#or for fucks sake make the skin tones system make sense

[neon-danger]

There's a reason I don't have Journey To Batuu, mostly as I don't care for Star Wars and I'd have to get a bunch of hider mods to hide all the Star Wars junk from my CAS like I did the base game stuff and I'm not sure it would ever be worth it even tho it seems to have at least one nice hair in it based on gallery Sims I keep grabbing that end up bald for me. But is a single hairstyle worth ~$20? No, as Star Wars does nothing for me and honestly I remember my one friend only having the pack as someone gifted it. Someone gift it to me so I can bitch about it freely without feeling stupid. I just cannot with things based on whole other franchises. I mean lets say there was a, idk, Sonic pack, I'd still find that weird as even tho I like Sonic, I'd rather it not be, okay actually I probably would nevermind. I'd be one of three people who does. Off The Grid and Simple Living, as much as I bitch about them, would be perfect for a Castaway pack or spinoff or SOMETHING for 4. Funny as I was just talking about this very topic on Twitter earlier (after getting distracted for 3 hours seeing the most insanely entitled whining ever why am I like this) and also give me hyena dogs and jaguars again idc, reskinned cats and dogs are fine I have fucking griffons and dragons. My favorite Sims packs and games are those that take concepts I would never in a million years expect or ask for, and with how many complaints I have about things in Cottage Living, I'd still call it my favorite pack, even if Seasons or Cats & Dogs does more for me overall gameplay wise.

Off the grid and simple living ruin my immersion bc why the fuck does my sim live next to a guy who just moved in from the multiverse hub and he’s wearing nothing but a thong and a harness, the ugliest bright magenta wig you’ve ever seen, neon green glasses with lenses that are the exact same shade of purple as his platform boots that don’t make him taller, but instead shave off half of his calf to make up for the platform, and he’s got the same grey/purple skin tone as all the other badly dressed guys who just moved in from the multiverse hub

[icallhimjoey]

joey taking care of sick!reader? he’d be so gentle and caring

ok, so, i'll give you gentle and caring, but ive added a little bit of frustration and annoyance for extra flavour <3 hope thats ok! Wordcount: 1.9K

--- Snugly, Softly, Sleepy

It was cold.

“I’m so done with you,” Joe scolded, his soft gentle touch a stark contrast from the annoyance in his tone.

So cold.

“You never just tell me things, do you? I’m always finding out when it’s already too late, when it’s gone too far and you’re knee deep in shit we could have easily prevented.”

We.

Like Joe had any power over the flu sneaking into your system.

“Couldn’t have just said you weren’t feeling the best before we went out, for fuck’s sake, and look– 39.2, oh my God,” he genuinely sounded pissed off.

Because he was.

A lethal mixture of guilt, exhaustion, frustration and, if he was honest, a little bit of fear. One day he was going to wake up and you’d be half dead, just because you succeeded in lying to yourself and everyone else about how you really felt.

“For fuck’s sake, babe. 39.2 is not normal.”

It didn’t help that it had just gone 3 AM, and that he’d rather be asleep. He had been, for a little while, until he woke up from a chill and realised you’d stolen all of the covers.

“Darling,” he’d whispered then, giving the duvet a slight tug which immediately and all too easily pulled you into consciousness.

“Mm?”

You had been in a weird half awake half asleep state, sort of restless. Tired enough to let yourself doze, yet unable to get comfortable enough to really fall asleep properly. You somehow felt too hot and too cold at the same time, face burning, but body shivering.

When you croaked a soft, “Sorry,” as you rolled over, Joe got a glimpse of the sheen of your skin, how some of your hair stuck to your forehead, and the deep blush of your cheeks.

“Hey,” Joe spoke softly, but said it urgently enough for you to open your eyes. “Sleepy girl. Are you all right?”

“Fine. Just cold.” You’d murmured then, scooting closer to Joe as the duvet unraveled around you.

A hesitant hand moved across, landing at your waist, immediately aware of how hot you felt. And how clammy.

“Babe, no,” Joe said a little louder this time as he sat up in bed. “You’re sweating, you’re,” he felt your forehead. “You’re burning up.”

You replied with mumbled nonsense, searching out Joe’s body heat after exiting the damp cocoon you’d created, now only more aware of how cold the air of the room was. You didn’t get a chance to find it though.

What followed next was the lights turning on, covers being thrown back, soft gruntled swearing and brows furrowing deeply as the flinch and shiver of your full body reaction left an awful feeling in Joe’s chest. The reveal of a drenched bed, of wet fabric that stuck to your chest, made Joe swipe a hand down his face.

“Of course you feel cold. All right, c’mon. Up.”

Your body had never felt heavier, every muscle tense and aching. Joe had to put real work into getting you to sit up in bed, which was difficult with eyes that didn’t want to adjust to the bright light all that willingly.

“My God, did you get food poisoning? How did this come about so quickly?” Joe pulled at your top, wet with sweat, and with eyes closed and your head flopping every which way, you let the boy undress you. “Do you feel nauseous?”

“N-no, just– ���”

Joe thought you were going to say cold again, which made sense but felt so weird in contrast to the flaming heat that was radiating from your skin.

“Thirsty.” You then finished, sagging to the side a little, so ready to curl back into bed and to let sleep pull at you.

“Wait, wait. Careful. Left hand,” Joe guided you into dry clothes, unimpressed at how difficult you were making it for him. “No, the other left. Left– oh my God.” You weren’t exactly helping, limbs weak and heavy with sleep.

When the soft cotton of one of his jumpers got pulled down your frame, you instantly felt a little better.

A rough hand pushed hair from your forehead, and Joe’s cold hand felt so nice against your skin, you whined as you reached up, grabbing his wrist to keep it in place.

“That feel nice?”

“Yea,” you sighed, moving his hand across your face wherever you needed some cool relief, humming when gave you his other hand as well. It gave Joe the chance to glance a look behind you, at the wet rumpled sheets that were going to need a change.

Joe was tired and slightly annoyed, because there was not a chance that this had just come about after you’d gone to sleep which was just so typical. If it hadn’t been the middle of the night, he’d have pushed you into a hot shower. Couldn’t do that now; you were practically falling back asleep as your teeth chattered whilst you relished under Joe’s cool hands, pressed against your cheeks.

“Thirsty girl. Okay. Let’s go check how bad this is.”

“Noo,” you softly whined, eyes still closed, body so very ready to just flop back down onto the mattress.

“None of that,” Joe said sternly, kindness lining his words as he pulled you up to your feet. “Bedding needs a change, and you need some, I don’t know, ibuprofen, for one…”

You let yourself be lead over into the kitchen in the dark and parked yourself against the counter, leaning into the surface as much as you could. With your eyes closed, maybe you could just fall asleep right here, even if it was cold – you could sort of drift like you’d been doing before…

“Water.” Joe grumbled, pulling you from your daze as he handed you a full glass.

You had a few sips of luke warm water with your eyes closed.

The biggest chill came from the nape of your neck; your hair there soaked with sweat, and pulling your shoulders up only helped so much.

“Tablet.” An ibuprofen got pushed into your palm.

Then, you heard the kettle turn on and you smiled to yourself. A nice warm mug of tea was so very welcome, even just the idea of it made you go a little more lax.

“Can you– careful!”

You nearly dropped the glass you were holding.

“Oh, sor–”

Before you had even finished the sentence, Joe’d removed the glass from your hand and with two arms curling around your thighs, he lifted you onto the counter.

A frowning face made you a cup of tea, a swearing voice checked your temperature, and a worried set of hands took hold of your head before Joe softly said, “What am I going to do with you, hey? Poorly girl.”

39.2 degrees.

Joe couldn’t not be worried at your half-opened unfocused eyes that he couldn’t really seem to make contact with.

Joe whispered your name, and it almost sounded like a cry for help.

“Mm? Take me back to bed…” you softly murmured in answer to his question as you let your head be fully supported by Joe’s hands. “Please.”

