aizawa groan.

“I want to hear you, kitten. Every sound you need to make, I want to hear it.” He lines himself up with your slicked hole as you nod. With that he pushes his cock into you, and you mewl out at the delicious stretch he’s giving you. You’re both panting as he bottoms out inside you and holds still, allowing you to adjust to him.

“You’re so tight babygirl. Feels so good inside you.” He grips your hips and begins a slow pace, grinding into you, making you moan and squirm, but it’s not enough.

“Please Daddy, harder, please.” The near growl that escapes him has you reeling.

“Since you asked so nicely, kitten.” He pulls out almost completely before slamming into you and setting a brutal pace, and you’re moaning out loud, your voice a sinful melody in Aizawa’s ears. Your limbs are struggling against the restraints, tugging and flexing hard. Before you know it, that coil is tightening again, pulling taut in the pit of your stomach, searing white hot pleasure pooling like magma. Your walls are fluttering again, and Aizawa reaches down to rub tight circles onto your clit, urging you to come undone. He’s pounding into you with reckless abandon, and as you feel yourself coming to that edge his hips begin to stutter, making known he’s close too. He angles his hips and ruts into you, hitting your g-spot mercilessly, and you’re pushed off the edge, moaning loud, toes curling, cumming hard and clamping down on his cock. A few more strokes, and he pulls out as he’s cumming, covering your chest and belly in his hot, thick cum. 

You’re both panting as you come down from your highs, exhausted and spent. After a few minutes, Aizawa gets up and disappears behind a door, returning with a damp washcloth. He cleans his cum off of you and tosses the cloth into a hamper, before beginning to untie your legs. Once they’re both free, he slowly pulls them out and massages them, relieving the slightly cramped muscles, and you’re sighing gratefully as the tension in your body is released. He does the same with your arms as you lay there, your body weak. When he’s done, he puts a palm on your cheek, and you nuzzle into his touch, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

“How are you feeling kitty?” You let the tears fall, the intensity of the night beginning to take a toll on your mind. He pulls your body into him, cradling you as you cry quietly, letting you ride out the emotions.

He rocks you in his arms, rubbing soothing circles into your back and whispering praises into your ear, until your cries subside into small hiccups. He leans back and looks down at you, nuzzling into his chest.

“You okay, (y/n)?” You nod and take deep breaths, relaxing in his arms.

“I’m okay. Thank you.” He hums and lifts you off the bed, carrying you into the bathroom. He plugs the drain and turns the handle, letting the tub fill with warm water. As it fills, he holds you close and places soft kisses on your face and lips, showering you with affection. When the tub is full he turns off the tap and sinks down into the water, your back to his chest, and the warm water soothes your aching body. Aizawa grabs the soap and washes you, massaging you as he goes. He scrubs shampoo into your hair, fingers massaging into your scalp making you hum appreciatively. He washes himself, then drains the tub and turns on the shower head to rinse the both of you. 

When you’re all rinsed, he steps out and dries himself with a towel, before helping you out and wrapping you with a fluffy towel of your own. Dried off, you leave the towel on the counter, and Aizawa scoops you up again and lays you down on the bed. He disappears again for a minute, and reappears with a glass of ice water, giving it to you to drink and climbing into bed.

When you finish sipping at the water, you leave it on the bedside table. Before you can move to get your clothes back on, Aizawa pulls you back into his chest, spooning you with his warm body.

“Sleep,” he grunts into your ear. You're too tired to argue, so you relax in his hold and let the blackness take over your mind.

You wake up in your professor’s arms. You turn to look at him, admiring his sleeping face. His voice startles you.

“It’s not very polite to stare.” Your face heats a little and you look away, suddenly shy.

“S-sorry.” He pulls you closer, nuzzling into your neck.

“It’s alright.” You sigh at the realization that this is going to end, that it has to end. You can’t share a bed with this man while you're his student, it could ruin both of you, moreso him. So you begin to move out of his arms, but he holds you tighter.

“Where do you think you’re going?” You sigh, a tired, sad sound.

“This can’t continue, Mr. - ”

“Shouta.” You blink.

“What?” He grunts, clearly unbothered.

“Call me Shouta.” You swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Shouta...this…can’t become a thing. You know that.” You can feel his breath on your neck as he sighs, and he releases you from his hold. Silently, you dress yourself. You dare to take a look back at him before you leave.

“Thank you, Shouta. I wish things were a little bit different.” He nods, whether in agreement or understanding you aren't sure.

“I’ll see you in class in a few days, (y/n).” You give a soft smile, and leave.

____

The few months before graduation were agonizing. Having to see Shouta three times a week drove you absolutely mad, and when you finally graduated you were almost happy that you didn’t have to see him again. But it was just as painful not seeing him. Your mind was riddled with the dark haired man for months after graduating. You’d lay awake at night wondering if you made the right choice, wondering if somehow you two could have met more often and kept the rendezvous a secret. Often you found yourself letting a few stray tears fall, wishing you’d been able to stay in bed with Shouta longer that morning. You were miserable. And you knew it was because even if the only intimacy you’d shared was the best sex you ever had, you had fallen madly, hilariously in love with your college physics professor.

____

Shouta stared up at his ceiling for what felt like the millionth time. His mind is on you. Always you. After you graduated, he knew he’d never see you again. And it killed him. Nearly 6 months had gone by, and he's still stuck on you, on your body. On your obedience. On your beautiful face sitting in his lecture hall. He’d seen you on the first day, and he was entranced by you nearly instantly. You were extremely smart, and he loved that. But he was a professional, a professor. Your professor. And you were his student. So he buried that attraction he felt and made sure to never let you see how much he wanted you. He only noticed you dazing off during class because he’d glance at you more often than he’d like to admit. He let it go, simply because your grades remained high. But that day he just happened to ask the class a question, and when nobody answered, he went to you because he knew how intelligent you were.

But when your words slipped from your mouth, something in him snapped. He knew there were very few explanations for you to use that title, all of them being you were thinking of someone using it. And by the near instant speed of your response, he could guess who was on your mind. That night was pure bliss. He loved every moment, and never regretted it. Even as you thanked him and walked out of his house, even knowing he may never get to spend another night with you, he didn’t regret anything. He let you walk away because that was the best thing to do. After you graduated, he could approach you again, and he’d get you back. But he couldn’t find you. 

In the time since graduation he’d told his best friend and fellow professor Hizashi Yamada about the complex situation. Hizashi felt for him, knowing when Shouta fell, he fell hard, and the situation is a bad one. He was never judgemental, as he’d had his fair share of forbidden romances. The blonde would visit him in class often, bringing a fresh cup of coffee for his sulking friend. The loss was affecting him more than he liked to admit, and his sleeping habits were bad enough as it is. Hizashi’s visits were always welcome, and a nice distraction, even if they were short. But he was still hooked on you.

He's sick of feeling so defeated. He's tired of feeling so lovesick. He needs a distraction. He needs coffee. He got up and showered, and got ready to drive to the nearest cafe a mile down the road. As he stood in line to order his coffee, he let his eyes wander the cafe, drinking in the soft pastel colors on the walls. It reminds him of you. You’d always wear pastel sweaters. Once again, his mind drifted and landed on you. 

And so did his eyes.

____

You had a day off work today. Deciding you didn’t want to sit around the house and sulk like you usually do, you took a shower, got dressed, grabbed your keys, wallet, phone, and a book to read, and headed to the cafe on the corner two blocks from your apartment. Sitting in the plush seat of the booth with your hot mocha latte, you cracked the book open and dove in. You got lost in the words on the pages, your mind living in the adventure written in black ink. You were ripped from your imagination when a deep voice interrupted you.

“Do you mind if I join you, kitten?” Your eyes froze on the page, jaw clenched, heart beating out of your chest. You tore your eyes from the book and looked up at none other than Shouta Aizawa. 

You haven’t seen him in almost 6 months, and the man still plagued your thoughts. But the sheer joy you felt seeing him overtook you as tears fell from your eyes. Not even a moment later, you leapt from your seat and threw your arms around his shoulders. He wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tight, afraid you’d slip from him again. You cry softly into his shoulder, letting yourself enjoy the moment with the man you know you love. You can’t help the words coming out of your mouth.

“I missed you so much, Shouta. I couldn’t stand not seeing you.” Somehow, he holds you tighter.

“I missed you too, kitten.” He reaches a hand up to pet your hair as he leans back, his dark eyes peering deep into your own.

“I’m here now. And you’re not my student anymore. So if you’d let me, I’d like to take you on a date.”

You freeze in place and look up at him, shocked at what you're hearing. You don’t know if he loves you the way you do him, but in this moment you know he has very real feelings for you. Like it's instinct, you lean in and kiss him passionately, letting your tears wash away the pain you felt ever since you left him that morning. When you broke away you were both breathless, and you nod your head frantically.

“I’d love to go on a date with you Shouta.” A genuine smile spreads across his face, a clear show of his happiness.

“Would you like to come back to my place?” You nod again, and grab your book and phone and follow him out to his car.

This time, you had no reason to leave.

This time, he had no reason to let you go.

This time, you’d stay.

[mochegato]

Pixie Spy

Chapter 10

Chapter 1     Chapter 9

Marinette shuffled her feet in the hallway.  She smoothed her hair again, as if it could have somehow gotten messy since the last time she checked it, less than a minute before during which time she hadn’t moved from the spot she was in. Content that her hair wouldn’t embarrass her, at least not more than normal, she smoothed over her outfit to make sure everything was in place despite the fact that Jason had seen it earlier in the day getting whipped around in the akuma induced wind.  

Finally she reasoned that she couldn’t put it off anymore.  She took a deep breath to steel herself.  For what, she wasn’t sure.  It made no sense to be nervous and she knew that.  It didn’t relieve the anxiety though.  She was giving him the news he wanted to hear, the news he had asked to hear. So why was she nervous?

She stared at her fist, poised to knock on the door but frozen inches away.  She slowly lowered her hand, the confused look staying on her face.  He was going to get to stay.  He was going to be near her, but what if that wasn’t what he really wanted?  What if he changed his mind once he actually spent time with her?

She stared at the space her hand had been. Was that why she was nervous?  No, her anxiety wasn’t about her love life, not this time.  This was something else.  This was about something more.  Telling him made it all real.  Everything would change and she had argued the change would be for the better.  She couldn’t afford to be wrong about it and it wasn’t up to her.  It all depended on Jason and really, she didn’t know him.  She had bet the world’s future on someone she didn’t know.  

On top of that, for him to really work with the rest of the team, they needed to know what happened with the Lazarus Pit.  And as soon as she knocked, she was going to have to start that conversation.  She was going to have to dredge up painful memories and she loathed the idea of doing that.  The idea physically pained her.

She took a few deep breaths and looked back up at the door with a newfound resolve.  She was Ladybug for fuck’s sake.  She could handle a difficult conversation about emotionally excruciating events.  That was a significant part of her job after all.  People didn’t become akumas because of fun, happy experiences.  And she didn’t know everything about Jason, but she knew him.  She knew he would help.  She knew he was the right choice.  She looked back at the door and knocked loudly.  She silently congratulated herself for her small but significant victory.  She could do this.  She was Ladybug.  She could do this.

Jason opened the door after a minute with an apologetic smile.  “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”  He opened the door to let her through, but she was frozen in her spot.  Her mouth dropped open.  He had clearly just gotten back from working out.  His arms were on full display in his sleeveless shirt and his loose, grey sweatpants clung to his muscular thighs.  His arm muscles looked even more pronounced with the light catching the sheen of sweat covering them.  And God, his arms were bigger than her head.  She stared at them in wonder.  She couldn’t do this.  Who the fuck did she think she was thinking she could do this?

Jason grinned smugly at her reaction.  He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, making sure to put his fists under his biceps to make them appear larger.  His muscles definitely didn’t need any help to look enormous, but he wanted to impress her and see just how distracted he could make her.  “Like what you see?”

“Yes.”  The answer came out before she even thought about the question.  Her eyes snapped up to his, her cheeks blazing red. His smug smile grew into a deep laugh. She narrowed her eyes at him noticing the smug smile.  “Come on lover boy. The rest of the team is waiting to talk with you and the supermodel has a photoshoot in the morning so he's in a rush to get home and sleep.”

“Supermodel?” Jason’s smile faltered, suddenly less secure in his approach to distract her.

“Yep,” she said with a smirk popping the p.  “Told you it takes more than a pretty face.”

“Good thing I have this body too.”  He grinned again, motioning to himself.

She puckered her lips.  “Did I mention the shoot is for a fragrance, so it will be shirtless?  That’s one of the reasons they chose him.”  He didn’t need to know it was mostly because it was for his dad.  But even if it wasn’t, Adrien’s body was amazing.  That said… Jason’s body was perfect.  Looking at it made her feel like she was going to burst into flames.  Looking at his body and that devilish smile and those captivating eyes, she didn’t think he would even need to touch her to make her orgasm.  And if he kept flexing his muscles like that, that’s exactly what might happen.

“So,” he leaned a bit closer to her so he was in her personal space, bringing her eyes back to his, “what does it take, exactly?”

She pushed him away with a finger on his chest in one of the few dry patches on his shirt.  “Well first of all, someone who doesn't waste my time. Hurry up, Hagrid. They’re waiting and I want to talk a bit before we go.”  She looked him up and down again.  “But, I’m not doing that while you’re sweaty.”

He chuckled and moved to let her in again. She took him up on his offer this time, giving him a wide berth to both keep away from the sweat and keep herself from reaching out to run her hands along his chest as she passed.  “I just need to take a quick shower and I’ll be ready.” He turned to her and gave her devious smirk.  “You’re welcome to join me if you want.”

She quirked her lips to the side and narrowed her eyes at him as though analyzing him.  “I get the feeling you wouldn't know what to do if I actually said yes.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise before grinning seductively at her.  “I wouldn't believe my luck, but I have all kinds of ideas about what we can do. Been thinking about them since we met.”  He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Marinette blushed deeply and looked away.  “Just… Just hurry up André the Giant. They don't like to be kept waiting.”  

Jason chuckled and started walking out of the room with a small mock bow. “As you wish.”

“And if I got my hands on you we would definitely be late,” she said loudly enough for him to hear her.  She smirked proudly when Jason tripped on nothing, almost falling into the doorframe to the next room.

“You're going to make me take longer in the shower of you keep that up.” He shook his finger at her and kept walking before she could reply.  

As soon as Jason left the room Marinette pulled out her phone and texted Alya.  ‘His body should be illegal.  I can’t breathe anymore.  Thinking about just one of his muscles is going to give me an aneurism.’  

Marinette’s phone pinged almost immediately with Alya’s response.  ‘WTF happened?’