“Bed’s soaked, baby.”

He wasn’t going to lay you back down in the puddle you’d left behind.

“Oh. Sorry...”

Joe didn’t need you to be sorry. He needed you dry and warm and comfortable.

Just a minute ago he had every intention to leave you in the kitchen for a second to go change the sheets, but stood in between your legs with your 39.2-degree-fever-face in his hands, he couldn’t find it in himself to leave you on your own.

“We’ll sleep on the sofa. Gotta tell me next time you don’t feel okay. Can’t ever do this again.”

He rested the back of his hand against your forehead once again, checking to feel what 39.2 degrees really felt like before ducking his head a little to look at you, gazes meeting. Even in the low light, Joe’s big eyes shone with worry.

“You hear me? Fucking tell me when you have a chill, all right? When you start feeling achy and sick.”

You nodded sluggishly, mind moving slow, every thought a little foggy.

“I promise I’ll tell you immediately next time, doctor.” you tried to make light of it, but you felt how you were rejecting the idea already. You were known to need help from time to time, but known even more for not accepting a single fucking inch of it. Joe was probably joking anyway, it was hard to tell with him sometimes, he’d keep a straight face for too long and the joke would pass and he’d forget to smile.

You got an unimpressed look in return whilst two arms swung a throw blanket around your back and then two big hands furiously rubbed over your upper arms.

“You’re close to your fever being dangerous, you know. This isn’t funny, okay?”

You rarely got sick anyway, there was no need for Joe to worry so much.

“Okay?”

But he was persistent, and all you could really do, was comply.

The smile slipped from your face before you softly said, “Yea, ‘kay”

You were practically boneless as Joe helped you down from the counter and onto sofa. The furthest he strayed away from you was about four steps when he went to grab two of the other throw blankets you kept in a basket near the sofa.

You got tucked in as well as you could be tucked in on the sofa before Joe joined you, curled up in the corner right next to you.

In a dry jumper, with two blankets wrapped around you, and a hot tea in your body, you should have felt toasty beyond what was even really comfortable. Yet, when Joe snuggled up next to you, covered by his own throw blanket, he could feel you shake through all of the fabric still.

It just made him cuddle up tighter.

Made him rub your arms, and pull you closer.

Joe nuzzled your nose with his own, and made you hum softly.

“Still cold, chilly girl?”

“Mm,” you replied, too tired to speak, your tone telling him absolutely nothing.

It felt safer to presume that you were still cold, which left Joe to rearrange his limbs over your body, scooting up enough to press your head into the crook of his neck.

He was going to hug this fever right out of you, you just watch.

He’d fix the bed tomorrow.

He’d help you shower in the morning.

He’d make sure you were going to get all the fluids and nutrients your body craved.

But right now, he’d see that you got the rest you needed.

And it was easy to fall asleep in Joe’s arms as they wrapped around you firmly. One of his legs slung over both of yours, and one of his hands made sure your head stayed in place exactly where he wanted it.

“Better?” Joe wasn’t expecting an answer, so he couldn’t help his little smile when he got a really faint, “Mm.” in reply.

“Sleep, cosy girl.” were the last words you heard Joe whisper, followed by a soft kiss pressed into your hair, before you let sleep take you.

---

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Add yourself

[vampirewritesvampirewrongs]

Heavy in Your Arms

With a laugh, he pulled away the blanket and dropped it on the floor. “What an insolent little thing you are. Is another etiquette lesson in order?” He reached for your hands as you scrambled to the foot of the bed, just out of his reach.

You considered turning him down, telling him you needed sleep. But the delight of indulging him, the rush of adrenaline and endorphins flooded your nervous system before you could say anything so rational. After all, your love for him was anything but.

You awake from a nightmare and find yourself comforted by your lover Astarion, who resolves to fuck the sadness right out of you.

Rating: 18+/Explicit Contains: m/f, spawn Astarion, blood drinking, fingering, oral sex, reader is a bit of a brat, briefest allusions to traumas that are never directly addressed or named, enthusiastic consent. Word Count: 2.6k

Author's Note: I typically will not post regular fanfiction here, but sometimes you become enamored with a character and you must find ways to get it out of your system. You do not need to have played Baldur's Gate 3 to know what's going on. This was just an excuse to write filth.

You hadn’t meant to flinch when he touched you.

“What happened, darling?” Astarion withdrew his hand, the lines around his garnet eyes creasing with sudden anxiety.

You shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. How do you explain something that hadn’t been a problem before? That a single nightmare was enough to make you recoil from your lover’s familiar touch?

A shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You really are a terrible liar, you know.”

“Only to you.” Damn vampire and his heightened senses.

“Maybe so…” He reached over to take your hand in his, but kept his distance on the edge of the bed. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Something warm and wet rolled down your cheek. You wiped it away. “We’ve talked before about our histories, and… I had a nightmare and remembered some things.” You chose your words carefully- not for his sake, but your own. “Things I haven’t wanted to remember.”

Anyone who knew him less wouldn’t have noticed the slight fall of his shoulders. The adoration, the fear, the protectiveness behind his eyes. He gestured to the space between you on the bed. “May I?”

You nodded, leaning into him when he was close enough. Grounding yourself in the cold of his soft, bare skin against the heat of your own, the rise and fall of his chest with every habitual, unneeded breath.

Astarion wrapped both arms around you and pressed the side of his face into your hair. "Would you like to tell me more about it?"

“Not right now.”

“Then there is no need.” His grip on your shoulder tightened. He had told you once that your history scared him- not more than his own, but differently- because it was the one thing he could never protect you from. You felt that fear and desire from him in his embrace now, as if it was the very thing that could fend off the nightmares. If only it were that simple…

You sighed. “Thank you.”

“Whatever for, darling?”

“Being here.” You could almost hear his eyes roll. “Being your usual handsome self.”

“My dear, there is hardly any point in thanking me. Besides,” he said, brushing your hair away from your neck to kiss the two small scars there, “what sort of vampire would I be if I didn’t take proper care of my little treat?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Probably a very normal one.”

Astarion withdrew, scoffing and placing his hand on his chest in mock disgust. “A normal vampire? Why, I could never.” He kissed the scars on your neck again. “You are… too delectable, too sweet a thing to allow to suffer so needlessly.”

“Aww, you really do love me.”

“I more than love you, darling,” he said, his tone turning serious as he raised his head to meet your eyes. “Being here for you is worth the trouble.” He returned his head to the space between your neck and shoulders, nuzzling into the warmth of your pulse point.

Your fingers absentmindedly teased through Astarion’s soft white curls. How could a thing as broken as you be worthwhile to him? The darkness of your history paled in comparison to his own, but didn’t that mean he deserved someone less broken? Someone stronger? Wouldn't that be better for him? Then why should he bother with you anyway?

His cold lips found yours, shocking you out of your panicking spiral. Godsdamnedvampireandhisheightenedsenses.“Whatever you are thinking, darling, I’m right here. And I am not going anywhere.”

“…why?” you whispered, the air from your lungs forming a terrifying question.

“Why?” he repeated softly. “I will admit, my own motivation is far from being altruistic. Being away from you for any length of time, even a moment, terrifies me.”

“Really?”

“Really. Terribly so.” He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it. “Your presence is warm, safe, comforting—”

“Even now?”

His eyes softened in recognition of the insecurity that was not unknown to him. “Ah, is that where your mind was? Yes, even now."

“Right now, it feels like you could do better.”

“Oh come now, darling, would you let me get away with saying such a dreadful thing?”

You groaned, leaning back into your pillows and dragging him down with you. “No.”

“Then I won’t let you, either.” He tilted your head up to face him, so close that his lips ghosted over yours as he murmured, “I love you. I want you. No one else.”

Your fingers tangled into his hair as you pulled him into a kiss. “I love you, too.”

He smiled. “Good! I’m glad to hear it. Otherwise, all this would have been unbearably awkward.”

You tossed your blanket over his head. “Shut up.”

With a laugh, he pulled away the blanket and dropped it on the floor. “What an insolent little thing you are. Is another etiquette lesson in order?” He reached for your hands as you scrambled to the foot of the bed, just out of his reach.

You considered turning him down, telling him you needed sleep. But the delight of indulging him, the rush of adrenaline and endorphins flooded your nervous system before you could say anything so rational. After all, your love for him was anything but.

“And just what do I need to learn this time?” you teased, easing off the bed and backing away.

His expression darkened, bright garnet irises turning seemingly black as he exposed his fangs with an affectionate, predatory grin. He crouched forward with the slow, easy bearing of a cat. “Playing innocent, love?”

“No, because I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. At all.”

A rush of air. You found yourself caged against the wall by his slender frame.

“You denied me the opportunity to lavish you with all the adoration you deserve. Now what do we say, darling?”

“What does a wrong answer get me?”

“Hmm…” He planted kisses along the side of your neck, stopping at the twin scars there. “I suppose I’ll have to drain you of your blood and keep you in my bed, all to myself, until you recover.”

“And the right answer?” Your voice shook with anticipation.

“Perhaps draining you of your blood and keeping you in my bed all to myself until you recover. Quite the conundrum, I’m sure.”

“Then I’m not sorry,” you breathed, your heart racing.

“Perilous mistake,” he murmured into your skin. He effortlessly lifted you into is arms and whisked you away back to bed, lightly shoving you down on your back. He straddled your hips and pinned your arms to either side of your head as you made a half-hearted attempt to break free of his iron grip. His face was directly above you, darkened crimson eyes staring into yours. “One last chance, my dear. What do we say?”

A light smirk danced across your face. “I am so very sorry, Astarion.”

“There’s my good girl.” He leaned down, placing one final kiss on your neck before drawing your flesh between his teeth and piercing his fangs into your skin.

You gave small cry as the familiar, icy chill of his bite sent a shiver down your spine. With his weight on top of you, it was as if his body had melted into yours. The bite effloresced into a delightful warmth that spread throughout your body and pooled within your core, intensifying with the loss of every mouthful of blood. Astarion was insatiable, particularly when it came to your own blood. But you? You could never get enough of this. That tingling lightheadedness, that delicious ache building within you. Your hips involuntarily rolled into his and his hands flew down to hold you still.

“Careful, darling,” he warned, a playful edge to his voice.

“I need you,” you whined.

“Oh, you poor thing.” He licked away the stray drops of blood from the wound at your neck. “Just a little more, hmm? You can do that for me.”

“So that you can keep me to yourself while I recover?”

“Precisely.” His hand wandered beneath your nightgown, tracing your soft curves. “Or have you forgotten that you’re all mine?”

You gasped. “N-no.”

His fingers trailed down between your legs and stopped short of where you needed him. “Say it.”

You shuddered against him. “I’m all yours, Astarion. Please.”

“All mine.” He returned to drinking from your neck as his fingers delicately followed along the soft folds of your soaking cunt. You whimpered in response, delirious from the lack of blood and his teasing. He hummed against you, the warming vibrations resonating through your weakening, oversensitive body. Your breathing quickened- if it was the mild deprivation of oxygen or your own arousal, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was his lips on your skin and the finger he had slipped inside you that was gently coaxing at your walls.

It felt like a mere second and a whole eternity later when he tore himself away. His lips and teeth were coated in crimson. “Exquisite as always, darling. Especially when I have you so desperate for me like this.”

Another finger entered you and you moaned, rocking your hips into his thrusts. He was still somehow teasing you, his fingers lightly brushing against that sweet spot deep within you but refusing to provide the pressure and friction you so desperately needed.

“Beautiful.” He kissed you, and you caught the heavy, metallic taste of your blood on his lips- a flavor you had more than grown accustomed to, secretly enjoyed even.

“Do you think you can take another for me?” he asked, emphatically pushing his fingers deeper within you.

You whimpered something you hoped was a "yes," and nodded.

“Words, love. Use your words.”

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Please, yes.”

Astarion growled into your ear, his low voice resonating against you, “Well, I certainly can’t say no when you beg so sweetly." He placed a kiss on your cheek, then on your neck as you felt the stretch of a third finger. You forced yourself to take in a sharp breath, struggling to focus on the essential task of breathing despite him scraping his fangs down your throat and chest as you writhed beneath him. Slowly, torturously, he fucked his fingers into you. He curled them against that sweet spot and a high pitched whimper escaped your lips. Your back arched off the bed and you laced your arms around his neck to brace your trembling self against him.

“You’re doing so well, little love.” His thumb found your clit and deftly worked small circles around it in time with his fingers. “I want to see you come undone for me, and I want to hear it all. Hold nothing back - you can do that, can’t you?”

You took in a shaky breath and managed a nod.

He chuckled as he applied more pressure to your clit. That delicious, familiar ache began to burn in your lower stomach and accelerate to a flame. You clenched around his fingers, every muscle in your body tightening into a coiled spring.

“Gods, I’m close… Astarion, please, please, don’t stop…”

“Let go, I’ve got you.”

His gentle command was all you needed to fall over the edge into whatever blissful oblivion awaited you. You buried your face into his chest and screamed as your orgasm burned through you, lighting every nerve on fire to the point of oversensitivity. You felt his fingers slow along with your breathing and you moaned at their absence when they withdrew.

Astarion brought his fingers to his mouth and lasciviously licked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. “Almost as sweet as your blood.”

“… glad you think so,” you managed to answer between breaths.

“Mind if I have another taste?” He pushed your nightgown up and over your head and began planting a trail of kisses and small bites around your breasts. “Preferably from the source.”

“Is there a possibility that you’ve had enough, Star?”

“Never,” he growled into your breast with another bite. Not enough to break the skin, but enough that you could already feel the bruise that would be there in the morning. He grinned when you shuddered beneath him in response. “And something tells me that you haven’t, either.”

You smiled. “Never.”

“Wicked little thing. You’ll be the second death of me.” His lips lingered over the warmth of your beating heart before he trailed more bites and kisses across your stomach, working his way down between your thighs. Your breath hitched when he nipped at the ticklish spot right above your hip and you felt his low chuckle reverberate against you.

He settled between your legs, and a sharp pinch from his fangs to the flesh of your thigh came as a warning to keep still. He ever-so-slowly dragged his tongue along your folds, clearly reveling in how you shook and squealed beneath him and delighting in the taste of your arousal. When his tongue finally found your clit, the burn of overstimulation from the previous orgasm shocked every nerve in your body and you nearly squirmed away. The firm grip of his hands kept you in place as the burn subsided into that needy, pleasant ache. Your hands found their way down to his head and your fingers tangled themselves into his soft curls in a vain attempt to pull him closer. He merely hummed in response, diving his tongue deeper into you and his grip pressing bruises into your hips.

If Astarion could feed on the arousal dripping from your cunt alone, you knew he would and you would more than let him. He was ravenous, not even bothering to breathe, burying his face in the warmth between your thighs. He took his time between drinking in your pooling arousal and exploring your folds with his tongue, only moaning against you when he remembered to take the necessary breaths to do so.

Then, with little warning, he shifted his attention to that little bundle of nerves with a feral growl that came from deep within his chest and vibrated into your core. His eyes briefly met yours, dark with a predatory gleam. You gasped, the coil tightening within you once again. You pulled on his hair and he remained unmoved, devouring you with an intensity reserved only for your blood and these moments alone. The coil grew tighter… tighter… and shattered as you let out a wordless scream. His hands pushed you back into the mattress before your back arched above the bed and held you there, his tongue working at you through your orgasm. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You weren’t sure when he stopped, or when he laid back by your side and wrapped you snug in your blanket. He produced a scroll from the nightstand and muttered something over it. The scroll glowed and dissolved into nothing, and you felt a warmth spread through your spent and aching body. Of course he still had a stash of lesser restoration scrolls. You shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around yourself.