‘He answered the door sweaty and in workout clothes, showing off for me.  I think I died.  Did you see ladybugs flying around, because I’m pretty sure I died and came back.’

‘I’m not sure you’re the best judge.  I think I need to see for myself.’  Marinette could just see the smirk on Alya’s face.

Marinette narrowed her eyes at the phone.  ‘No! Back off.  Mine.  I will cut you.  But he’s going to take a shower so expect a delay.’  

‘Without you? Rude’

Marinette snorted and tucked her phone back in her pocket.  She walked over to the balcony doors and looked out over her city, trying very hard not to think about the water she could hear running.  Just a few feet away, okay more than just ‘a few’, but still not many, he was naked and washing himself… Nope!  She shook her head.  Not going to think about that right now.  She needed to distract herself.

She looked around the room to see if there was anything she could use to preoccupy herself for the next few minutes.  She gave the room a sweep.  Nope.  Nothing. Bastard is going to just let her sit out there with nothing to do but imagine his naked body.  She groaned and fell back over the armrest of the couch, hair splaying out over the cushions and legs kicking idly over the armrest.  

Why couldn’t an akuma strike now?  But nooooo.  They never happen when it would be helpful.  They are also bastards.  Well, not them.  It wasn’t their faults.  Hawkmoth and Argus were the bastards.  And she was the bastard because she couldn’t stop them.  And Constantine was the bastard because… so many reasons, but primarily right now, because he’s the one to put her in this situation in the first place.

She sighed and threw her arm over her eyes. God, she didn’t want to ask him about the Lazarus Pit just as much as she did.  Was there any chance describing it wouldn’t be traumatic for him?  Maybe he would just laugh it off like a joke. “Hey funny story, my brothers and I were just messing around and I ended up falling into the Pit accidentally.  We didn’t even know what it was.”  Then he would run his fingers along her jaw and run his other hand along her side until he got to her hip and pull her closer to him. Then he would kiss her deeply, running his hand through her hair and his other hand would go lower to…

“I see you’ve made yourself at home.” His voice was smooth and amused.

Her eyes shot open and scrambled to stand up.  “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”  He chuckled at her giving her a heart stuttering smile.  He cocked his hip to the side, resting one hand in the pocket of his pants and running the other through his still wet hair.  

“Holy shit,” Marinette mumbled absentmindedly, which was the only way she would be able to do anything right now.  Jason had come out in nothing but a pair of pants that were tight around his thighs and she assumed his ass as well, because his thighs were too muscular for regular, off the rack pants.  She’d have to make him some, she thought distantly.  Though it would be a shame to not see this sight. The lack of shirt and shoes added a sense of casualness and domesticity to his sexiness that Marinette couldn’t handle.

His broad, chiseled chest was on full display and she couldn’t look away from it.  She had known his chest was muscular, the curves of his muscles could be seen even through his clothes, but seeing his bare chest was short circuiting her brain. Drops of water from his wet hair were trailing paths down his chest.  Her eyes tracked one of the drops of water.  She was distantly aware of a chuckling noise but her face scrunched up with concern.  

The drop’s smooth path was getting continually disrupted by scars.  There were so many.  Deep ones, shallow ones, small, large, barely noticeable, wide and rough.  She reached out to touch one of them but stopped herself just short of touching him when she realized what she was doing.  She slowly pulled her hand back and looked up at Jason with concern clear in her eyes.  “I’m sorry,” she said simply.  

She let the intention hang in the air ambiguously. Because she was sorry for so much. She was sorry for acting so casually in his room.  She was sorry for almost touching him so intimately without his permission.  She was sorry for the suffering the scars indicated.  She was sorry that she was going to have to ask him to talk about incidents that may have been what caused the scars.

Jason shrugged with a practiced nonchalance. “No problem.  I’m hard to keep your hands off, I know.” He tried with a smirk, avoiding her eyes.

“Still inappropriate for me to touch you without your permission,” she pointed out sheepishly.

He gave her a roguish smile and moved closer to her. “Oh, you have permission to touch me whenever you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she answered breathlessly. She couldn’t look away from the roguish glint in his eyes.  

He stepped closer again until his chest was almost touching hers.  “Please do. And I fully encourage you to make yourself at home here.  Please feel free to get as comfortable as possible.  Maybe start by losing some of your more restrictive clothing.”  

“Is that why you didn’t bother with a shirt?” She looked up at him from under her lashes, not trusting herself to be able to hold her head up straight.

“I hate feeling restricted.”  He nodded slightly, his voice turning seductive.

She gasped quietly when he brought his hands up to cup her face gently.  “You’re making it really difficult to stay focused and be responsible.”

“So be irresponsible with me.”  His voice was enticing and his eyes entrancing, a triton luring her into his lair and she so very much wanted to let him.

She shook her head apologetically.  “I can’t.”

“You’re fighting a villain without help…”

“I have a team.”

“You went in without training.”

“I learn fast.”

“You’re the leader of your team.”

“We work together as a team.”

“You don’t let yourself feel.”

“I feel things.”

“You feel responsible for everything that is happening even though it isn’t your fault.”

“It is my fault we haven’t ended it yet.” She shook her head, tears starting to form.  Everything he was pointing out were things she couldn’t let herself focus on. Because if she focused on them, she would never be able to keep going.

“You deserve a break.  You deserve to do something crazy.  You deserve to be irresponsible,” he said gently.  “You deserve to be happy.”

He ran his thumbs over her cheeks and gazed adoringly in her eyes.  Marinette leaned into his touch.  “You have no idea how much you make me want that.”  She gently placed her hands over his and closed her eyes.  His strong hands made her feel warm and safe, but she couldn’t return the favor. “But we need to talk.  And I don’t want to do it with an audience.” She winced internally at how that sounded.

He sighed and let his hands drop, taking a step away, also well aware that sentence never leads to anything good. “Okay.”

“Unfortunately, you should probably put a shirt on while we talk,” she sighed and looked at the ground.

He smiled cheekily at her.  “Do I distract you?”

She looked back up at him and puckered her lips attempting to keep the corners of her lips from quirking up.  “Yes,” she mumbled and looked away.  

“Good.” He grinned and stepped closer again. “Because you make it impossible for me to focus on anything but you.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head.  She couldn’t let him distract her.  They needed to have this talk and she didn’t want to make him have to do it in front of a group.  After a few deep breaths she looked back at him with a serious look. “It's about the Lazarus Pit.”

His face turned in an instant from teasing to unsure and a bit panicked.  “How do you know about that?”

She gave him a weak smile.  “That’s one of the things we can talk about.”

He looked away with a pained sigh.  “Yeah, okay.  I’ll go finish getting dressed.”  He turned back to her with a strained smile.  He really didn’t want this conversation to go as dark as it probably was going to go.  He wanted to get back to the flirty banter, even though he knew it was probably impossible. “If you’re sure you want me to.”

She gave him a half smile and looked away with a quiet laugh.  “Not really. It seems like a crime to cover your body, but it’s probably a good idea if I’m going to form coherent sentences.”

He nodded and turned to get dressed.  She was still flirting with him.  Still giving him compliments.  That had to mean she wasn’t disgusted by his past with the Lazarus Pit.  Maybe there was hope then.  Maybe she could know the worst parts of him and still stay?  That seemed like too much to ask for.  He would just have to enjoy as much as he could, as long as he could. Until she learned too much about him and changed her mind.

After a few moments, Jason walked back into the room with a serious expression, trying to be prepared for the conversation.  “Well that’s not fucking better.” Marinette threw her hands up in the air and turned away.  Jason was fully dressed but that consisted of combat boots, the same tight pants from earlier, and a skintight shirt that clung to his muscles.  She could see the outline of every muscle through his shirt and trace the movement as they flexed.  “How am I supposed to have a serious conversation with you looking like that?”

Jason blushed lightly chuckled, grateful to her for relieving some of the tension.  “The same way I do when you are anywhere near me.”

“It’s not the same,” she grumbled into her hands. “I’m not always in skintight clothes.”

“You don’t have to be to knock me on my ass,” he answered earnestly.  Marinette looked up at him with wide eyes, a blush taking over her cheeks.  

Jason grinned proudly.  God it made him feel so amazing to know he could make her blush so easily. All he had to do was say a few honest words and she would blush for him.  He could do that.  But they had to be honest words.  She wouldn’t respond if they weren’t.  She demanded honesty.  So he was going to have to give it to her.  He cleared his throat and sat awkwardly on the edge of one of the arm chair’s cushion. “So… you wanted to talk about the Lazarus Pit?”

He had clasped his hands between his knees and hunched over like he was waiting for a scolding.  The sight broke Marinette’s heart.  She rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms on her pants and sat on the coffee table across from him.  Their knees were almost touching.  If Marinette were taller, they would be.  It was the closest she could sit to him without actually sitting on him.  She wanted to be close for this conversation. She needed him to know she was there for him.  She wasn’t going to turn her back on him without hearing him out.

“We know what the Lazarus Pit is and we know you were in it.  What we don’t know is why.  What happened that you ended up in it?”  She took a breath and gave the top of his head, the only part he was showing, a determined look.  “What we don’t know is what it cost you.”

Jason let out a long, deep breath and ran his hands over his face a few times.  “Yeah, okay. That’s fair I guess,” he mumbled into his hands.  Was it really fair?  He didn’t know.  He didn’t know if they deserved to know his deepest, darkest secrets in order for him to stay.  He knew he shouldn’t have to expose the rawest part of himself to stay, but he understood why they wanted it.  And if they knew about the Lazarus Pit, then he understood why they were worried.

What he didn’t understand was why Marinette was sitting so close to him, making herself so vulnerable.  If they really did know about the effect the Lazarus Pit had, then she should know better.  She should know how dangerous it was to be so close.  Yet there she was, sitting inches away, looking at him with openness and compassion.  She was the strangest person who had ever entered his life and God, he hoped she never left it.

“You want the Cliff Notes version or the Mahabharata version?” His voice was tired.

She cocked her head to the side.  “I don’t really know what either of those things mean, but I want to know as much as you’re comfortable telling me.”

Jason huffed out a laugh and leaned forward, concentrating on the floor as he composed his thoughts.  How much was he comfortable with telling?  He was still deep in thought when Marinette spoke up again. Her voice gentle and non-accusatory. “I know it must be really difficult and I don’t want to… I hate that I have to ask you to talk about it, to go through it again.  But, the rest of the team knows too and they’re scared.  If it’s too much for you, we don’t have to know.  You can stay and we won’t push you.  It isn’t a requirement to stay.  But they’re going to be worried and I don’t know if they’ll be able to trust you. They…” she paused considering whether or not to tell him what Alya had said.  There was no way he could take it positively, and he shouldn’t, but she wanted him to know what he would be up against, why she was asking. “They think you chose to go into the pit and they want to know why someone would make that choice knowing the price.”

“Choose?”  He looked at her questioningly.  She couldn’t possibly have meant that.  “Choose!” he repeated incredulously.  He leaned back in the chair and ran his hands through his hair.  “I didn’t choose anything.  I didn’t choose to die at that fucking clown’s hands.  I didn’t choose to get brought back at the hands of that fucking holier than thou Super.  I didn’t choose to get taken in by the League of fucking Assassins.  And I certainly didn’t choose to get thrown into that damned Pit by that fucking bitch.” He started breathing heavily running through everything that happened.

“You wanted to know what it cost me.”  He looked back at her with a feral look in his eyes.  “It cost me my sanity.  It cost me my serenity.  It cost me my sense of justice and balance.  It cost me my family.  It cost me my future.” He scoffed at himself.  “Not that I really ever had any of those things in the first place. Never had them and never going to have them.”

Jason looked up to face her, frustration and betrayal clear in his eyes.  The Pit took so much from him and this should be one of those things.  She shouldn’t let him stay.  She shouldn’t trust him.  “Why would you trust me?  If you know about the Pits, why let me stay?” He cried.

She frowned at him.  “You think I shouldn’t?”

“FUCK NO!” he yelled louder than he meant to and standing up to pace the floor.  “I’m the last fucking person you should trust.  And you already said you didn’t.  You just said you thought I chose to jump into that fucking, godforsaken hell water.”

“That’s not what I said.” Her voice was calm and low, but demanded just as much attention as his screams had.  “I said they were worried about that.  They don’t know you.  They haven’t met you so they’re scared.  They know you have the potential to hurt us, to hurt me, and they don’t know you well enough to know you would never.  I do.  I trust you.”

He threw his hands up in the air and collapsed back into the seat.  Why wasn’t she understanding this?  As much as he hated the way his family treated him, he understood it.  He deserved it.  This though, he didn’t deserve.  It was everything he had asked her for; a chance, their trust, her attention. But he didn’t deserve it.   “Terrible decision,” he grumbled at her. “They could be right.”

She chuckled at his reaction and gave him a soft smile.  “I trust you and I’m a pretty good judge of character.”

He scoffed at her.  “You trust Constantine.”

“Eh.  Yes and no. I trust Constantine to be Constantine.” She shrugged at him and leaned back, supporting herself with her hands behind her. “We needed someone with magical knowledge and questionable morals so he was the best fit.  We sure as fuck weren’t going to go to Doctor Fate or Zatara, for opposite reasons.”  She sighed and looked out through the windows, watching the city’s lights twinkle in the distance.  “Look, I wouldn’t trust him to watch my dog, if I had one.  But I’d trust him to watch my back until the cost got too high.  I’d trust him to know when that was.  And honestly, he’s the only one I trust with that. The only one.”  She turned back to Jason with a quizzical look.  “Do you think that’s what the Pit did to you?  Made you untrustworthy?”

He shook his head and looked her in the eye. She needed to know who he was.  “I was untrustworthy long before that.”

She leaned forward, matching his gaze with a fierce one of her own.  “I don’t believe that.”

“Pixie…” he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

“No,” she cut him off before he could say something else self-deprecating.  He opened his eyes to see what she was going to say next.  “Just because you weren’t trusted, that doesn’t mean you weren’t trustworthy.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done.”  The look he gave her was heartbreaking and she wouldn’t let him get away with thinking that about himself.

“You don’t know what I’ve done.”  She inched forward in her spot, her face closer to his so he couldn’t look away. “I trust you.  You crossed an ocean to help us.  You went against your family to come here.  You saved Manon and August when you could have kept walking. You left on the rooftop when I asked you to even though you didn’t know it was me asking.  You stopped at the gala to help a little girl because she looked sad.  Because that’s who you are.  And I trust you to be honest with me.  I trust you to help Paris.  I trust you to try.  I trust you to protect us.  I trust you to sit out as long as you can stand it.  I trust you to fight until your last breath when you can’t stand it anymore.  I trust you to do what you think is right.  I trust you to trust me.  And I trust you to argue when you disagree with me.  I trust you.”