Astarion’s pale, lean arms wrapped around you from behind. “Take your time, but I’m not done with you yet, darling.”

“Oh?”

“Do you still remember why you were upset earlier?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, that simply will not do.” He kissed the side of your face. “I’ll not rest until I’ve fucked the reason for your sadness right out of you.”

“Then it is going to be a very long night, my love.”

He pulled you closer into his embrace. “Then I very much look forward to it.”

[rcksmith]

You — Five Hargreeves

Request: “Could I get 37 and 63 from the smut prompts with older Five, if you are comfortable, if not then understandable”

Smut Prompts:

37. “I’m so sick of your voice. Why don’t you come over here and put your mouth to better use?”

63. “Could he make you feel as good as i do?”

A/ N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here!!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope it got close to what you wanted. ❤️

Guys, I really understand who doesn't feel comfortable reading or writing Five's smut. But I always say that I only write with him (any genre: romance, fluff or angst) with the notion that Five is 20 years old here. All of my fanfics mention swearing or sex, even if it is a memory or something shallow, but as I am writing with Five as an adult, it is consistent that the fic has aspects of an adult life.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Smut, bad words.

— — — — —

You had dated some guys before, because no one turned 22 without getting hurt a little for love, but no relationship proved as intense (and difficult) as dating Five Hargreeves. If you could describe the 1 year that you were together, you would use only two words: sex and coldness.

Sex because Five had an appetite you've never seen in your life and you loved it. It was strong, intense, hot. He always seemed to want to discount your internal problems by fucking you hard, and you couldn't deny that his raw footprints drove you crazy.

And coldness because Five Hargreeves, as well as being hot in sex, was the north pole in romance. He was dry, very reserved, without any appreciation for physical touch or cutest demonstrations. He did not like to talk to much or participate in frivolous conversations.

He always had a sarcastic or rude argument for his comments about thinking that the two of you should act more like a couple and not like nymphomaniacs. And as time went by, you got tired of feeling that you didn't have a partner but a sex disk.

That's when you finished it all. It ended because you liked affection and love and not just fucking. It ended because you thought you deserved more and you didn't want to build a life with someone so cold.

That was the purpose of a relationship, wasn't it? Wanting to build a future with someone. And when you didn't see yourself building a future with Five anymore, you just finished. It was difficult, obviously. It shattered your heart, because in the end you still loved him, but it hurt more to know that there was no way to fix it.

And that's why you found yourself here, in a crowded nightclub, at 2 am, dancing with your friends and kissing any man just to try to forget Five. It had been three months since you two broke up, and staying in your room crying and eating chocolate didn't seem to be helping you get over it. So when your friends asked you out, you went. You went because you wanted to get drunk, kiss some cat guy and forget that your heart was in pieces.

And that was why you were kissing that guy, squeezing the back of his neck while his hands went down around you waist and squeezed your ass. He didn't have the intensity and electricity of Five, but he was a handsome, so... it would have to do.

As soon as you separated from him and started dancing with your friends again, enjoying the deafening music and what the drink did to your head and body, you felt more numb from the pain.

“I need another drink.” You warned one of your friends, almost screaming to try to make yourself heard with all that deafening music.

As soon as she nodded and you started walking among all those huddled bodies, you arrived at the counter a few seconds later, sitting in the only vacant seat.

“Vodka, pure.” You didn't want anything sweet, too soft. You wanted something rough, strong, that would mess with your system.

You needed something stronger than the pain you were feeling.

After turning the first shot, swallowing and closing your eyes for a second, trying to hold the grimace and the strong taste, you were going to ask for another when a voice came up behind you:

“Nothing more for her, thanks.”

You froze. Your heart failed and then shot to alarming levels. You knew that voice, you knew it better than your own. Suddenly, whether by drinking or by the presence behind you, your body started to get hot, shaky and wobbly. If you tried to get up now, you would surely fall.

That bastard wouldn't dare ...

“Hello, stranger.”

Yes, he would dare.

You turned to Five, amazed. Suddenly, you have never felt so sober in life, rigid, with heightened senses. And that was what you were talking about too. Whenever Five was involved, you became someone you didn't like. You were much more attentive to any intonation or half words, searching for hidden meanings for him sentences.

You hated that. You hated having to look for clues when in fact the person should say with word what he felt. You hated having to analyze syllable by syllable to know the true feelings. When all a dating should bring was honesty, calm, peace and complicity.

“What are you doing here?!” You were not smooth, because any situation involving Five was already exasperating for you.

“Is it forbidden to go to a nightclub?” The same condescending tone, the hands in the pockets, the smug look, the smirk.

Five was beautiful as sin, it was the definition of superb, but outer beauty was not you its weakness. So, as much as he looked like a God under those flashing lights, you just rolled your eyes.

“As far as I can remember, you called places like ‘Waste of time’ or ‘Ridiculous places Klaus goes to’ or, ‘Am I better than these places’ ” You were acidic, turning back to the front and asking the waiter for a shot again.

Five wouldn't tell you how much to drink.

“How skittish are we?” But turning forward was a bad idea, because Five leaned in behind you, breathing in your ear, in your neck.

You held a gasp, pressing your thighs together and trying to focus on anything other than the intense presence behind you.

“You are so skittish” then the voice continued under your skin, and you felt some fingers from it take your hair off your neck. “You used to be so obedient...”

So you were transported to the millions of memories of the times he fucked you. The millions of times he made you scream and obey his every command. Yes, you were a good girl for Five. And that sucked.

“Five.” Your voice was a warning, and when the waiter served your shot, you turned without thinking twice or without Five daring to intrude. “Go away”

You got up from the chair, trying to dodge his touch. Because you knew that if he touched you, you would give in, and if you gave in, you would end up in his bed, and if you did, your heart would be even more broken the next day.

Five frowned, questioning, his gaze fixed on you. Then all that intense energy was replaced by an angry wave.

“Is it because of him?”

His?

Now you frowned, but in a confused expression and you were beginning to wonder if Five had gone mad.

“Who…”

“Don't be innocent, I saw you with him today, just now. Rubbing on him like... like... ”

So Five was close to you again. The height of him making you lift the chin to look at him, the smell of man invading your nose... God, his are a fucking handsome and...

Focus!

"Whose are you talking about?" Five was still looking at you angrily and now with a hint of irony.

And that's when you realized who he was talking about. The guy you just kissed.

“For God's sake, Five!” You answered, incredulous. “It’s not ‘how are you, Y / N?’ Or ‘how have you been, Y/N?’ No, this is always your possessiveness of not losing your toy to someone else! But you know, big boy, your train left a long time ago.” You looked at him as if Five were your biggest enemy, and turned your back on him.

You needed to get away, needed to keep as much distance between you as possible. You already felt the grip in your throat, your eyes burning. God, this guy had an overwhelming power over you. You still love him, much, holy fuck!

Then you crossed the nightclub again, past the sea of ​​dancing bodies, hoping that, luckily, Five would lose sight of you in the crowd. But you no longer needed songs, dances or drinks, your mind was pounding so much that you just thought about being alone, at least for a second.

You continued to advance between the bodies, and when you reached the other end of the club, now far enough from the bar, you entered the ladies' room. The deafening sound of the music was drowned out when you closed the door, and only then did you manage to release the breath you were holding.

You was put both hands on the sink, taking a moment with your own thoughts before looking ahead and seeing your reflection. You weren't as bad as you felt, some mascara had out. The mirror said you should go home, but you didn't know if you could face those people outside with the possibility of seeing Five any second.

Lowering your head once more to turn on the tap and wet your hands to rub the back of your neck, you sighed deeply when the sensation of the cold water hit your hot skin. But all the sense of relief was gone when you looked in the mirror again and saw Five.

You gave a startled scream, turning to him in a burst and resting your hands on the sink behind you.

“What the fuck, Five!” Your heart was still pounding, but you were beginning to suspect it was because of his little smile.

Five was strode toward you, and he didn't stop until your body was trapped between his and the sink. It was hot. Five seethed like hell and smelled of sin, and you began to feel the pulse of it. It was unbearable how much power he had over you. But the truth was that you would always be a moldable dough in the hands of Five. Worse, he knew it.

He knew because you could see it in the way he looked at you, the way his hands went up from his your thigh to his neck, the way he leaned into your ear and murmured:

“You can't run from me, cute.”

And if you were a molding dough before, now you were clay on his fingers. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath through and pressing your fingers into the sink behind you.

“You were never a good liar.” He continued, the velvet voice from hell seducing you "I can feel your excitement from here."

Now you were on fire. Your core pulsed for him, your body burned and the desire became so strong that you felt like crying.

“Five...” You wanted to tell him to walk away, to leave. But your body begged you to willingly accept what he was giving you. The truth was, you wanted more.

“My good girl” now his thin, white fingers were on your neck, running the tips over your heaving skin.

Five Hargreeves was the wrong way and you were going willingly. You wanted to leave, but your whole body was begging you to let him touch you some more. Just a little more…

“Look at you…” Five's voice was still hoarse and seductive, his right hand wandered from your neck to the side of your body, outlining all your curves as if it were a goddamn treasure “I barely touched you and you're already excited.”

You wanted to say that it was ridiculous, that he was very arrogant. But you would only dig your own grave, because the truth was that you were excited. Much. And lying to a fucking genius was almost always impossible.

"Could he make you feel as good as i do?" If he hadn't been a presumptuous arrogant before, now he was.

His hand sank between your legs, and you groaned loudly when you felt the cold finger touch the core of your burning panties. You tilted your head back, leaning against the mirror as you closed your eyes in a silent groan.

“I bet you don't” now kisses landed on the skin of your exposed neck, heading towards the neckline “But I want to hear you say it.”

You could not. Because his fingers were playing with you and his mouth was all over the pulp of your breasts. It was too much, too much stimulus for your poor body that would be satisfied with just one kiss.

That's when the thought of the kiss brought you back to Earth orbit. Kisses have always been very intimate and romantic, and you remember that Five almost never kissed you much. It hurt you. It hurt because it looked like you were good enough for him to fuck you, but not good enough for him to think about being more loving and fighting for your relationship.

“Five…” Five lifted the mouth of your breasts, looking at you intently. “ I can't.”

"Why not? We had fun a loot before. ”

“Because this... this is not healthy. We will regret it tomorrow. ”

Five frowned, his hand motionless between your legs.

“Is there someone else?” His voice was low.

“Oh my God, no!” It was absurd how he only cared about that “You don't care about me! Only if someone is fucking me! ”

“God, Y / N!” Five was amazed “ What do you think I'm doing here?!"

You looked at Five as if him were crazy, and looked down at the position of their bodies and looked back at him, signaling very well what was happening.

Five laughed, perplexed, and took his hands off you immediately. He took a few steps back, the shadow of bitter laughter still bordering his mouth.

“Do you think I came here just to eat you?” Five's vocabulary could always be very dirty when he wanted to, and that secretly always turned you on. “Holy God, Y / N!”

“You think this is what ?!”

Then he came to you. And long hands held your face with intensity. There was despair in that touch, passion... and a very overwhelming desire.

“I want you. Ardently.” His voice was not soft “I came here to meet you and try to talk, because I want you back so much. Because I love you. But when I saw you in that little dress... kissing another one... Ah, Y / N” Now he stoked you with the words, each syllable beating against your lips “ I wanted to fuck you in front of everyone for them to see to whom that bitch belongs.”

You sighed loudly. You didn't want to, but it was involuntary. You should want more. You should want him to apologize out about the things he did, ask you back. But the truth was, the desire rumbled through your veins and you didn't want to wait any longer. For now, that would do.

You kissed him. With intensity, despair and savagery. Five reciprocated like a hungry animal and put his hands on your thigh, propelling you up and sitting you in the sink. You were hungry animals that used each other as food.

You thought a sex of reconciliation would be loving and intense. But Five always showed you that sex with him would always be rude. He was didn't make love to you, he fucked you, hard.

Five clutched your body with all his fingers, marking yoyr skin with purple ten digits. He pulled you close as if he could merge with you, and the panties you wore were brutally torn when he went to take them off.

When Five touched you, where you wanted it most, and pushed two fingers brutally into you, you screamed loudly and whined afterwards like a kitten.

"Oh, I will destroy you.” It was not a promise, it was a warning, a reminder of what he would do to you seconds later.

“Five!” You clasped your hands on his shoulders, shifting your waist around he fingers “please... please...!”

“Please what?!” Now he was rough, the fingers coming in and out of you aggressively, hitting your aching walls “Please, Five, fuck me? Or, please, Five, make me come?”

You groaned loudly, the words matching his aggressive rhythm.

“Fuck me! Fuck me, now! ” You stirred up more “Fuck me hard, Five.”

Suddenly, his other hand clung to your face, pulling you by the chin to look at him.

“Command, no! Begging, yes, it's cute, now commanding is unacceptable!” It was a clear, fierce warning. And when you whimpered and agreed to submit, Five tightened your jaw “I’m so sick of your voice. Why don’t you come over here and put your mouth to better use?”

Then him hand that was on your chin went to the nape of your neck, holding your hair tightly and bringing you closer. He removed his fingers from you, and come close at your mouth. You obediently opened it and took his two fingers. He didn't have to tell you to start sucking, running your tongue over all the mess you had made on his fingers.

“My dear good girl.”

His approval was followed by a friendly pat on your face, removing his hand from the back of your neck and unfastening his own belt. Five didn’t give you time to think before entering you, sinking deep into your core.

You screamed, pressing his fingers to your mouth and closing your eyes with intensity. But Five didn't give you time to breathe, his rhythm was constant, raw, arrogant, he was pushing hard inside you and you couldn't help but let out loud moans.

Five used the hand that was not in your mouth to grab your left thigh, releasing a loud, cracking slap when you squeezed it inside. You tried to keep sucking his fingers, but the intensity he put in you was so strong that your head was spinning.

“Do you want to come, little girl? Do you want to come for me?” He withdrew his fingers from your mouth, dissatisfied.

"Yea! Yes, please!"

Now you were begging. Begged in a pure and submissive way, and Five loved it. His pace increased, the thrusts became strong and steady, and his limb beat so deeply that you lost your breath. You were close, so close. felt herself being pushed into a giant, endless chasm, held by a thread that would soon break.

“Come to me, little bitch!” And that was cutting the wire.

You came. Intensely. You squeezed him inside as if your life depended on it and was rewarded with the hot, strong liquid filling you to the brim. You two were both panting, sweaty and satisfied. And you whimpered when his member was gone and the cum dripped from its pulsing core.

Five stared at the scene, mesmerized, letting out a loud sigh of satisfaction and kiss you again, now soft and lovin

"Welcome back." and you laughed, pushing his shoulder at the stupid joke.

[hailing-stars]

no place like home (ao3 link)

“For fuck’s sake,” said Fake Mr. Stark. His arm turned glowy, only for a second, and then it was covered in blue and silver armor.

One fast movement and he seized Peter’s arm.

“Stop,” he ordered, with a dangerous chill lacing his voice.

Peter stilled, though his breaths still came fast and heavy, and Fake Mr. Stark released him, with a soft shove. He tried to reel it in. His breathing. His panic. The tears he fought back, and the fatigue that threatened to overtake him. He felt like… someone else. Younger. He felt stupid.

He lost the battle to remain sitting up, and let his head slump against the window, where he idly watched as they passed building after building, speeding off somewhere unknown, somewhere away from May and Ned and MJ and the real Mr. Stark.

OR

Peter Parker is kidnapped and forced to survive in a darker universe, one that is ruled by a darker Tony Stark. The people he leaves behind struggle with not knowing what happened to him, eventually prompting Tony (our Tony) to reunite the Avengers to bolster the search efforts.

read after undercut 

A man stepped out of a car, and a ring slipped off his finger.