The room went silent except for Marinette’s deep breathing echoing through the room.  Jason watched her for a few moments letting her words bounce around in his head. He finally lunged forward to pull her into a tight hug and settle her in his lap.  Marinette froze momentarily before she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.  She gripped him tightly as though she were afraid to let him go, afraid he wouldn’t understand how she felt.  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten worked up. I can’t do that here and I promised you I wouldn’t.”

Marinette shook her head rapidly.  “No!  I asked you about something extremely painful.  I knew it would be horrible for you and I asked anyway.  You had every right.”

“I didn’t.  I’m sorry,” he sighed out.  That was one of the conditions for him staying, not just for them but for himself and for Selina.  He had promised himself and her that he would stay calm and the first day he blew it.  He needed to do better and he knew that.  He couldn’t afford to lose it like that.  No matter what anyone says, no matter what anyone asks about, he couldn’t get angry.  

He sighed at himself and took a calming breath before turning his attention back to Marinette.  He hooked his finger under her chin to get her to look up at him.  When she made eye contact with him, he softened his gaze.  “You had every right to ask.  I can talk about it calmly.  I’m fine,” he tried to assure her with a weak smile.

Marinette looked at him with understanding and nodded at him.  “I can pretend that’s true if you want me to,” she offered quietly.

He furrowed his brow at her, poised to reassure her it really was fine.  That was his standard response, but for some reason it didn’t feel right.  It felt wrong to lie like that with her.  He didn’t want to lie.  He cupped her face and pulled it closer to his.  He rested his forehead on hers and shook his head lightly.  “I don’t want you to pretend with me.”

She looked at him with half lidded eyes and licked her lips.  “I don’t want to either.”

His eyes searched hers as he moved his lips closer to hers.  She closed her eyes and angled her head in preparation.  She jumped when her phone dinged, letting her know she had a text message.  She chuckled lightly and looked down.  “I guess they’re getting impatient.”

Jason changed his path and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger.  Marinette closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss.  “We better get moving then,” he agreed just as quietly.  “Wouldn’t want the model to have bags under his eyes in his pictures.”

She giggled at the comment and rested her head on his shoulder, making no move to get up.  “So very thoughtful of you.”

“Yep, always thinking of others.  That’s what everyone always says about me,” he joked, hugging her closer again.

She pushed away to look him in the eyes and cup his face.  “I don’t doubt it.”  She rubbed his cheeks with her thumb for a moment before standing up to leave.

Jason shook his head and sighed.  “You really should,” he muttered too quietly for her to hear.

“Now we really better get going before Chloe skins me alive.  And if we don’t leave now we’re going to be late.  It takes a while to get there.”

“Ready to go,” he confirmed, following her out the door.

“Sure you got everything, General Sherman?” she teased him.

“General Sherman?” He looked at her questioningly, pulling the door closed behind him.  He could not for the life of him figure out what the American Civil War had to do with him.

She nodded with a grin.  “It’s like the biggest tree in the world or something?”

He shook his head.  “What is it with you and all the tree nicknames?”

“They’re big and annoying, like you.”  She booped him on the nose and laughed continuing to walk down the hallway.

He stared after her for a moment before something clicked in his mind.  He walked up next to her and leaned down to whisper in her ear.  “I think it’s because you want to climb me like one.” Marinette squeaked and stopped walking. Her cheeks immediately turned deep red that spread to her ears and neck.  He gave her a devilish smirk and kept walking to the elevator.  “You coming?”

Marinette cocked her hip to the side with a smirk that said she knew something he didn’t and knocked on that door she had stopped in front of.

Jason looked at the door and back to her and shook his head.  “And here I was hoping I'd be able to make some more and better moves on you on our trip.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.  “You have stronger moves than coming out in just skintight pants?”

“I do and I'm very excited to show them to you,” he confirmed with a cheeky grin, moving until he was only a hair’s breadth away from her.

She looked up at him and swallowed heavily.  “I’m not sure I’d survive them.”

“Fucking finally!  It’s only like ten feet what the fuck took so long.  Some of us have better things than to do than lay the groundwork for getting fucked by our boyfriends.”  Chloe exclaimed with an amount of exasperation that only she could achieve.

Marinette squeaked again and turned to Jason.  “I swear I didn’t tell them that.”

“I will,” he smirked at her moving past her into the room.

She gave him a halfhearted glare and followed him in.  “Go ahead, but at some point someone should wait for me to agree to be their girlfriend before they start telling people I am.”  She gave Adrien a pointed look.

Adrien jumped up with a scowl, “Hey, no.  It doesn’t count as ‘before’ if we never dated.”

“Take a look at the Ladyblog.  We’ve been dating for five years,” Marinette pointed out with a smirk.

“I meant actual dating,” Adrien pouted, “not fanfiction dating.”

“Luka didn’t tell anyone before… or after,” Alya offered.  “He really didn’t talk about it at all.”

“Bri didn’t tell… oh, no, yeah she did,” Nino added with a grimace.  “Everyone.”

“Looks like Jason is your only hope,” Alya gave smirked.

“Too late for that,” Marinette gave him a pointed look.  Jason shrugged not looking at all repentant and even had the audacity to put his arm around her waist and pull her closer, which Marinette subconsciously leaned in to. “Henry was the only one that asked me and then told people.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t last long, so clearly not a good approach for you.” Alya pointed out.

“Lasted longer than Bri though, so your theory might need some work,” Nino corrected her.

“The problem isn’t the approach,” Chloe chimed in annoyed with the conversation already, “the problem is Marinette.” Alya rounded on Chloe, red in the face and ready to start lecturing, but Chloe continued before she could.  “Her standards suck.  As in she has none.”

“Hey!” Marinette yelped indignantly.  

“She doesn’t date people worthy of Ladybug, let alone Marinette.” Chloe clarified haughtily, pulling out her homework.

Everyone but Jason froze and stared at Chloe. “She’s drunk,” Nino stage whispered to Alya.  “That’s the only explanation.”

“Okay, as godawful as this introduction has been so far…” Marinette spoke up ending the conversation.  “… and it has been.  Let’s do real introductions.  Jason, this is the permanent miraculous team.”  She motioned her arm to indicate the people in the room.  “The drunk one is Chloe.”

“Fuck you, Dupain-Cheng.” Chloe scowled not looking up from her homework.

“I thought that was my job,” Jason commented with a smirk.

“Oh, he’s going to fit in perfectly,” Nino laughed.

“I’m Alya.”  She waved from her spot on the couch.  “The one that looks like he just got in a fight is Nino.  The dork is Adrien.”

“Did you just get in a fight?” Jason asked observing him.  His clothes were rumpled, his hair looked scruffed up, and there looked to be the beginning of a bruise on his arm.

“Kind of.  I said…” Nino started with a wicked smirk.

“Nino, you finish that sentence and I will give you a black eye to complete your look,” Marinette growled at him.

Jason looked down at Marinette in surprise before leaning over to whisper quietly enough that only she could hear, “Did I mention how fucking hot you are?”  Marinette squeaked and turned bright red again.

Adrien crossed the room to shake Jason’s hand with a friendly grin.  “Okay, introductions are done, now let’s focus on the important business before I have to leave.  First, what did you just say?  I haven’t seen her turn that color in years.  Also, a correlated question, he’s already telling people you’re dating?” He waggled his eyebrows at Marinette.  She took a deep breath and let it out loudly in a resigned huff. They were going to ridicule her for the rest of her life over Jason.  Adrien laughed at her and moved his focus over to Jason.  “Good to see you, man.  I’m impressed you were able to find Marinette.”  He eyed Jason’s hand around Marinette’s waist and Marinette’s body language.  He looked up to Jason.  “I ship it.”

Jason grinned smugly at Marinette.  “He ships it,” he pointed out in an innocent voice.

Marinette rolled her eyes.  “He would ship me with Loki.  It doesn’t mean anything.”

Adrien grinned at her and shot her finger guns. “Whatever makes you happy, baby. And Loki is hot.  I ship everyone I like with him.”

Alya pushed him out of the way and stepped in front of Jason.  “Ignore him. He trusts everyone.  You don’t need to worry about him unless you screw up… and then he’ll kill you.”  She stuck her hand out to shake Jason’s.  He looked down at Marinette questioningly.  She shrugged in response.  This wasn’t the worst shovel talk they’d doled out and he was Red Hood, he could handle it.  “We, on the other hand,” she motioned to Chloe and herself, “don’t trust anyone.  We’ll kill you when we think you even might be about to screw up.”

Jason nodded at them.  This was a form of interaction he understood; threats.  “And him?” He motioned to Nino.

“Me?  I provide the alibis.” He answered with a grin.

“One of the most important pieces in the game.” He nodded looking around.  “Another important piece is believability.  People have to believe you would do what you threaten.  That’s where a reputation can help you.  No offense but you guys don’t seem the type.”

“But I am.” Plagg appeared in Jason’s face out of nowhere with a maniacal grin on his face.  

Jason flinched back almost falling on his ass, pulling Marinette behind him as he moved.  “What the ever living FUCK is that?” He yelled out.

The room erupted in laughter except for Plagg who continued staring him down.  Marinette stood between the two with an apologetic smile and helped him straighten up. “Sorry about him.  I’d say he doesn’t mean it but… the dinosaurs would say otherwise… if they were still alive… and could talk.”

“Jesus Christ, Marinette.  You were over there forever.  Did you explain anything to him?”  Chloe groaned.

“I was trying to explain things to but then someone,” she looked pointedly at all of them, “kept interrupting.”

“And just exactly what were we interrupting?” Adrien asked waggling his eyebrows.

Marinette gave him a deadpan look for a few seconds waiting for him to figure it out.  “Explaining things.  I just fucking said that, dumbass.”

“Excuse me, but would we discuss the fucking floating demon cat, please?” Jason interrupted keeping his eyes glued to the floating creature.

“Please don’t call him that.  It’ll just go to his head.  We won’t hear the end of it for centuries.”  Tikki floated up near Jason but at a respectful distance.  “I’m Tikki.  He’s Plagg. That is Wayzz.  That is Trixx.  And that is Pollen.” She said, pointing out each of the kwami in turn as they hovered over their wielders.  “We’re kwami.”

“Right.  That explains exactly nothing.” Jason scowled.  “Is there someone who can use real words to explain what is going on?”

Marinette laughed and pulled him over to the sitting area, letting him take the arm chair while she perched on its arm.  “Kwami are what give us our powers.  Each one represents a concept.  Each concept comes with powers related to that concept. Pollen is the kwami of subjection. She can knock people out.  Wayzz is the kwami of protection.  He creates an impenetrable force field.  Trixx is the kwami of Illusion.  He can cast… illusions.  That one’s rather self-explanatory really.  Plagg, the demon cat, is the kwami of destruction. He can be asshole, like his owner.” Twin heys rang out from Adrien and Plagg, which were completely ignored.  “But his power is he can cast bad luck and he destroys things.  Tikki is the kwami of creation.  She has the power of luck and can create things.  There are more, but those are the five main kwami used currently.”

“Okay…” he drew out the last sound of the word, not sure how to process all that.

Marinette grimaced at him.  “It gets worse so I just… want you to be prepared.”  He scowled at her.  Worse than their last conversation didn’t sound good.  “The kwami are tied to pieces of jewelry called a miraculous.  If you possess the miraculous, you can control them.  That’s why the villain is trying to get our miraculous.  If he gets them, he controls them.  Tikki’s and Plagg’s miraculous can be used together to grant a wish, a physics defying, reality destroying wish.  It can reset time.  It can destroy worlds.  A couple hundred years ago, someone got them.  He wished for immortality.”

Jason watched her apprehensively.  “He created the Pits.”

“No, we created the Pits.  He wished for them.” Plagg hissed.  “But he wasn’t too specific with his wish,” he cackled as he said it.

“Making a wish is like making a deal with a leprechaun. There’s always a catch.” Marinette clarified.  “He got immortality, but at a price.”

“That’s why we’re letting you stay lover boy,” Alya added.

“I already used lover boy,” Marinette interrupted.

“Fuck, yeah that was too easy anyway.  Don Juan?”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever.” She said pointedly and turned to Jason. “That’s why we’re letting you stay Don Juan,” she continued.  “Because the Pit restores your health, but weakens your ability to link to a miraculous or its powers.”

“It means Hawkmoth shouldn’t have as powerful of a pull on you, should an akuma ever land on you,” Nino added.

“It also means you can’t ever wield a miraculous,” Marinette said apologetically.

“Was that a consideration?” Jason exclaimed.

“No!” “Maybe.” “Duh!” Alya, Adrien, and Chloe answered at the same time.  Alya and Adrien looked at each other in surprise while Chloe rolled her eyes.

“We never discussed that!” Alya raised her voice in annoyance.

“It wouldn’t have been the worst idea,” Adrien offered weakly.

“It would have been the obvious next step. If he’s here to help us and he has training and Marinette trusts him, which of fucking course she does, of course we would have given him one.” Chloe explained.

Jason leaned over to Marinette so the others wouldn’t hear him.  “I see what you mean about Manon and Chloe.”  

Marinette giggled and nodded.  “It’s only a matter of time before she adds the cursing in too. She probably does just not in front of me or her mom.”

“And what are you two kids giggling about over there?” Adrien asked with a knowing smirk.

“Fuck you.  I don’t giggle.” Jason grunted.

“Too manly for that.  I only laugh in a manly way,” Nino’s voice lowered to imitate Jason.

The rest of the room started chortling in terribly concealed laughter.  Jason narrowed his eyes and pointed at him, “Yes I am.” Causing the rest of the room to give up on their attempts to hide their laughter.  “Okay, so what I’m hearing is I don’t get one of those magical girl sequences.”

Marinette laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I mean, you could always pretend. Nobody’s stopping you from creating your own amazing sequence when you put on your suit.”

He smirked and pulled her closer to him. “What kind of sequence were you thinking of exactly?”  Marinette squeaked and turned red.  She buried her head in her hands making him laugh.

“An incredibly fucking boring one considering she mentioned putting your clothes on.” Chloe remarked.

“I’m creative.  I could make it work.” Jason assured her with a wink.  Marinette groaned and bent in half, trying to force her face, still covered by her hands, into her legs while the rest of the room laughed.

Chloe eyed him for a moment before nodding and going back to her homework.  “I’m sure that’s true, off brand Robin Hood.”

“Are we letting him suit up though?” Alya asked. “Do we want Hawkmoth knowing one of Gotham’s vigilantes is running around?  Not to mention, his identity isn’t protected by magic.  If someone knows Jason Todd from Gotham is in Paris and Red Hood from Gotham is in Paris, people will be able to put things together. They aren’t stupid.”

“That’s a good point, babe.  I don’t think we can.” Nino agreed.