It hit the concrete with a bounce, with a quiet noise nobody except Peter could hear. He stopped, in his tracks, with both his hands clasped around the straps of his backpack. He wasn’t in a hurry to reach Midtown High, where an exam waited for him in his first period English Lit class, but maybe he should have been.

He’d replay that day, over and over, many times in the future, and imagine what might have happened if he hadn’t stopped. If he’d kept walking. If he’d made it, somehow, safely to school. But those were just fantasies. Future Peter knew there wasn’t anything, really, that could have stopped something as inevitable as Tony Stark getting his own way.

“Oh, hey, Mr. Stark,” said Peter, tearing his attention away from the ring sitting in the ditch, and forcing his eyes to meet Mr. Stark’s sunglasses. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

Peter’s ears began to ring. The little hairs on his arm stood straight up. His spidey senses scratched and clawed at him, begging him to listen.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he told him. “Thought my favorite spider-ling might need a ride to school.”

“Oh,” said Peter. He scanned the street, looking for the threat, but there was nothing. No aliens falling from the sky, not even a petty criminal searching for a purse to snatch. There was nothing, no one, except for Peter and Mr. Stark.

“You feelin’ alright there, Pete?”

“Yeah,” he said. He shook his head, trying to shake the dread away. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Good,” said Mr. Stark, hitting him with a smile that looked a bit out of place. He put his hand on the open car door. “Come on, I have a suit upgrade I wanna show you on the way.”

“Awesome.”

A warm breeze combed through his hair as he climbed into Mr. Stark’s car, out of the sunny day and into the dim lighting and air conditioning of the sleek, black Audi.

It’d been a beautiful day for a kidnapping.

Too gorgeous, actually.  

Peter never imagined horrible things could happen on a day like that one. Not before, at least, when his world had been colored in brights that had nothing to do with what the weather was up to outside.

After he saw the world in drab, dull greys, and occasionally but still too often, splashes of dark red.

Peter clicked his seatbelt into place just as Mr. Stark shut the door behind him. The Audi rejoined traffic automatically, without a driver, and before Peter could ask why Happy wasn’t driving them, Mr. Stark handed him a metal bracelet. It glowed with the same shade of blue as an arc reactor. He accepted it, and handled it with care, as if it were very fragile and it might break if he breathed on it the wrong way.

“Do me a favor and put that on,” said Mr. Stark.

He slid it on his wrist without hesitation and admired the way it looked on his arm. “Oh, cool. Is this the upgrade? Is it nanotech?”

“Something like that.” Mr. Stark tapped his phone a couple of times, and the bracelet shrank until it secured, tight, around Peter’s wrist.

An eerie calm pulsed through Peter’s body, numbing his distressed spidey sense, but somehow, kindling a deep sentiment of unease. He didn’t like feeling trapped. Something that Mr. Stark knew, and this bracelet, whatever it was, felt suffocating.

“Hey,” said Peter, his head snapped up as the Audi turned. “I think there’s something wrong with your nav system. Midtown is the other way.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my tech, Petey,” said Mr. Stark. “You’re not going to school today.”

Peter blinked. “But I have a Lit test.”

Mr. Stark let out a booming laugh, a sound so uncharacteristic and dark that it sent chills down Peter’s spine.

He frowned, confused, and let his back hit the car’s seat, unable to resist a wave of drowsiness that attacked him out of nowhere. Peter watched Mr. Stark, his heart thumping away, as the man took off his sunglasses and met his stare. It was an instant revelation. The truth sat there in the cold and empty eyes of this man somehow wearing Mr. Stark’s face.

A rush of adrenaline shook the tiredness away. He tugged at the bracelet locked around his wrist, but it wouldn’t budge. He pulled at the car door handle in vain, and when that didn’t work, resorted to using his fists, attempting to smash the windows open. His fist blared with pain, but the window remained intact.

“So dramatic, aren’t you?” said Fake Mr. Stark, in a bored tone. “Just relax, kid, we’ll be home in a jiffy.”

“Home?” asked Peter, unable to keep the tired, whiny panic from dripping into his voice.

“Yep, your real home.” He quipped.

Peter took a deep breath in. He needed to think, but his thoughts swirled around in a misty haze as the tiredness crept back in.

Think, he urged himself, come on Spider-Man.

He was stuck in a car with a maniac who looked like Mr. Stark. They were driving further and further away from the streets Peter was familiar with, and he’d willingly imprisoned himself with some kind of bracelet that was zapping his powers, turning him into an exhausted and powerless shell of himself.

That last word, powerless, floated around in his foggy mind, drifted in and out of his consciousness until a cord snapped deep inside him and he was desperately scratching and clawing at his own skin, until his wrist started to peel and bleed.

“For fuck’s sake,” said Fake Mr. Stark. His arm turned glowy, only for a second, and then it was covered in blue and silver armor.

One fast movement and he seized Peter’s arm.

“Stop,” he ordered, with a dangerous chill lacing his voice.

Peter stilled, though his breaths still came fast and heavy, and Fake Mr. Stark released him, with a soft shove. He tried to reel it in. His breathing. His panic. The tears he fought back, and the fatigue that threatened to overtake him. He felt like… someone else. Younger. He felt stupid.

He lost the battle to remain sitting up, and let his head slump against the window, where he idly watched as they passed building after building, speeding off somewhere unknown, somewhere away from May and Ned and MJ and the real Mr. Stark.

Peter’s eyes fluttered, but he fought to keep them from closing.

“Please just let me go,” said Peter, forcing the words out, thinking about May coming home from work, thinking about her watching the sky grow darker and darker, waiting for him to return.

“Don’t beg, Pete,” he told him. “It’s beneath you.”

“Who are you, even?”

Mr. Stark turned and looked at him. “Oh, that’s right. How rude of me. I guess we haven’t officially met. I’m Tony Stark.”

“No you’re –“

“-not your Tony Stark. Can you imagine? What a miserable man that guy turned out to be,” he said. “No, not him. I’m Tony Stark, but better. Some might say superior, even.”

“Not me,” said Peter, with a raspy voice, a definite sign his body was giving up, no matter how badly he fought to stay awake. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh really? You wouldn’t?” he asked, an eyebrow raised, and with a hint of shock “Well, you will.”  

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Fake Mr. Stark smirked. “Why don’t you take a nap? You seem a little grumpy.”

Peter channeled his remaining energy into shooting Fake Mr. Stark a glare. He took a slow, steadying breath, then frowned again.

“Wait, that doesn’t make sense,” said Peter. “There can’t be two –“

“Stop fighting it,” he cut him off. “Just make it easy on yourself and go to sleep. First trip through the multiverse is hell, even for someone like me.”

“…Multiverse?”

His head swam and remembered, or tried to, the conversation he and his Mr. Stark had had about the possibility of a multiverse. Not something we’ll ever have to worry about. That’s what Real Mr. Stark had said. Peter heard it, heard the memory, and saw the man with kinder eyes and a warmer voice, reassuring him. As his eyes slipped shut, he managed to convince himself that this was all just a nightmare.

Until the cold voice came back.

“That’s a good man,” said the imposter, as if Peter were choosing to fall asleep all on his own. “It’ll all make sense when you wake up.”

But Fake Mr. Stark was a liar.

[in-tua-deep]

au where five found out about vanya's powers in the apocalypse? Like maybe he found Reggie's book or he saw the eyes of vanya's corpse?

oh man like. that would be interesting to be sure, if Five managed to find Reginald’s book in the apocalypse

(He doesn’t read it at first, not for a few months after he finds it. He opened to the page that detailed Reginald’s experiments with how long Deigo could hold his breath in clinical unfeeling words and has to put it away while he breathed - not too deeply though, he didn’t want to breathe in more ash than necessary)

But he eventually does. He sits Dolores up and rages and vents to her, cursing Reginald’s name with every new sordid detail, every new terrible sin he now knows to hurl at Reginald’s feet. He reads no great loss under his section and he’s too dehydrated to weep but something breaks inside his chest nevertheless

(He’d never thought that dad loved them, not really. He might have hoped, back when he was little but he knew better now. He was thirteen, old enough to know better. But he’d at least thought that dad found them useful. 

Five had tried to hard, trained so much, been so adaptable. Even then he was no great loss.)

Five finds out from Reginald’s book about Ben’s death. Cold words that describe the way his brother died. Reginald seemed to care more about Ben’s death than Five’s presumed death, but that could be becuase Ben’s power was always bigger than Five’s. More violent. More efficient. Of course Ben was a greater loss, Five’s power wasn’t even inherently useful for fighting.

(Klaus’s power wasn’t useful for fighting either. Reading Dad’s dismissive words calling Klaus a failure makes him bristle. Reading about Reginald locking Klaus away in the mausoleum for days make Five want to hurl the book against the wall.)

Finding out about Vanya is - it’s weird. Vanya was always so ordinary. He loved her of course, for fucks sake he was the only one who cared to interact with her half the time. He loves all of his siblings but he has no illusions about how casually cruel they could be to one another.

But he reads about her powers and clenches his fists and wonders what Reginald would have done if Five had stayed, if Five had kept on his path of rebellion. Would Reginald have drugged him, too?

(Reginald had the power to take their powers away. Five wonders what Klaus thought when he found out, if he had cursed and sworn and raged at the man who watched his son suffer and turn to drugs to deal with seeing things no child should ever see. Reginald had the power to help, and he tortured Klaus instead.)

Because - of course Five assumes that they know. He reads Vanya’s books as well when he comes across it, tucking it into his wagon. He wonders when the truth came out, because the rage that drips from those pages is very real. Vanya doesn’t mention her powers in the book of course, but she would have been what, in her 20s when she wrote it? 

Vanya said in her book that she left home at 18, which means she’s had years to get the drugs out of her system and discover what their father had taken from her. Did she think that they knew? That they had kept it from her? Is that why the pages of her book drip with bone deep hurt, making Five’s fingers shake with the ache of them

(Or it could be the hunger, a now constant companion)

Five keeps both books close, even though he wants to vandilize Reginald’s book half the time. It’s strange to see the insight on them and their powers from the perspective of a scientist, odd to see the written results of the torture they went though

(He almost rips the page on the effects of electricity on his warping powers out on principle, but he just ends up curled around Dolores as he trembles involuntarily at the memories)

Five has so few belongings when he is recruited to the Commission, or at least has very few personal ones. He leaves Dolores behind in the apocalypse with a heavy heart but she’s too big to take with him. Too big to hide.

(Five always learned to only take what you can hide, because what you can’t hide will always be used against you.)

He tucks Reginald’s notebook in the waistband on his pants, the hard edges against his back a constant almost reassuring pressure. Vanya’s book gets pushed into one of his deep pockets. The glass eye gets shoved into his sock the same way he used to hide scavenged bills and quarters he would then place beneath the floorboards of his room

(He wonders absently if his money stash was ever found, but it doesn’t really matter now does it?)

He goes through the Commission with the knowledge that he has a bomb hidden away. As much as he keeps the notebook around out of a sense of sentiment he knows he doesn’t want it to fall into the hands of the commission, doesn’t want them to have this dissection of his powers on hand

(he has so little of his siblings left, just the bitter words of Reginald and Vanya both - the irony is that no matter how much Vanya extolled being excluded she had constantly been by Reginald’s side to write down observations, listening to his words, by his side more than any of them. sometimes he reads Vanya’s vicious words and hears the echo of their father in them. It makes sense. He still hates it, just a little bit)

He writes his equations into Vanya’s book instead of Reginald’s. He doesn’t like to read the red book, only opens it to look at the photos included so that he won’t forget what his siblings look like, tries to ignore the words that detail exactly how much force it takes to pop Luther’s bones out of his oh-so-durable joints

He solves them one day, or at least comes close. Closer than he ever had before, and he figures why not? Time for another little experiment. Who knows? Maybe he’ll add this one to dad’s book.

He pushes, and pushes, and then he falls and he’s in a courtyard he hasn’t seen in decades staring at people he hasn’t spoken to in just as long. He looks at them all with wide eyes

(He looks at Allison and hears his father’s clipped tone stating how Allison in improving at overriding survival instincts, he looks at Luther and hears Vanya’s childish voice accusing him of caring more about being a hero than anything else in his life, including his family, he looks at Klaus and sees a face covered in ash and blood with unseeing eyes)

He looks down at himself and sees smaller hands with smoother skin, absent of the burn marks from the variety of fires he’d set in the apocalypse, absent of the crooked knuckles from when he’d crushed two fingers in some rubble trying to get to a can of food, absent of the cracked and brittle nails from malnutrition and food issues

“Shit.” He says, with feeling.

He can feels the press of the glass eye against his leg, the solid weight of Vanya’s book in his pocket, the edges of Reginald’s notebook digging into his skin as he hauls himself off the ground and into a standing position.

They have a family meeting in the kitchen.

Sort of. Five flits about, snagging bread and peanut butter and marshmallow fluff from the cupboard to make himself a sandwich, trying to avoid looking too desperately eager. He hasn’t had his favorite food in so long that the anticipation is actually insane.

“What’s the date?” Five asks, and learns that he doesn’t actually have all that long until the end of the world. But hey, it’s doable. Probably. Unless the reason the world ended was like, political nuclear war or something? But there would probably be survivors of that somewhere, so it was more likely something bigger scale.

(It has to be something he can stop, or this was all for nothing. He refuses to believe he doesn’t have a chance.)

“Cool, so like, the world is ending.” Five says, because why the fuck not? He has all his siblings in one room (except Ben, he has failed Ben, will always have failed Ben because he’s a coward who couldn’t return to a time when Reginald Hargreeves was alive) and he has Reginald and Vanya’s words pressed into his brain, “We have eight-ish days to fix that.”

“Five, what the hell are you talking about?” Luther demands.

Five waves his hand, “Dad sucked, I time-travelled, the end is nigh. I figured even you could grasp that.”

(His eyes ghost over Luther, skittering about the room. He can’t look at Luther’s body without remembering the cruel diagrams pain stakingly inked into the book as Reginald grumbled about failed experiments.)

“You went to the future?” Diego says, voice full of doubt that make his voice harsh. It’s so much deeper than when Five left, no more of the cracks of puberty.

“No shit.” Five says, and he’s so tired. “I was in that hellscape for forty-five years.”

“Forty-five years?” Diego squawks, as though he’s personally offended.

“That would make you... fifty-eight?” Luther’s voice also has doubt in it, and Five can’t really blame him looking at his squishy little barely teenage body.

“Dad was right,” Five manages to get out without gritting his teeth, “Time travel is a crapshoot and sometimes your body does fun and wacky things on you, blah blah blah trees and acorns.”

“Prove you’re from the future!” Klaus demands, eyes bright as he leans across the table, “What’re the lotto numbers, baby brother?”

“I think they’re ‘fuck you the world had already ended by the time I ended up stuck there,’ Klaus.” Five says, mock thoughtfully before tearing off a chunk of his sandwich.

It tastes like ash and peanut butter. Only Five’s genuine trauma regarding food waste and the fact that most things tasted like ash in the apocalypse have him still chewing his food and swallowing.

“Rude.” Klaus says, making a ‘blat’ noise in disappointment.

“Dad’s rich as fuck, wasn’t him kicking the bucket essentially like winning the lottery?” Five points out, and this time it is Luther squawking at him in disapproval.

“Don’t talk about Dad like that!” He demands, and Five has some more uncharitable thoughts about the way Luther’s arms flex just a little unnaturally underneath that big trenchcoat.

“I like this version of Five better.” Klaus declares, looking like Christmas has come early.