“We’re not letting him run around at all.” Marinette’s voice was so firm, the note of finality so clear Jason did a double take. “You don’t have magic to protect you and we can’t give you a suit.  You can’t be in the fights.”

“I’ve fought worse things than you can imagine,” Jason said slowly.

“I have an incredible imagination, but I don’t have to use it for this.  I just need my memory,” she said coldly.  The rest of the room watched her with sympathy, knowing where her mind went.  “Because I can remember devastation.  I can remember people torn to pieces.  I can remember people crushed.  I can remember people drowning.  I can’t remember you like that.”

“I can take care of myself.  I’ve fought Supers.  I’ve fought assassins.  I’ve come back from the god damned dead,” he assured her, starting to understand where her objection was coming from.

“Join the club.  You aren’t special.” Chloe snarked.

“But I did it without a magic suit.  I’ve probably done almost as much as you all and without a magic power up to do it.” Jason argued.

“Power ups are a different thing.” Nino threw in. Marinette and Jason glared at him. He held his hands up in surrender.  “Just saying.”

“I can do more than just hide,” he pointed out, begging her to let him do more.

“And you will, but not in a fight.” Marinette responded, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

“He’s going to need to suit up if he’s going to train us while we’re in suits though.  Jason Todd can’t just be hanging around the miraculous team.  That would put him squarely on Hawkmoth’s most wanted list.  Right next to Marinette.”  Adrien pointed out.

Jason’s head whipped over to her and Marinette groaned. “The fuck?”

“It’s nothing,” she tried to assure him, but the look he gave her confirmed he wouldn’t believe it.

She sighed and shot Adrien a glare.  “Fine.  Hawkmoth likes to target me.  Has from the start.  We have no idea why.  I would say Lila, she’s the only one we know of who actively dislikes the Marinette side of me, but it started before she appeared in Paris and we know Hawkmoth is a man.  We checked her National ID and school records.  She definitely wasn’t here.  We don’t think he knows my identity, otherwise he would have targeted me more. So it’s just one of those fun mysteries that makes life interesting.  Because otherwise our lives would be so boring.”

Jason stared at her with an overwhelming need to protect her burning in his gut.  It wasn’t just as a hero that she was dealing with this.  She had to deal with it as a civilian too.  No fucking wonder she was so fucking over this.  But since she wouldn’t let him fight with them, the best way to help her right now was to train her and to do that, he would have to come up with a new identity.  “Red hood can’t run around with you guys and train you, but maybe another hero can.”

“Hell no.  We’re barely letting you stay, and that is still probationary.  We sure as hell aren’t letting another hero in.” Alya growled.

“No, I meant I’ll have to be someone else,” Jason explained.

“I still don’t want you in akuma battles,” Marinette said carefully.

“We can discuss that later,” he assured her.  He knew why she was objecting, for the same reason he would object to her fighting against the Joker.  He didn’t doubt her abilities, but even the idea made his lungs feel like they were slowly disintegrating.  And worrying about him would distract her during a fight, which he also couldn’t allow.  But he was sure he could convince her to let him help with crowd control, saving innocent bystanders.  He just needed a bit of time and the right approach.  “But for training and patrol and investigations, another identity would help.”  He was specifically thinking about when he was breaking into different places, but she didn’t need to know that.  But the way Chloe was eying him, he had a feeling she knew what he meant.

“Like Red Bat?” Nino suggested.

“No, nothing bat related, just to be safe.” Jason shook his head.

“Oooh, Red Cat!” Adrien exclaimed, bouncing in his seat at the idea.

“Hell no.  I would never hear the end of it.”

“Red Turtle?” Nino suggested with a smile. “Raphael?”

“Oooh, Red Fox!” Alya offered loudly.  She froze almost immediately realizing what that would be.  “No wait… forget I said that.”

There was a pause as people thought of a name. “Don’t look at me,” Chloe spoke up without looking up from her homework.  “I’m not sharing my name.  I’m the only Bee in town.”

“A name can wait.  We’ll need a suit before a name.  I think I can come up with a few ideas, unless you have one already.”  Jason shook his head and Marinette bounced with anticipation.  “Yay!  I never get to design hero suits.”  She pulled him up to standing so she could examine his body with a critical eye, thinking of designs that would work with his body.  Jason suddenly felt exposed as he circled him with no hint of a blush as she stared at him and for the first time, he was positive she was not thinking about him in any remotely sexual way.  He scrunched up his face.  He didn’t like it at all.

“Okay,” Adrien interjected.  She’s going to be gone to the world for a while.  “So, back to the important business.  Second question; is your brother single?”

Tags:

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[mrs-takami-keigo]

Mesmerize

Song:Mesmerize by Ja rule

Club owner Bakugou X Fem!Reader Rating E! 18+

As stated in my RULES all characters I write will be 21 and up! In this Bakugou is twenty-nine.

Prompt: Character flirts with you at the club and couldn’t wait till you got somewhere secluded to have you.

Word count:4.2k

Warnings:Dirty talk, Orgams denial, public sex, unprotected sex, slight degradation, alcohol

This was a request from my PROMPTS I did for my zodiac twin @katsukikitten​. This was so much freaking fun to write!! 

And this will also be my first tile off of my BINGO masterlist! 

Huge thank you to @samanthaa-leanne​ and @shoutogepi​ for beta reading this for me! 

You felt the bass of the loud music vibrate through your body as you maneuvered through the crowd of people, bodies pressed together, lights flashing and drinks in everyone's hand, you expected nothing less from the hottest club in the city. Usually the smell of alcohol would bother you but right now it didn’t matter because you were finally out of the house and having a good time. That quarantine felt like it lasted for years but you also understood it was necessary. Everyone was drunk, inhibitions thrown out the window, tonight was about living it up.

“What can I get for you!” The bartender shouted from across the slightly sticky white countertop. Even on an insane night like this he had a giant smile on his face, happy to finally have business.

“Can I get a gin and tonic with two limes and make it a double please!” The red haired man gives you a curt nod of his head before grabbing a glass and making your drink.

Turning around you pressed your exposed back to the bar, elbows resting on the surface. You took in the sight of the club, people dancing, laughing, lovers showing their affection for each other rather publicly. A smirk played on your lips at a couple as their lips seemed to become molded together, wandering hands gripping ass, boobs, anything they could get their hands on.

It made you a little envious. How long has it been since you’ve had your back blown out, moaning at the top of your lungs by some good dick? Months, six months to be exact, but it’s not like you were counting or anything.

“Here you go, love!” The sound of the bartender's voice broke you out of your thoughts. Turning around you went to open your clutch only to have his hand cover yours. Looking up, the bartender was shaking his head. “Your drinks for the night have been covered by someone already.”

“What? Who?!” You looked around to see if anybody was looking in your direction, assuming whoever did this would want for you to talk to them. You’ve had drinks bought for you in the past on numerous occasions, may it have been the old man trying to relive his youth after a divorce to a young guy just trying to impress you by spending money on you.

“Not at liberty to say, but just enjoy it love. Name is Kirishima, if you need a refill just let me know.” The red headed man sent you a playful wink before he slid down the bar, helping the other patrons.

‘Covered for the night huh?’ A smirk played on your lips as you twirled the little red straw between your fingers, the ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass. Wrapping your glossed lips around the plastic material you took a sip of the drink, the slight burn from the gin hit you first but was subdued by the sweet and tangy taste of the limes. Kirishima made this drink super strong but it was still pleasurable. And if drinks were gonna be covered all night nothing was stopping you from downing the small glass of alcohol in five minutes, before waving down your new favorite bartender for another.

Not sure how much time had passed, you were only counting by drinks and you were positive you were on your fith glass. You weren’t completely drunk, still sober enough to know your name, address and phone number but you were sure if you drank two more right now you’d be black out drunk. Pulling out your phone you clicked the button on the right side, bringing the small device to life.

‘It’s only one am and I’m already like this?’ You still had the whole night ahead of you and you were damned if you had to go home early. Facing the bar you looked for Kirishima, trying to get his attention. But he was distracted by a group of women who were fawning over his bright red spiked hair.

“Oi dumbass! You got other people here waiting! Stop tryna get your dick wet and get her something to drink!” You weren't sure when the male had snuck up behind you, but between his loud voice and his body fully pressed against yours you couldn’t move. His chest felt like a rock against your back, a low rumble vibrating through his chest as he yelled, looking down to your right you saw one of his hands pressed on the bar. Not even seeing his face yet, you could feel your pussy come alive.

“Damn Bakugou! I could have really had some fun tonight.” While you were lost in your slight desire for this Bakugou person, Kirishima had reluctantly walked away from the group.

“I really don’t give a fuck.” You could feel him lean down so his face was next to your’s. Not even daring to your head, afraid if he was attractive you’d lose the last of your resolve. “You want another gin and tonic, double with two limes, or you want some water?” He spoke in a lower tone almost like a growl, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You started to love and hate the fact that you wore this specific dress tonight, it was a skin tight royal blue satin dress, a small strap wrapped around your neck leaving your entire back exposed. What you really loved about this dress was how it hugged you curves in all the right places while still looking classy. The bad part was you could feel his other large hand placed on the small of your back and because of that your cunt started to pulsate. You were already sure you had a small wet spot on your black lace panties.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you turned your head to look at the male that had this effect on you. ‘Holy shit he’s fucking hot.’ His crimson colored eyes were fixated on you, blonde brows lifted as a smug smirk graced his lips. Messy fluffy blonde hair on top of his head, a black button down fitting perfectly on his slim yet fit body. The first three buttons were undone, exposing the silver chains that hung from his thick neck.

“You’re pretty fucking hot yourself.” A tongue slipped past his lips in a swift motion, those crimson eyes glanced down roaming over your curves, drinking in the sight of you like he was ready to eat you right there against the bar. You were sure you felt his hand on your lower back shift so his fingers were brushing dangerously close to the edge of the dress that sat right on top of your ass.

At first you were perplexed on why he would say that to you only to realise you said he was hot out loud instead of in your head. First time out in months and you embarrass yourself infront on the finest man you’ve set your eyes on, fucking great.

“You want another drink love?” Kirishima placed an empty glass on the bar, ready to make your usual.

“Can I get water this time?” You were trying to ignore the man who was still behind you. His gaze on you was so intense that you were sure he could see right through you. Bakugou had said less than twenty words and you were ready to have his face buried in your pussy. Yeah you definitely needed water if you were gonna try to talk to this fine ass man.

“You know it’s pretty fucking rude to ignore a person who was talking to you.” He had moved from behind you, to stand next to you. Resting his right forearm on the bar he leaned so he could see your entire face. “But I’ll let it slide, I’m in a good mood tonight.”

You still haven’t looked in his direction, trying to hide the fact that this man had you flustered. Kirishima had passed you a tall glass full of ice cold water, lifting it up to your slightly parched lips, you let the cold water slide down your throat. You didn’t realize just how thirsty you actually were til that moment. Closing your eyes you relished in the feeling of the water cooling you down, a little spilled from the side of your mouth, sliding down your neck.

Bakugou watched as that clear liquid flowed down your smooth skin, it glistened as the club lights hit it. He wanted nothing more than to use his tongue and lap up that water but restrained himself.

“And it’s rude to creep up behind a girl and place your hand on her like that without asking.” You set the glass down, turning to face him, coping the same position he was in. “No introduction, no ‘excuse me’. You even yelled at sweet Kirishima as if you owned the place, asshole.”

“Oi Kirishima, who owns this fucking place?” Bakugou never shifted his gaze from your fiery ones as he called out to the bartender.

“Uh you boss.” The minute those words rolled out of his mouth you could feel panic run through your body.

‘Boss?! No fucking way!’

“And who covered her tab for the night?” You didn’t know if you wanted to slap that smug look off his face or let him have his way with you at the moment, right now both sounded like a good plan.

“Once again you boss.”

“Thanks dumbass, you can leave now, I’m sure those hoes are still waiting for you.” Bakugou stood up straight, towering over you even in your heels. He moved forward forcing you to move back away from him. You weren't sure if it was because of the gin or if it was because of him but you could feel your face begin to flush, legs becoming like jelly with each step you took, the look in his eyes were dark and full of lust. As if he was a lion waiting to pounce on his prey.

“Now who was the asshole again?” His voice came out as a snarl, lips curled up showing off his canines and gums. Stumbling backwards your back came in contact with the wall at the end of the bar. It just so happened that this particular corner was hidden in the dark corner of the club. “What happened? You got all that bark and no bite?”

Bakugou had caged you between the wall and his body, his right arm blocking you from the crowd and with his broad build shielding you from the people behind him. With his free hand, he gently gripped your face, tilting your head up so you could look at him. His face was so close to yours, breaths mingled together as his eyes bore into you.

“I’m gonna be fuckin honest here, I saw you the minute you entered my club. I watched as you made your way across the dance floor and over to shitty hair. You cast a fuckin spell on me and all I wanna do is fuck you against this wall right now.” You felt your breath hitch as he placed his thigh in between your legs. His semi-hard cock was pressed against your leg. “But I won’t do anything unless you want me too. I’m not a fucking animal.”

The way your mouth went dry as he spoke and your pussy began to ache for him. This man you met only ten minutes ago was just your type, dominating, handsome and still a fucking gentelman. If anyone cast a spell it was him.

“Age?” You had a few questions before letting this man dick you down.

“Twenty nine and you?”

“Twenty eight. You clean?”

Smirking down at you he knew that this was your way of saying yes to him. “My body is my temple princess.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you ground your sex against thigh, a moan floating out of yours and his lips. “Do your worst asshole.”

Before you could even blink his mouth was pressed against your glossed ones. Nothing about this situation was romantic, no it was nothing but carnal desire. Your body longed to be touched by someone and fuck did you hit the jackpot with this one.

His hands roamed down your back, slightly scratching your smooth skin leaving small red marks in their wake. Soon he gilded his hands over your ass, cupping your cheeks in his large calloused hands. Breaking the kiss you let out a shuttered breath, by him gripping you up like that caused you to rub against his thigh again but this time it was much harder than before.

“I can feel how wet you are through my fucking pants, you want me that bad huh?” Bakugou growled against your neck, giving it small licks and nips, eyes started to roll into the back of your head. Between his attack on your neck and him constantly making you rub your pussy against his thigh, you were sure he was gonna wreck you.

“Don’t flatter yourself dipshit, it's been a long six months.” He was right though, you wanted him, you wanted him so bad. Your nimble fingers made their way to his belt, trying to unbuckle it and get what you wanted.

“You’re an eager little slut aren’t ya?” Grabbing your hands, Bakugou lifted them above your head, holding both wrists in one of his hands. “Don’t worry princess I’ll be sure to make you cum hard. We’ll save all that sensual shit for next time.” Fuck, he had you completly under his control. As much as you wanted to fight him and challenge him, you couldn’t. All you wanted was for him to fuck you.

Bakugou had turned his body slightly to the side, covering you from anyone that could still see you. You were so lost in him that you forgot that you were in the fucking club and out in the open. But you were far too deep now to care, and so was everyone else.

You could feel Bakugou lift the hem of your satin dress up, exposing your black lace panties. Taking his long middle finger he grazed it against you, slightly pressing between your folds. “I fucking knew it, you are soaked. Look at my finger, it's coated with your juices.” He brought the same finger he used against you, sticking his tongue out, sliding the coated digit over it.

“God with just that little bit I can tell you taste so fucking good.” His leg was still between your own and your arms still above your head, you ground your hips against him once again. He was doing too much teasing and all you wanted was that sweet sweet release.

“Stop playing with me and fuck me!” You hissed between your teeth.

The hand holding your wrists tightened as he held your hips down. He leaned down, lips barely touching your own. “Don’t tell me what to do.” You knew he wouldn’t cause any actual harm to you but that statement sent shivers down your spine. “Just for being a brat I’m gonna make you beg for it. Make you beg to cum, make you beg for my dick to stretch that tight sopping wet pussy.”

You gulped as his grip on your hip loosen. “Are you gonna be a good fucking girl for me?”

You could only nod your head, words and sentences were something you weren’t capable of at the moment.

“Use your words princess. Say, yes Katsuki.” His fingers went back to torturing you in between your legs. Each stroke becoming rougher than the last.

“Yes Katsuki.” Those words came out like a moan. The feeling of his hands on you, how he growled with each brush of his finger against your pussy, it was driving you wild. One of his long fingers hooked on the side of your drenched panties, pulling them to the side, exposing your wet cunt to him.

Clenching your fists as you let out a gasp, you felt Bakugou slipped a finger between your folds. Burying his face in your neck you heard him cuss under his breath, giving you praises about how good you felt and he wasn't even in you yet. The man pinning you to the wall started to roll his finger over your hardened clit, sending waves of pleasure surging through your body. You could feel his hard cock against your thigh with each roll of his hip, god did you want that dick in you.

“Oh fuck!” Your body shuddered as he inserted a finger inside of you. You didn’t care how loud you were seeing as how the music in the club would just drown you out.

“God princess you’re so fucking tight.” Bakugou dragged his tongue along your shoulder, before biting down on your neck. You responded by rolling your hips into your hand as he started to move the digit in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

“More please.” Your mouth was agape, sharp intakes of breaths as he moved. That’s when you felt him add another long finger inside of you. You could feel your walls stretch around his fingers. Bakugou switched between scissoring motions and just moving his fingers against you, pressing on that soft bundle of nerves.

“Look at you,” His fingers started to pick up their pace, making your eyes roll in the back of your head. “I got you fucking whimpering for me and all I’m doing is fucking you with my fingers.” between his words and the speed of his fingers you could feel that familiar tightness forming in the lower part of your abdomen. “I can feel you tightening around my fingers, are you about to cum?”

“C-cum…”

“What was that I couldn’t fucking hear you.” His arm started to move at a speed you were sure was inhuman. It had your toes curling, your nails digging into the palm of your hands.

“I’m gonna cum!” Ready to feel yourself unravel for him, to feel that white flash of release, you closed your eyes. But it never came. Opening your eyes, you watched as he pulled out his fingers from inside your cunt, holding them in front of your face.

“You can’t cum until I say you can.” He ran his tongue over his fingers, cleaning them of your essence. “I want you to cum all over my dick, as I fuck you into this wall.”

You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out, your legs were getting shaky and your arms were numb at this point. You wanted this, to have someone fuck you like this. Using one hand Bakugou undid his belt and button of his pants and unzipped them. Reaching in the front of his pants he pulled out his hardened cock.

Involuntarily swallowing the saliva that gathered in your mouth, you licked your lips. You imagined wrapping your lips around him as he fucked your mouth, making you gag on him. Bakugou could see the hunger in your eyes, and god did he want to do whatever you were thinking of doing but he was going to explode if he didn’t fuck you right now.

Bakugou leaned down, placing his forehead against your own. You could feel the dampness from the light coat of sweat on his forehead mix with your own. His breaths were shallow and deep, lust filled eyes mirrored yours. The noise of the club and people around you seemed to disappear, the only thing that could be heard was your heart beat as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your glistening folds. Bakugou coated his cock with your juices as a lubricant before aligning himself with your entrance.

Slowly he pressed the tip of his cock through the threshold of your pussy. The feeling of your hole stretching around him as he eased his way inside. Bakugou never broke eye contact as moved, letting you see every emotion he went through. How his eyebrows raised, nostrils flared and mouth opened as your pussy engulfed him.  

“Oh fuck princess, you feel so fucking good around me.” with a swift thrust he pushed himself the rest of the way, fully sheathing himself inside of you. Arching your back off the wall and whimpering, you could feel his cock twitch as he waited for you to get accustomed to him.

Bakugou let go of your wrists, bringing your arms down and wrapping them around his neck. His right arm came down, grazing his hand down past your ass, bringing it behind your thigh. Gripping your smooth skin, Bakugou hoisted your leg up to his waist allowing him to go in a little deeper, the tip of his cock pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves. With your hands now free from his grip, you clawed at his back. Bakugou growled when he felt your nails dig into his skin. Moving his hips back he snapped them forward, causing you to scream out his name. A sinister smirk played on his lips, enjoying how his name fell from your lips like a mantra. With each thrust of his hips the harder you clawed at his back, he was sure you left scratch marks but he didn’t care.

“You like this don’t you? Getting fucked in the middle of a club, knowing anybody can come over here and see how much of a fucking slut you are.” That knot in your lower abdomen came back as he snarled in your ear. His hand gripping your thigh tightened, Bakugou was using that as leverage, making your body meet his with each thrust. And he was right, the fact that anybody could walk over and see you was exhilarating.  

Between Bakugou’s constant biting on your neck and how relentless his thrusts were, you were so close to reaching an orgasm that was surely going to make you see stars.

“Yes right there! I’m gonna cum.” Your hands found purchase in his hair ready for him to send you to the fucking moon.

“Oh no you don’t bitch.” Bakugou halted his movements, his cock was almost pulled out of you. “I told you I need to hear you beg for it.” You looked at him with fire in your eyes. There was no way he could be serious. Wrapping your hoisted leg you went to push his hips forward only to be met with a hand wrapped around your throat.

“I don’t think so. Good girls get to cum princess and all you’ve been was nothing but a brat. So why should I let you cum?” Bakugou had his lips grazing over yours as he spoke, his eyes were showing how serious he was, it sent shivers down your spine. “Now princess let me hear you fucking beg for my cock, for me to let you cum.”

“Please Katsuki let me cum.” You whined as you moved your hips, trying to get friction anything to help you release. “I promise I’ll be good, just please I want to feel you stretch out my pussy. I want to scream your name as I cum all over your dick, please!”

“Now that’s a good fucking girl.” With a sharp snap of his hips, Bakugou drove himself back into you moaning as he did. You had eyes rolling in the back of your head, drool coming down the side of your mouth while screaming his name. All the people near you could get fucked, the way Bakugou made you feel at this moment was all that mattered.

“Holy fuck!” You could feel Bakugou lose his rhythm for a split second and you knew he was close.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum, please let me cum.” You had moved to moan in his ear before licking his thick neck and biting on it.

“Cum for me princess.” It came out as a low growl and that's what had sent you over the edge. Screaming his name louder than before you came all over his dick, hands pulling his hair as your body began to convulse.

“Oh shit!” Bakugou pulled out just as white streams of his cum began to spurt out, landing on the lips of your pussy and some on your thighs.

Bakugou had let go of your leg and slightly moved away from you. As soon as your leg hit the ground you felt them give out from under you as you started to tumble forward. Luckley the blonde man had quick reflexes and caught you, helping you lean against the wall.

“Let's get you cleaned up and some water in your system. My office is right upstairs.” Grabbing some napkins from behind the bar Bakugou began to wipe off the reminisce of his cum off your thighs, while pulling down your dress.

“Why didn’t you just take me there to begin with asshole?!” You smacked his arm as you looked around. Some people were staring at the two of you while whispering in their friends' ear

“It’s your fault! No one told you to come in here and get me mesmerized!” He leaned back down to whisper in your ear. “I just couldn’t wait to devour you princess.”

Biting your lip you grabbed his hand pulling him towards the stairs. “Now it’s my turn to devour you, asshole.”  

[sidespromptblog]

Snowden: Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Warnings:  Mentions of freezing to death, general recklessness, Logan angst, and Deceit angst. 

Summary:  Virgil was supposed to be relaxing. This vacation wasn’t becoming very relaxing…

Word Count: 2535

AO3 LINK

The entire cabin was dead quite.

From the side of the couch Virgil watched Deceit’s still unmoving body like a bloodhound that refused to move from its post, he had been there for hours, and honestly, he wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon if he had anything to say about it. He watched the rise and fall of Deceit’s chest, hardly even daring to blink as if that would erase that one sign of life completely out of existence forever. 

Remus, roughly had the same idea. As he sat there at the end of the couch that the dishonest side was sprawled out on under what must have been a hundred blankets, coats, and even scarves. He had Deceit’s feet on his lap, his hands securely curled around them as if letting them go for even a second would mean certain death for the other side. He had stopped crying, but the messy stains of his eyeshadow were a reminder of just how desperate he had been the moment that he had seen Deceit’s lifeless body cradled in Virgil’s arms, a reminder of just how close they had both come. It was a startling similarity that both he and Remus shared.

They had both come close to losing someone that they had taken for granted. 

“He never stopped hoping you know,” Remus’ raspy voice broke the silence with nothing more than a whisper. Swallowing roughly, he gingerly patted one of Deceit’s sock covered feet. “He always hoped that you’d be happy with the others, and even if you weren’t… he.. he hoped that you knew you could come back despite how things had ended. You know how he is.” 

Virgil did, and yet he didn’t all at the same time. 

When he had ducked out, the voice in his head had told him rather scornfully that he would never be welcome among the dark sides again. The night that he had left had been the end in his mind, he had said things, Deceit had said things, and Remus… well Remus always said things. To him, he had always thought that they would turn him away, or laugh in his face if he were to tell them about what had happened with Patton and the others. It had never crossed his mind that Deceit would ever welcome him back, let alone with open arms. 

So when the dishonest side revealed himself after taking Patton’s form, he had…

He had assumed the worst. 

Guilt swirled inside of Virgil just like the snowstorm outside, “I…” The words felt like lead on his tongue, “I’m sorry.” He began, just to immediately be stopped. 

“Are you?” Remus sharply asked, the facade of crude words and humor gone as those haunted eyes started into Virgil, as if he were nothing more than a crystal ball. “You don’t act it. You hiss at him, you call us the bad guys, and don’t think I didn’t hear about how you told Thomas that you were ‘one of us’ at one point. Like were some dirty things at the bottom of your shoe. We hear it all Virgil!” He snarled, his grip tightening around Deceit’s foot, “So what is it?! Are you sorry for how you’ve treated us, or are you sorry about being associated with us?! Because sometimes it’s really hard to tell! Are you or are you not ashamed of us?!”

Remus’ rage reminded him of Charon, the dark unfathomable look in his eyes, the curl of his upper lip right before he started shouting, and… the way that his body seemed to fold over Deceit’s almost protectively. 

It wasn’t hard to tell just who Remus hung out with after Virgil was no longer in the picture. 

It made something in his stomach sour at the mere thought of it. 

“We want to be accepted Virgil, just like you were. Is that really so hard to believe that we don’t have something nefarious planned?” Remus’ voice sounded wet, as all of the anger flooded out of him leaving the creative side to desperately look back at Virgil with something close to tears. “Why is it that you only want this too for yourself, and nobody else? Are you that hypocritical?” 

That stung. 

Remus stopped talking, his eyes boring into Virgil’s clearly waiting for some kind of answer. An answer that would solve all of this, solve the years of neglect, abandonment, and years of ignorance from Virgil’s side of the equation. And with it all…

With all of the excuses that he could use, turning the blame onto someone else, or just ignoring the question… 

Virgil didn’t have an answer. 

“I don’t…” Terror filled his stomach at the realization, he didn’t… he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he had ignored Deceit and Remus all of these years. He didn’t know why he wouldn’t allow them to step into the light. Deceit in his own way was self-preservation as Patton had said, and Remus… well Remus was a part of creativity just like Logan had told him. “I don’t know…” Virgil whispered, that same panic he had felt before clawing at his insides. “I wasn’t sure what I felt, or what I was thinking. I was just.. I just felt like I needed to stop you two. There wasn’t any rhyme or reason I just felt…”

“Scared.” Everything came to a screeching halt at that one word, at that one little word that so perfectly summed everything up for him. “You were scared, Virgil.” Remus sighed, and what little energy he’d had left seemed to drain right out of him. He looked tired, the deep-set circles under his eyes still there just hidden by layers of eyeshadow and foundation. Virgil knew that he didn’t look much better all things considered. “I don’t know why,” Remus began, his thumbs rubbing the soles of Deceit’s feet as if the motion was to calm himself and nobody else. “It’s not like we would have hurt you, we’re not monsters...”

Virgil rather pointedly decided this was not the right time to bring up that Charon had punched, rather solidly, in the stomach. 

“You need to talk to us Virgil,” Remus grimaced for a second, “And I know that I’m sounding too much like Deceit or fuck forbid Logan, but… he’s right sometimes. If you’re that scared, and your anxiety is fucking with you that badly… then please talk to someone. It doesn’t even have to be us, just someone, you can’t keep it to yourself all the time. You’re not meant to.” 

He was right, of course, he was right. He hadn’t known what else to do when the thoughts of Deceit, Remus, or even Charon hurting him had come into his head. He hadn’t known what to even say the mere idea of ducking out seemed much easier than just talking to them instead of running away. But there was one thing that he did know, right here and now. 

A dry puff of a laugh escaped Virgil, with only just a touch of humor behind it. “You do sound like Logan.”

And just like that, a good-natured groan answered him, and Remus threw his head back against the back of the couch.

“Now you’re really killing me,” He grinned sharply, “Go for a slower death next time okay Stormcloud? I don’t think I can take death by Logan, he’s far too scary.” 

At that Virgil had to snort, if there was one thing that they could agree upon it was very much that. And Remus had yet to even hear Logan give one of his “falsehood” shouts, that made his ears ring just about every time he heard them no matter where Logan was, be it in his bedroom or downstairs with everyone else.    

For just a moment their conversation gradually lulled itself into silence, with nothing but the flickering of the fireplace to fill that void as their attention gradually shifted back over to Deceit. His chest rose and fell as it had been doing for the past few hours, although his expression remained as dead as it had been from the moment that Virgil had carried him into the cabin. His lips were no longer blue, so there was at least that to note. He wasn’t dead, he wasn’t going to die, Deceit would be alright. 

As soon as he woke up at least. 

“Remus?” Virgil softly asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper as if anything an octave higher would wake the dishonest side up. “What are we going to do when he wakes up? Like… what should we do? Charon said…” And just like that he bit his lip as Remus’ attention snapped over to him at the mention of the usually slumbering side, “He said that Deceit willingly stayed outside, to you know… die.” 

Would Deceit even want to see him? Would he scowl at him? Would he ignore him? Would he… would he try again? Would he wait until all of them were asleep, and venture out in the dead of night when he knew that nobody would stop him and sit there until he no longer had a pulse and faded aw-

“Stop.” Remus’ voice stopped him dead, his head fastened around Deceit’s feet even tighter now as if that would ensure that Virgil wouldn’t notice that his entire body was shaking. Whether it was with rage, fear, or sorrow Virgil didn’t know. “When he wakes up… You apologize. You apologize and you mean it, do you understand. Don’t apologize like you did to me, apologize like.. like…” The creative side gulped, his watery eyes staring down at Deceit as if that was the only thing left to do. “After that… we’ll see. We’ll watch him, and… and we’ll make sure that he’s okay. That’s the only thing that matters.”

And just like that Virgil was bobbing his head in agreement. 

They would watch, and they would protect him. Virgil would protect him, just like he did with Thomas, and just like he did with all of the other sides. He wouldn’t allow Deceit to be forgotten anymore, and he wouldn’t let him be alone in cold any longer. 

He was the protector, and it was time he started protecting everybody. 

Virgil gave another nod, “Okay,” He firmly said, something like resolve taking the place that fear once had. And without even thinking, he scooted closer to the couch and slid his hand under the piles of blankets until he found Deceit’s hand. 

Clasping it tight as he could, Virgil held on and hoped that his little warmth would be enough to help Deceit wake up. 

From the end of the hallway out of the two sides’ line of sight, Logan stood his arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched the lull in the conversation between the creative side and Virgil, as the anxious side laid his head next to Deceit’s shoulder gradually nodding off. 

He wasn’t alone in his watching. 

Next to him stood the tall side with the bright orange bowtie and cracked glasses, casually resting his shoulder against the logical side’s as if it were no problem at all. This certainly wasn’t the first time that the other side had made himself known to just Logan, leaving the other light sides none the wiser of his presence. Even to this day, Logan wasn’t entirely certain as to why that was, perhaps it was just that Logan was aware of all of them just as Deceit was. Or maybe it was that, for some reason, the bowtie clad side actually liked him as strange as that was. He didn’t understand it, but then again…

Maybe he wasn’t meant to. 

Logic and Recklessness did go hand in hand, in a strange sort of way. 

After all, how else was science supposed to get done?

“Thank you,” He finally said, shifting his gaze to Charon, who remained staring ahead at the three sides resting on the couch. “For warning Virgil. I know that you aren’t strong enough to do a lot of things outside the mindspace, so doing… that was hard on your current form. But… thank you.” 

At this Charon finally turned to him, almost seeming to reward him with a sharp-toothed grin as he bumped his shoulder against the logical side’s.

“Of course dear,” The orange side practically purred, a layer of suaveness covering the emotions that he truly felt about the thanks coming from the logical side. “If Deceit were to die, then I’d have to wake up for good, and well… that’s no fun at all.” 

And just like that, a pair of fingers walked along Logan’s arm and up to his shoulders, until the fingers could finally grasp the logical side’s face, turning it to face Charon’s. 

He looked dead serious, no grin in sight.

“Don’t you try anything like that dear, I’ve seen their actions, I’ve heard Virgil’s words toward you when Remus revealed himself.” Charon gently wiggled his grip on Logan’s face, making a lock of Logan’s hair fall in front of his face. “I’ve heard your thoughts, dear. And that just won’t do for you.” 

A feeling similar to shame coiled in Logan’s belly, but it was gone by the time that Charon’s thumb swept over the logical side’s cheek gathering the attention back on him. 

He moved closer ensuring that Logan’s eyes had nowhere else to look but him. “I mean it,” He softly uttered, “I don’t want to come and replace you, they all need you. And I… I would rather not have to your thoughts becoming a reality. Understand?”

Something soft curled on Logan’s tongue, something not too far from the feeling of flower petals against his fingertips or even like the taste of having a favorite dessert after a long long time of not being able to eat it. Logically he knew what it was, and he knew what the feeling was after months of researching after the first time that Charon had himself known to Logan.

It was the pure undeniable fact that someone cared about him. 

It tasted beautiful.

Swallowing thickly, Logan licked his lips. “Of course,” He began, a tiny hint of a smile crawling on his lips. “I’ll be sure to knock over a beaker if I’m ever in the mood for your company… Charon.” 

There was a hint of a smirk, a flash of teeth, and brown eyes hidden behind broken glasses and the reckless side was gone. Most likely back to Thomas’ mind to continue his slumber under Logan wanted to see him next, or when one of them did something stupid again. Which… all things considered, wasn’t too far off into the future if Thomas’ life and his troubles were anything to worry about. 

Logan would see him again, especially considering that he was already starting to miss the empty space where the other side had just stood. 

“Logan! Can you help me in the kitchen!” Patton’s voice called out, snapping him from the rather melancholy daze. “I want to make Deceit some soup!”

And just like that Logan was off, hurrying to the kitchen before Patton could burn himself on the stove.

[alloveroliver]

Mousse x MC “My Love For You Is Ever Expanding.”

Rating: Look, this is SMUT but its 99% fluff too. Still 18+

A|N: I woke up, and I was like, "I want Mousse to eat me out." So here we are. 

WC: 2500+

Ikemen revolution Fanfic

Mousse's lips trailed along her breasts, leaving tons of tiny kisses in his wake. Her rapid heart rate was apparent against his lips, beating in rhythm with his own. She sighed and squirmed under his overly gentle touch. 

Alice's hands dipped into his hair, tugging lightly at the chestnut strands when he teased her nipple with his tongue. Mousse hummed at the sensation. A smile flickered on his expression before his brows knitted again in earnest. Their first date had gone… well. He sighed into her skin as he made his way down her chest. It had gone exceedingly well if Mousse had to say so. 

He'd been crushing on Alice since the first day he saw her. But not just any old crush; it was love at first sight. He remembered the sensation filling his chest as he quietly prayed that she was everything he imagined her to be. It wouldn't be fair that the universe would put his soulmate right in front of him, in broad daylight, and her end up being nothing like he'd always hoped and wished for. 

The love only grew stronger and stronger each day, even on days he didn't see her. He almost felt bad interacting with her, seeing her be so polite to him, yet keeping him at a distance. He resolved to allow the natural order of things to occur. He didn't want to trap her or force her to feel anything for him. After only a month of befriending her, he already decided he wanted to make sure she was happy. Even if that meant she wasn't interested in him. 

However, the day he finally came where he had the time to ask her out properly. Not a friend date, not a hangout, a date-date. One that a person took another on in hopes of building a relationship. Alice had been taken aback, but in the end, agreed to meet him in a weeks time. Mousse was delighted, overjoyed by her promise to meet him for dinner. His heart grew that day, and the next, and the next, more and more until he wondered if his love for her was ever-expanding. He cursed his open-heart, making him vulnerable to the most intense heartbreak if she rejected him. 

But she hadn't rejected him. Mousse now gently kissed the inside of her thigh. He left closed-mouth kisses and wide mouth sloppy kisses all along her inner leg. Truthfully, nerves fluttered to life in his stomach, and he wasn't prepared for what would happen next, not just yet. He needed a moment, a minute to relish in this incredible evening. 

Not only had Alice invited him inside after their date for tea, but she also let him kiss her. Mousse’s heart squeezed at the memory of their first kiss just an hour before. It was gentle and sweet but lingered into something fiery and hot. He parted from her after several minutes of their intense kiss to allow her mind to defog. 

She was the one to kiss him the second time. Her hands slid along his body, and Mousse took that as an invitation. He allowed his fingertips to gingerly map out her frame, memorizing every nuance of her curves. More kisses fueled the flames of desire in them both, and before he knew it, Mousse had her on the bed, half undressed, and panting the words' more'. 

The phrase 'a dream come true' felt like it paled in comparison to what was really happening. It felt like a series of lifetimes came to a head, that they were reborn into these lives only to finally meet and come together as one. Mousse's heart swelled again, wondering how he'd ever lived any portion of his life without her. His kisses turned to licks as he made his way to her sex. His hair was a tousled mess as she tugged and pulled him to her core. He didn't mean to tease for so long, but it was nice seeing how worked up she’d become.

He kissed around her labia, lightly sucking the sensitive zones. Mousse pushed her legs open wider, settling on his stomach between her thighs. 

"Mousse, please…" She pushed her head back into the bed as she moaned. 

"I'm getting to it, darling. I promise. I will take care of you." 

He cursed in his head, hoping his timid touches didn't give off how nervous he was. He'd only imagined her voice coming out nights when he slept alone. Mousse almost wanted to slap himself to wake up, so sure this was a dream. Hell, even if it was a dream, he wasn't going to keep her waiting any longer. 

He tongued her slit while using his hands to press her apart. It had been a long time, too long since he'd been with a woman. He racked his brain of all the things he knew most people liked when receiving oral, but he also knew Alice was special. Everyone had something different they liked, something small no one else could predict, and he needed to know what hers was. 

Flat tonged, he ran up and down her sex, tasting every bit of how much he turned her on. He focused on her clit, sucking and lapping until her breath hitched. His cock throbbed at the cardinal sounds she made. A moan came out of him just as she moaned. Her pleasure echoed onto him. When she felt good, he felt good. 

He sucked and licked at the same time, making her groan in pleasure. He whimpered, moving down to her slick hole to lap up more of her arousal. His hands began to relax. One hand moved to rest on her thigh while the other slid up her torso to cup her breast. As his tongue swirled this way and that along her sensitive clit, his fingers rubbed against her nipple. She gasped and rolled her hips towards his face. 

Mousse felt his own sex leak, staining the sheets with precum where he rested. He moaned as she cried out his name. The residual hum against her pussy seemed to make her shiver. Mousse refused to hold back, knowing this is what he was here for. He was here to pleasure her endlessly. 

He needed to express himself without words. He wanted to show Alice just how fiercely in love with her he was without scaring her away by saying the word' love.' It was too soon, he knew. He wanted to keep the natural order of things for Alice. She deserved a gentleman, someone that cared for her feelings and well being. Someone that respected her free will and didn't push her boundaries. 

The more his tongue tantalized her clit, the wetter she became. He slid his hand down, pressing a single digit into her hole. She clenched around the intruding finger, mewling loudly into her bedroom. Mousse curled his finger, finding and focusing on the soft spot just inside. Her moans came out louder as she repeated the phrase, "Yes! Yes, just like that." 

He liked that this was making her so riled up. He loved the fact that his mouth and hand could do this to her so easily. She was so warm, so inviting as she clenched around his second intruding digit. He let out a sharp breath, moaning as her hips bucked against his face. His cock was rock hard and pulsing at the thought of sinking into her. 

"Don't stop," She breathed, placing her hand on his head. "Don't stop, don't-" Her moans were glorious. Mousse didn't stop; he kept going until her walls began to throb against his fingers. A shiver ran through him as pride swelled up in his chest. 

Her legs began to shake as she huffed and gasped for air. Mousse let up the pressure, but still kept all his attention on her cunt. 

"Fuck," He moaned into her sex. He needed to know if she wanted all of him. If not, he was okay with it. He was willing to wait. "Alice," He stopped licking so intensely, kissing around her sex, giving her a chance to respond. 

"Hmm?" She ran her hand through her hair as she writhed. 

"Do you want me?" He hadn't meant to sound so small, or so unsure of himself. He just wanted to know if her desire for him at this moment was equal to his own for her. 

She didn't speak for a moment, breathing heavily instead. He wanted to take it back. He felt terrible for even asking this of her so soon. "Never min-"

"I want all of you." She interrupted him. "I want you to feel good too, Mousse." 

He could almost cry; he was so happy. His eyes grew wide as his grin spread across his face. He kissed atop her clit a few times before sliding up on top of her. She jolted, even with the light touch of his lips. 

"Alice, I-I…" Her fervent kiss stopped his words. She twined her tongue with his and wrapped her legs around his waist. "I want to show you how much I care for you." He gulped, hoping he hadn't said too much. However, the loving look in her eyes made him continue. "I've cared for you for so long now. I've always wanted you to be happy, no matter what you wanted to do in life."  

She smiled up at him, pushing his messy hair out of his face. "Mousse, I care for you too." 

"Really?!" He didn't mean to act like a schoolboy with a crush, but this moment was overwhelming his emotions. "I, it's just that, I think you deserve the world and I want to be the one to give it to you, But!" He cleared his throat, "If you don't want me to give you the world, that's fine. I want you to be happy with anyone you chose. I just-!" 

Alice kissed him, cutting off his rambling words. When their lips finally parted, she cupped his face. "Mousse, I don't want anyone else. Didn't you see what you did to me?" She blushed, pressing her lips together. "I desire you. I want you. You're the only one that makes me feel this way. Mousse… I want you, and only you." 

He blinked slowly, dumbfounded by what he heard. He was dreaming. It was so obvious. An amazing woman like Alice would never say those words. If he wasn't dreaming, she was paid. Who would pay her to make such a fool out of him, though? Could it be an old rival? Maybe even a friend playing a prank.

"Mousse?" 

He snapped out of his spiraling thoughts and looked at the gorgeous women in front of him. "Yes?" 

"Get on your back." 

"Wha-?"

"Just do it," Alice giggled, pushing lightly on his shoulder. 

Mousse toppled over onto the bed, relaxing back into the pillow. His soft brown waves framed his face and sprawled out messily. She straddled his waist, and Mousse got an eyeful of her naked body on top of him. 

She leaned forward, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. Her teeth nibbled at his bottom lip, while their tongues teased one another. He was so caught up in their sensual kiss that he didn't realize she'd reached for his cock. 

"Alice," He mewled as her hand stroked him slowly. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." 

"I appreciate that, Mousse. But this is what I want." 

He pinched his eyes shut as Alice guided his cock into her entrance. It was unreal; everything was so unreal. Mousse moaned a 'thank you' as she sunk down further and further. His hands came up to her hips, keeping her steading. Alice leaned back down, swiveling her hips against him. Mousse tossed his head back, puffing air with every passing second. 

"Mousse," She cupped his cheek, coaxing him to open his eyes. "Do you like this?" She asked as she humped him slowly.

"I do, I- I love it." He pinched his mouth shut as if he said something forbidden. He said love. It was something he was trying so hard not to say. He cleared his throat. "I like it a lot, yes." His shoulders relaxed. 

"Tell me how you like it. Do you want it fast or slow? Maybe a mix of both?" She rested her hand on his chest and steadied herself as she fucked him. 

"I like it any which way. As long as it involves you, I like it. It's perfect." His turquoise eyes rolled back into his head as she ground into him. 

She cupped his cheek and smiled down at him. "Okay, I'll take that as an answer for now. But later, you have to be more specific."

"Later?!" He blurted out as if he thought this was the only time they'd be like this. 

Alice giggled, slowing down the way she moved. "Unless you don't want there to be a later?" She teased him. 

Mousse lifted his hands to her sides and pulled her down. She fell to the bed, and he crawled on top of her. "You want to do this again?" He kissed her cheek down to her neck. He felt like a puppy licking at its owner. 

"I do, as long as you do too." 

"I do! Oh, Alice." He hugged her to his chest, relishing in the way she hugged him back. It wasn't even about sex at this point anymore. He felt some of his anxiety melt away as she played with his hair. He kissed her over and over again with a massive smile on his face. 

"More dates?" He asked, pulling her right leg to hook around his waist. 

"I'd love to go on more dates." She nodded with a beautiful smile.

"And more kisses?" He asked, pressing kisses along her cheek. His cock prodded her entrance but held back for now. 

"Yes, more kisses, please."

"Even in public? C-can I kiss you in public?" It was the last of the insecurities to come out. He hadn't expected to ask that in such an exposed way. It slipped out, and now he had to wait for her answer. He knew deep down he just wanted to know if she was proud to be with him. Proud to show off that she had fallen for Mousse Atlas. He knew he didn't want to hide their relationship but didn't know how Alice felt. 

"You can kiss me. You can hug me. You can hold my hand any time you want." Alice's words were like swords cutting through the darkness in his mind. She fought away the monster of anxiety that swirled in his head, leaving him with nothing but rational thoughts and mountains of love to give. 

He signed. "I look forward to getting breakfast with you tomorrow, then." He shot her a confident smile, and she returned it with a warm grin. 

Many more kisses were shared between the two as the night stretched on. Mousse made love to her over and over again. As many times as his body physically allowed before they both collapsed into each other's arms. He held her to his chest until morning. He kept her close to him for as long as she would allow. He never wanted to let go, not ever.

.

.

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Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed <3 I have a secret thing for Mousse. It’s bound to get worse as time goes on tbh 

Masterlist is at the top of my blog~

[severetimetravelnerd]

Hatred and Love (ft. G Dragon) Mafia AU

Part 14

Jiyong realises something very important.

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

Taglist:

@unabashedturkeytreeslime​

@happiestgirlontheeastcoast​

@kwonnansi​

@aarfyie​

@suhappysuho​

If there is anyone else who would like to be tagged, you can comment or leave me a message :))

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know immediately.

Now, things are coming to a close. It has appearances from Daesung, Taeyang, TOP, Mino, Hanbin and EXO (mostly Kai). This continues with the EXO storyline, but again, I have nothing against EXO :)) I love them, but I had to use someone for the plot. This chapter has a lot of Suho. It also has a good amount of Xiumin:))

This is the last part of the series and I’m so sorry it took me so long to upload it :(((( I know it’s been ages, but after all of this, I just blanked out when it came to the ending. Thanks for supporting me and following the story :)) I’m going to miss this one :))

Warnings: Violence, Death(not main character), Injury, Blood, Eventual smut, Abduction, Guns and Knives, language. 

————————————————————————–

You had no idea what to expect. You turned to Jiyong, eyebrows raised, wondering what Joonmyeon could possibly want, but Jiyong looked just as stumped as you. He was also way angrier. His eyes immediately became cold and hard. 

“What does that fucker want now?” 

You gently took his hand, trying to calm him down. 

“Let’s go into this with an open mind? Maybe he wants to come up with some sort of agreement?” 

Jiyong tried to conceal his anger but that didn’t work very well. His jaw was absolutely taut when he spoke. 

“Y/N, he wants to fuck things up somehow. Why else would he want you there? You’re the one person I’m scared of disappointing.”

 You planted a light kiss on his cheek, instantly making him relax.

 “Then maybe that’s a good thing. You won’t do anything that would disappoint me.” 

He sighed, but he kissed you back.

 “You’re right, Y/N. You’re the only person I can stay calm for.”

The two of you walked into Jongin’s room, that had been turned into a makeshift conference room. Joonmyeon was there in a wheelchair. Yixing and Sehun were also there with their hands bound, both flanked by Hanbin and Mino, making sure neither of them try something funny. Jiyong took his place at the head of the table, prepared to let Joonmyeon start, but Joonmyeon looked up straight at you. Still looking at you, he said, 

“No Jiyong. That seat isn’t for you. That seat is for her. Your side of the table is over there.” 

Jiyong stretched his neck, unable to believe what Joonmyeon just told him. You were also in complete shock. Why would he want you at the head of the table? Before you could overthink it, Joonmyeon said, 

“I want Y/N to be the head and mediator of this meeting. She can guide us towards a merger.” 

His eyes were thrown at you, as though daring you to take up the challenge, daring you to mess up. Jiyong eyes turned dark with pure, unadulterated rage and he was about to step in when you met Joonmyeon’s gaze. This guy had messed with you one too many times. You had had enough.

 “Okay Joonmyeon. I will.” 

Every single head in the room whipped towards you, wondering what you were playing at. Jiyong, still in shock, quietly got up and went to his seat. You sat down, slowly crossing your legs. Your eyes were so determined, they were nearly piercing through Joonmyeon. No one there had ever seen you that way before. Not even when they first abducted you. Staring straight at him, you began. 

“Well, Joonmyeon, what did you want to discuss?”

 Your gaze was hostile, openly challenging him to try and mess with you. Joonmyeon hated it. He hated that he felt so guilty about harming you and Jongin. He hated that he owed you his life. He hated that he couldn’t completely hate you. This was just his way of trying to find reasons to hate you. But none of this struggle showed on the outside. Eyes cold and calculating, he said, 

“If we’re doing a merger, only I have control over my men.”

 Even before he finished the sentence, you could feel the anger and the protests from the rest of the room, including EXO, but you silenced them all with a glare. Joonmyeon just wanted to make things messy and you wouldn’t let him. Jiyong snarled when he heard that, but he calmed down when he looked at you there, his grip on his gun slowly loosening. Your voice was quiet but firm when you spoke. 

“Joonmyeon, I don’t think you understand your position. You asked for a merger. Not a partnership. With a merger, you become part of an organisation and work the same way the organisation had worked. So, no. You won’t be the only person to have control over your troops. You will be at the level assigned to you. And you will have to report to Jiyong.” 

Joonmyeon already knew all of that, but he just wanted to get a rise out of you. Nonchalantly stretching, he said,

 “Okay, but I’m second in command.”

 That was too much for Jiyong to bear and he scoffed. He threw his head back to laugh and then he slammed the table. His voice was dangerously detached when he did speak. 

“Joonmyeon, is this a joke to you?”

 You saw the glint in Joonmyeon’s eyes. He was happy he succeeded in getting a rise out of Jiyong. He felt that it somehow validated his behaviour and his deep-rooted hatred for them, although he knew they weren’t that bad. You had saved his life. Jiyong saved his men. He was just clutching at straws to justify his behaviour. You were determined to not give him those straws. You would make him realise that there wasn’t any justification for his behaviour. He would take accountability and realise where he went wrong, so that he could go back to being himself, instead of being obsessed with taking Jiyong down. Your hand quietly wrapped around Jiyong’s hand, silently urging him to not say anything. Jiyong eyes flashed, and he glared at you, annoyed that you were telling him to not react, but he kept quiet anyway. You tried to look at Joonmyeon, but he was refusing to look at you. He didn’t want to make eye contact. He could only put up the act as long as someone didn’t see through him. You tried to get him to peacefully meet your gaze, but when he absolutely refused to, you resorted to desperate measures. Standing up, you grabbed his chin and forced him to look straight at you. Your voice was still calm when you said,

 “Joonmyeon, you and I both know that’s not going to happen. You might not even get a commanding post for a while, because you, Yixing and Sehun have to prove your loyalties first. How are we supposed to trust you after everything that happened? You turned on Jongin. Why wouldn’t you do that again?” 

Joonmyeon could feel this crushing pain when you said that. He didn’t want to accept that he did that, but there was no other way to it. Joonmyeon lost all fight when you said that. You had seen through him. He quietly slipped out of your grasp and turned to Jongin, bowing deeply before saying, 

“Jongin, I’m sorry.” 

Jongin sat there, on his bed, in complete and utter shock. Joonmyeon hyung never apologised, especially not in front of other people. He was too in shock to say anything. Heart sinking even further, Joonmyeon turned to you, bowed and apologised. He then looked up and for the first time, his eyes were genuine. 

“Thank you for saving my life Y/N.”  

Everyone other than Minseok was in shock. Minseok had the slightest smile on his face. 

“Maybe we will get out Joonmyeon back after all.” 

Sehun and Yixing were both furious, and they were about to protest it, and Hanbin and Mino were ready to supress it, but you beat them to it. Voice cool, you said,

 “To prove their loyalty, Joonmyeon, Yixing and Sehun will work directly under Minseok and Youngbae for the next three months to start with. They’ll work on the Hongdae area.”

 Joonmyeon’s head shot up when he heard you. You were giving them control over Hongdae? The area that they’d been fighting for? Joonmyeon’s eyes teared up a little. He would finally get to take care of his sister’s grave. Joonmyeon immediately bowed before you. Yixing and Sehun were too shocked to do anything except stare at you in disbelief.

 “Thank you, Y/N. You don’t know how much this means to me.” 

You had the slightest smile on your face when you replied, 

“You’re welcome Joonmyeon.”

Jiyong sat there watching all the events unfold, feeling detached. He didn’t mind that you were making decisions for him. he knew the others wouldn’t mind either. He knew it was only because of you that they managed to resolve things with Joonmyeon. But he was more worried about the other things. The slight tremble in your hands from dealing with this. Your pale and tired face. Your tendency to flinch slightly when people make sudden movements. The near imperceptible tremor in your voice. You weren’t used to this, and it scared you. He felt awful. You didn’t deserve this. You had been through so much. You needed a break. And he would make sure you got one. For the first time in his life, Jiyong decided he would take a break with you. It wasn’t because he wanted to take a break, but more because you needed him around. As weird as it was, although Jiyong was the one drawing you into this world, your only way to feel better about everything was around him. And also, for the simple reason that he missed you, and couldn’t stand being away from you any longer. He was staring at you, making up his mind about exactly what to do when you turned to him.

 “Jiyong, that’s okay right?” 

He didn’t hear you. He had zoned you out, wondering how he got so lucky as to have you in his life. He would protect that at all costs. He would protect you at all costs. He would protect your happiness at all costs. You raised your eyebrows, wondering why he didn’t reply. You mentally scolded yourself for shooting your mouth off like that without talking to him first. You turned to Jiyong, much more nervous. 

“Jiyong? All okay, Love?” 

The vibe of the meeting had changed. Everything was much more relaxed. Sehun was trying hard not to cry, Yixing was apologising to everyone, Jongin was playfully guilt-tripping a very apologetic Joonmyeon about his injuries. But when you said that, everyone turned to Jiyong, a little nervous. He had a rather…intimidating reputation. Youngbae was the only one who was sure Jiyong would be okay with it. He was more interested in watching the drama between you and Jiyong unfold. Jiyong just stared at you, looking at him nervously. There was one thing that was different about you. No matter how nervous you were at that moment, there was no fear in your eyes. You looked at him trustingly, knowing fully well that no matter how dangerous a man he is, he would never hurt you. Ever. Jiyong didn’t bother answering your question. Jiyong just stood up, leaned over the table, grabbed your face and kissed you. A deep, hungry kiss. All his longing, all his fears, all his worries were in that. He deepened the kiss because as he felt your soft hands gently caress his bruised knuckles and kiss him back, he realised that there was something he needed to do. He needed to meet his grandmother.

You were very surprised when you were pulled up from your seat and kissed like there was no tomorrow, but you kissed him back equally longingly. You had missed him. You had never stopped worrying about him. You were right. You didn’t know whether there was going to be a tomorrow. You kissed him until you felt like you had the feel of his lips committed to memory. Cheers erupted all around you, although the two of you were quite oblivious to it. Hanbin rolled his eyes, laughing at the two of you while Jongin whistled. Hanbin leaned over and muttered to Jongin. 

“Thank god the two of them are back together. I didn’t think it was possible, but they’re more annoying on their own.”

 Jongin scoffed. 

“Hanbin, I can see that you’re tearing up.”

Jiyong pulled away first, both of you gasping for breath. You blushed at all the hooting boys around you, some newer than others, but all equally determined to embarrass you. Jiyong didn’t even bother to acknowledge the hooting. He just turned to Youngbae and whispered something in his ear, making you look at him quizzically. He turned to give you a quick, reassuring smile before speaking. 

“Okay. Now that the merger is done, I have an announcement. I’m going to be away for a month. Youngbae is second in command. Don’t try to reach me unless it’s absolutely urgent.” 

Your heart fell. He was going to be away for a month. After everything. When you had just gotten back together. You had missed him so much. But you tried your best to not let your face fall, sticking a weak smile on your face. If he was leaving, it had to be important. You would talk to him about it in private. Everyone nodded except Hanbin. Hanbin was pouting when he said,

 “Who’s after Youngbae hyung?” 

Jiyong froze for a second, staring at Hanbin before sighing and answering. 

“Seunghyun hyung.” 

“After him?”

 “Daesung.”

 “After him?” 

“Minseok.”

 Minseok looked surprised while Hanbin’s pout deepened.

 “Hanbin, are you really going to make me list this out in order?”

 “Yes.” 

Jiyong glared at him and answered. 

“Then it’s Mino. Then it’s Jongdae. Then it’s Baekhyun. Then Chanyeol. Then it’s you. Then it’s Jongin. Then it’s Kyungsoo. Then it’s Joonmyeon, Yixing and Sehun. In that order.”

 While the others laughed at Hanbin arguing with Jiyong, you struggled to keep that smile on your face. Jiyong playfully glared at the rest of the room before grabbing your hand and walking out of the room. Your heart sank even more. He was going to say bye. He was going to leave again. You were staring at the floor, letting yourself get lost in your thoughts when he tilted your head up and beamed at you, the smile leaving quickly when he saw that you weren’t smiling. 

“What’s wrong love?” 

You bit down on your trembling lips and looked away, not wanting to make him feel worse. He gently cupped your face and made you look at him. 

“Talk to me Y/N. Tell me what’s wrong.”

 You took a deep breath.

 “I’m just going to miss you Jiyong.”

 He looked terrified. 

“Why? Why’re you going to miss me? Are you leaving me?” 

You stared at him confused. 

“No. You’re going somewhere, remember?”

 Jiyong’s brows knitted together in confusion before he laughed and pulled you into a hug. 

“Sweetheart, if you think I’m going anywhere without you after not having seen you for the past month, you’re in for a surprise.”

 It took a while for it to hit you, but when you finally realised he wasn’t leaving, you hugged him tight, burying your face in his chest. You looked up at him, confused.

 “You mean I’m coming with you on work?” 

He leaned in and nibbled on your ear, pressing a light kiss against your neck before saying,

 “No. I mean we’re going on a holiday.”

 Two weeks later, you lay down on the plush bed in Jiyong’s hidden away holiday home, buried under the blankets and wearing his hoodie, so utterly happy with how everything just felt right. You closed your eyes and buried deeper into the bed, enjoying the warmth of it. You felt the bed dip as you heard Jiyong’s sleepy morning voice.

 “Good morning love. I got you your tea.”

 He sat and was about to sip his tea when you crawled into his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, snuggling into him. Amused, he asked,

 “Do you not plan on letting me drink my tea?” 

You took in a deep breath, letting Jiyong’s familiar scent wash over you.

 “Nope.’’

 “Do you plan on moving from here?”

 Pressing a light kiss against his smile, you said,

 “Nope.”

 You stared out of the balcony. It was 3 am on your last night there, and you were lost in thought while you stared at the stars. That one month was magical. You had Jiyong all to yourself, and both of you sat and worked through the problems in your relationship. You knew you loved him. You knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. You knew you weren’t scared of him. You couldn’t live without him. You didn’t realise how windy it was until he walked out behind you, wrapping a blanket around you. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled into your neck. 

“Love, you have to be careful. You can’t stand out here in just my t shirt.” 

You turned around to face him, wrapping the blanket around the both of you. 

“Jiyong, you came out here in just your boxers. I don’t think you should be lecturing me.” 

He had this blissful smile as he kissed your forehead.

 “I couldn’t help it Y/N. I just needed to be out here with you.” 

You had the same blissful smile as you kissed him, letting yourself get lost in the kiss. He pulled away, suddenly looking nervous. 

“Y/N, I know we’re going back tomorrow, and I know I’ll get busy, but like we discussed, I promise I will always make time for you.” 

He paused to take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm down that rising feeling of nervousness in him. 

“I know you can do way better than me, and you deserve way better, but I promise I will always respect you, and I will do anything to make you happy. I’ve realised I can’t live without you, and I know this might be too sudden, and I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but you’re the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with and start a family with. So, Y/N L/N, will you do me the honour of marrying me?” 

You stared at him in shock for a minute, unable to comprehend what was going on before a single tear slipped down your face, and you burst into the largest smile you had in you. You nodded vigorously. 

“Yes, Kwon Jiyong, I would love to marry you.”

 Jiyong felt all the nervousness leave his body only to be replaced with an overwhelming, indescribable feeling of joy. There are no words for how he felt in that moment. And as he slipped on the beautiful ring his grandmother had given him to give you, he lifted you up and kissed you, knowing that everything finally felt right.

[psychovigilantewrites]

Odette

Pairing: Jason/Reader

Genre: Drabble Fluff

Wordcount: 2,170

A/N: Hey guys!! I’m finally back! So sorry I’ve been away for so long. Will reply to my asks soon. But for now, here’s a Saturday Drabble :)

I was going to make it a full blown ONLY smut, but for some reason I decided to keep it relatively PG lmaaaooo

Masterlist

Kofi

Jason thought you were kinda spoiled. You had your own little dance studio in the manor. But then again, he couldn't say anything much since there was a goddamn cave dedicated to Batman and all of their nighttime activities down below, after all. 

But what actually annoyed him the most about you was that you'd ask any one of them to sit by the music player and help pause, or fast forward, or rewind, or replay the music while you danced. 

And fuck, did he hate watching you dance. 

Well, not really. 

He just hated the way he reacted while watching you dance. For one, he thought himself as a perverted creep while he watched you. Secondly, he kept on wondering whether the rest of his brothers had the same thoughts and reaction as he did when it was their turn to sit down on the wooden floors pressing buttons. 

The worst part were the mirrors, god. The fucking mirrors. There were mirrors everywhere. 

He sometimes would catch his own reflection, frowning as if in deep thought. Sometimes he caught himself with his mouth slightly ajar. And the worst was when he caught himself with dark, lustful eyes. The mirrors were a blessing as well as a curse. It reminded him to keep it together, to behave. But then it showed him how fucking ugly he looked, his large figure slumping against the mirrored wall behind him as you danced gracefully. 

He watched as your strong muscular thighs rippled and move, your calves contracting as you pointed your toes. 

He was always amazed by you. Your physique looked powerful, toned by all the dancing you did. Yet, you managed to walk and move so gracefully, like a swan floating in a pond. 

Jason could never.  

The first time he saw your feet, he almost gasped. The cuts, bruises, the chipped nails and blisters. Some covered and patched up by normal plasters. 

He then realised every time you put on your pointe shoes, you were in pain.  

The beauty and grace he saw on the outside covered the torturous and endless wounds. 

He couldn't fathom it, why you would put yourself through all of that. And it made him respect you even more. 

But Jason particularly hated it when you stretched. After pointe stretches, you would put on your practice shoes, the battered soles and discolored ribbons that were wrapped around your ankles a contrast to your pretty, pretty skin. 

Then you would stand up and hold the wooden bannister that ran horizontally across the mirrored walls. One foot down on a pointe, you would stretch your other leg slowly, first bringing your knees up towards your chest, then move it sideways, and stretching your whole leg up as high as you could go. 

And you could go pretty fucking high. 

Jason would gulp whenever you did that, the skin tight outfit you wore allowed him to see everything. 

Allowing him to imagine the oh so many different positions he could fuck- no. He couldn't think that. He couldn't allow his mind to wander like that. Especially about you, who were pure and innocent. 

But it still didn't stop his body from reacting. 

Sometimes when it got too much, and he lost control of his body, he would shift there on the floor, bringing his knees up to his chin to hide his raging hard on. 

One day after a particular long stretching session, and an equally long dance practice, you sat in front of him while you took off your shoes. 

He had prayed to whatever deity that his boner would disappear after you were done, but there he was, still hiding it when you started talking to him, legs crossed on the floor opposite him.

“Hey, Jay?” you started. 

“Hmm?” 

“Would you like a ticket to see my performance this Saturday?” you smiled shyly, tucking a stray hair from your messy bun behind your ear. 

“Yeah, sure!” he said,”I’d love to.”

“Thanks,” you beamed at him. 

“Are the others going as well?” 

“Well,” you frowned, biting your lower lip, “I haven't asked.”

“Why not?” 

“I don't know if they're interested,” you explained, “And if they're not, they're going to say yes anyway just to be nice. Then they're going to have to sit there, all bored. I don't want to put them through that.” 

“But you'd put me through that, huh?” he teased. 

“Well, it's different with you,” you avoided his eyes, “You actually watch me, you know? The others would just play with their phones or something. But I noticed that you’re the only one who would actually sit down and watch me dance. That's why I thought you wouldn't mind.”

“I-uh-yeah,” he sputtered, “I think it's great. Talent. Your dancing. Spinning and stuff.” 

He wanted to punch himself in the face, ashamed that he had got caught. Thankfully, you thought that his intentions were innocent. 

Jason was probably being too hard on himself, as Dick would tell him. He did like watching you dance. He appreciated how you were so passionate about the art form. 

So it wasn't just about his goddamn lust. 

“I think the others would be happy to go,” Jason added, “You should ask them.” 

“I don’t know,” you bit your lip. 

“Hey, look at me,” he reached for your chin, tilting it to meet his eyes, “Trust me. They’d appreciate you asking them. Okay?” 

Jason saw your big, puppy eyes change from confusion, to worry, to resolve. 

“Okay,” you answered, “I’ll ask them. Thanks, Jay.” 

***

“W-wait, what? Did you know about this, Todd?” Damian sputtered in front of the ballet poster that showed your face covered in makeup. 

They were at the performing arts theatre, waiting for your performance to start. The warm lights were brightly reflecting on the intricate details of the chandeliers. The theatre was crowded, and your face was everywhere. He was not expecting the show to be big. 

“Know what?” he grunted. 

“That she’s playing both Odette and Odile!” Damian gushed. 

Jason let out a low whistle. He was familiar with Swan Lake- the way he was familiar with most classical literature, plays, and performances. He knew it was rare for one dancer to be playing both the White and Black Swan. 

He wasn’t surprised, though. He watched you dance regularly and he knew how good you were. 

“Is that a big deal?” Dick asked. 

“Grayson, your lack of knowledge confounds even me sometimes,” Damian tutted, “It’s not just a big deal, it’s a very big deal.” 

“That’s amazing,” Tim chimed in, “Who knew, huh?” 

“If you guys actually paid attention to her, you wouldn’t be this surprised,” Jason grumbled. 

All four of them, including Bruce who had remained silent the whole time stared at Jason with eyebrows raised. 

“What?” he snapped. 

“Nothing,” Dick smirked. 

They were then ushered in. In the end, Bruce had paid for box seats, so they were all seated separately from the crowd. The lights dimmed and the dance began. 

Jason blocked the outside world the moment he saw you come on stage. It was Jason’s first time seeing you in full makeup and costume, and he was entranced. 

Hypnotized by your grace, your beauty, your- fuck, your everything- for the next few hours he forgot where he was, who he was, and just watched you. 

Suddenly, he heard a roaring noise in his ear. For some reason people were making noise. He was already annoyed, before he realised that the crowd was in standing ovation.

He hadn’t even realise that it was over. He blinked his eyes when the lights came back on, and saw that you and your fellow dancers were waving and bowing on the stage. You were carrying a large bouquet of roses, and everyone else were throwing flowers at you. 

Jason looked over to Bruce, and he saw the look that he’d been craving for his whole Robin life. 

Pride.

He gulped, and then turned to leave. 

“Where are you going?” he heard Tim ask. 

“See if I can catch her backstage,” he shrugged, and left without waiting for an answer. 

He waited for the applause to die down, for everyone to make their way back home. He thought that you would probably be in your dressing room by then. So he made his way past the other dancers, the racks of costumes. Then, he stopped himself outside the door that had your name plastered on it. 

He raised his hand to knock- but paused right before his knuckles hit the wooden door. He heard noises inside. 

“I’m really grateful for your kind words, but I think you should leave, Phillippe,” he heard your hushed whispers. 

“But baby-” 

“For the thousandth time, I’m not your baby,” you snapped. 

“Everyone else wants me, why not you?” the man whom Jason assumed was Phillippe demanded. 

“I’ve got someone else,” you replied curtly, “Now please leave.” 

“I’ll make you forget him,” Phillippe tried, “I’ll make you want me.” 

“What the hell are you doing?!” you shrieked. 

Jason broke down the door then, to see that the tall blond man who played the Prince earlier had you against your dresser, holding your wrists. 

“This- this room is for dancers only!” Phillippe yelled. 

Jason didn’t give him a warning, didn’t give him any words of threat either. 

Instead, he growled, and then tore the man away from you and hit him straight in the nose, hearing the satisfying crunch. 

Phillippe stumbled back, clutching his bloodied face. “You broke my nose!” he wailed. 

“I’ll break more than just your nose if you ever come close to her again,” he muttered coldly. “Leave. Or else.” 

Phillippe scrambled away pathetically. 

Jason closed his eyes shut and tried to control his breathing, to not let the rage and anger seep in.

“Jason,” your soft voice broke him out of his concentration, but thankfully not in a bad way. 

“I’ll have someone fix your door,” he apologised. 

You were already out of your costume and makeup, and were only wearing your casual clothes. Your hair was still up, with some stray strands framing your face. You were standing close to him. 

“It’s fine,” you dismissed, “I’ll explain it to them.”

“Did he hurt you?” he frowned. 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you grinned. 

“I’m serious,” he insisted, “If he hurt you in any way I’ll-”

“I’m fine, Jason,” you rolled your eyes, “Really. I could have handled it even if you hadn’t broke down the door.” 

“Fine,” he sighed. 

“So you guys watched the whole thing?” you changed the subject. 

“Nah, I think I saw everyone dozing off,” Jason teased, “Especially Bruce. Did you know he snores?”

“Jason!” you giggled. 

“Yeah, I was the only one paying attention. I tried to wake them up, to no avail.” 

“Oh, did you now?” you smirked. 

Somehow you had gotten even closer to him. He could feel your body heat, and smell your perfume. 

He gulped. 

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, “You were great. With the spinning. And jumping. And stuff.” 

“Spinning and jumping?” you laughed, “Thanks, Jay.” 

“I think-” Jason took a deep breath. And another. And another. 

“You think..?” you prompted. 

“Ithinki’minlovewithyou,” he spilled. 

“You’re only realising this now?” you said, “You dumbass.” 

“W-what?”

“You’ve been staring at me dancing with your mouth open for a year and a half, Jason,” you rolled your eyes, “And it took you a full blown national ballet event to figure it out?”

Jason blinked. 

“It’s okay,” you reached out your hand and caressed his cheek, “I know how you’re emotionally constipated and all that.” 

“Emotionally-” Jason started. 

“And don’t worry, I know how much my warm up routines affect you,” you winked, “You don’t have to explain a single thing.” 

“Warm up..?” he repeated, until he realised what you were saying. He felt his cheeks heat up furiously. 

“Your warm up routines affect me too,” you bit your lip. “Your pull ups, and push ups, and sit ups, and whatever ups.” 

“You’ve been checking me out?” Jason’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Duh,” you rolled your eyes again. You closed in on him, and pressed yourself against his body, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Jason.” 

“Yeah?” he whispered back, feeling the light brushes of his lips against yours. 

“Kiss me.” 

“Okay.” 

He pressed his chapped, dry lips against your soft, plump ones and groaned at the relief of just having you, feeling you. He wanted to kiss you slow and sweet, but you had other ideas. 

You pried open his lips with your own and forced your tongue inside his mouth to explore, all the while gripping his shirt and pulling him closer to you, grinding your front against his, getting him excited in too short a time. 

“Woah, woah,” he stopped you, “Not that I didn’t enjoy that, but the door is broken and can’t be locked. You think this a good idea?” 

You contemplated for a while, and with a pained expression on your face, you groaned out loud. 

“Fine, we’ll take it home.”