“Dad was murdered and you guys don’t even care.” Luther spits out, looking very offended.

“You were murdered and I care very much about that.” Five retaliates, and the entire kitchen goes quiet.

“Can you elaborate a little, Five?” Allison says, ever the diplomat.

(That’s a lie. Allison started more fights than Diego, probably. She just got caught way less often.)

“Well. I mean, I dunno if murdered is the right word considering everyone was dead. You might have just been collateral damage, who knows? Does murder imply intent?”

“Everyone was dead?” Vanya says, voice very quiet.

Five shrugs, then nods, then shrugs again. He doesn’t like thinking about it. “Yeah, but that’s not going to happen this time.”

“I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Luther mutters, and Five valiantly tries to ignore him. 

“Five, are you - are you sure you’re alright?” Vanya’s voice wobbles and she looks like she wants to reach out and hold him or something ridiculous like that. She looks at him with big sad brown eyes, “Dad did say that time travel could... mess with you a little.”

Allison nods and oh, Five does not have time for this bullshit. 

“I have proof.” He says, and he reaches back and pulls out Reginald’s red notebook and slams it onto the table.

“Is that Dad’s - ” Luther cuts himself off, looking at the notebook with wide eyes.

It is very clearly beaten up to hell and back. Ash has stained the edges of the pages grey and there may or may not be a gouge across the front from a near miss with a bullet while working at the commission. It is a book that has clearly been through hell.

Five also dig’s Vanya’s equally beaten up book from his pocket to dump on the table as well, equally stained with ash and barely held together after being read over and over again for decades, including being used as a notebook in the final years.

(Vanya lets out a little gasp, hand flying up to her mouth with the knowledge that at least one of her siblings read her book. Certainly not the one she thought it would be.)

Five reaches into his sock to pull out the glass eye triumphantly, setting it down on his small stack of treasures.

“What the fuck?” Diego is the one to ask.

“If I time travelled from that day in 2002 to right now, how the fuck would I have Vanya’s book?” Five says triumphantly, “It came out in 2015.”

“Why do you have an eye?” Allison sounds slightly horrified.

“It’s the key to figuring out who caused the apocalypse.” Five says, turning it over in his hands, “It’s gotta have something to do with it at least.”

“Why does he have Dad’s notebook?” Luther demands, sounding equally outraged.

“Found it.” Five shrugs, like the little scavenger he is.

(Emphasis on little. His suit still almost fits, and reading the numbers in Reginald’s notebook versus seeing how fucking tall all his siblings got in person is frankly unfair.)

“Oh my god, okay.” Allison says, throwing her hands up in the air like they’re all nuisances. It’s a familiar Allison look, and Five actually feels a little soothed by the memory. “So the world is ending, Five is back from the dead, and our only clue is a goddamn eye?”

“I was never dead.” Five points out, “But basically, yeah.”

“I don’t have time for this, I have to get back to my daughter.” Allison says, shaking her head.

“I mean if you want Claire to live I would think stopping the apocalypse would kind of be a priority.” 

This draw Allison to a halt from where she’d been gathering herself to leave, “You... know her name?”

Five makes the executive decision to not mention the torn out magazine cover featuring his sister and niece that is pressed between some of the pages in Reginald’s journal. “I’d like to meet her one day.”

Just like that, Allison has been won over.

“Do you think it has something to do with whoever murdered Dad?” Luther asks seriously, even if the question makes Diego groan like this is an argument they have had before.

“Who knows?” Five shrugs, “But if we’re splitting into investigation teams, I call Vanya.”

Vanya startles from where she has been sitting quietly, “Me?” She asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah.” Five nods, “I mean, with Ben gone you’re probably the team’s heaviest hitter.”

“What?” Several voices ring out in confusion.

Five blinks, a little confused himself. Unless - “Wait, did you never train your powers?”

“Five,” Vanya says slowly, like she’s explaining a simple concept to a particularly dim child, “I don’t have powers.”

This was - this was unexpected. Why did he not think of this explanation? It’s just - he has now known about Vanya’s powers for like way longer than he hasn’t. It’s almost second nature to think of Vanya as having powers by now. And she doesn’t know.

“Oh boy.” He says, picking up Reginald’s notebook, “This debriefing may take a bit longer than I first thought. Oh, and at some point we should probably cut the tracker out of my arm as well.”

“The what out of your what?”

Yeah the day doesn’t really get much better from there.

[meetmymouth]

HI OMG I KNOW YOUR REQUESTS ARE CLOSED BUT I NEEDED TO SEND THIS BEFORE I FORGOT !!!! COULD YOU DO A BLURB WHERE HARRY AND Y/N DO THE THING WHERE YOU GET WINE DRUNK AND WHOEVER TOUCHES THE OTHER FIRST LOOSES ????

it’s been a while since i wrote a blurb so hope this makes sense lmaooooo i wrote it while watching bake off finale so i was v distracted!!!! hope you like it :(

Harry places his own glass next to Y/N’s on the glass table and he leans back, watching her as she taps away on her phone.

“No pop,” he yawns, hand going up to his warm, sweaty neck. “No One Direction.”

A gasp, then a hiccup leaves her mouth, “The disrespect. I’m gonna put somethin’ sexy.”

Harry clears his throat, feeling drops of sweat run down his back and he wants to reach and stop it, maybe take his shirt off and maybe, just maybe cuddle into her side just to annoy her, hear that familiar snort, but he knows it would be a dangerous game to play considering the alcohol in their systems.

Instead, he gives her a smirk and puts his feet on the table, careful not to hit their glasses. “Sexy? What for? Y’gonna give me a lap dance?”

“You wish. Let’s...let’s make tonight more interesting-”

Harry snorts, “More interesting? I just told you about my embarrassing encounter with my ex. Nothing can top that for me tonight, sorry love.”

The small Bluetooth speaker makes a weird noise before Arctic Monkey’s I Wanna Be Yours starts playing and Harry rolls his eyes but the tiny smile remains present on his face as he watches Y/N walk towards the kitchen area behind where they’ve been seated.

“I hate this song,” he mutters, fighting the grin, “I wanna be your vacuum cleaner,” he sings, voice gruff and the tone playful, clearly taking the piss out of the lyrics.

She returns, another bottle of red clasped tightly between her beautiful fingers, and she throws the cork at Harry. “They’re deep, the lyrics, I love it. Stop being jealous- hand me your glass.”

“Am not. God- I didn’t think your cheap red would hit me this hard. My head’s killing me, it’s like two- no wait, three gorillas are having sex where my brain should be.”

“I don’t think gorillas would be into threesomes. And- excuse me? Cheap? I paid a tenner each for these babies. Not all of us are loaded.”

With bottom lip trapped between his teeth, he gives her a dismissive look, one hand coming up to rest on his crotch- something he always did when he felt comfortable, at ease, while the other brings the wine glass up to his lips.

She watches him take two big gulps despite his previous remarks, and her eyes focus on the stubble, probably a week old, and then her gaze fall to his Adam’s apple, watching it move up and down with each gulp. His cheeks are flushed, a beautiful pink, and there’s sweat on his forehead, some of his hair sticking to his skin, and she reaches to brush his hair back but her hand pauses in the air.

It’s nothing of the ordinary, these little touches here and there.

They were close. They both loved touching each other in the most friendly way, meaning, they loved hugs, cuddles, kisses, and they often find each other touching each other’s hair whether it be to ruffle it in order to annoy the other, or to brush the hair back and for them, the little touches were part of their friendship. 

So when her hand pauses in the air, Harry looks up at her, brow furrowed, “Wha’? Somethin’ in m’hair?” He slurs, bringing his hand up to his hair and he ruffles it. "Whaaaat?”

“Jus’ had an idea, ‘s all.”

“Oh shit. Hold on, imma take my joggers off-” 

Harry leans forward to put his glass on the coffee table and she spits out a no,

“Stop, that- that’s not what I’m talkin’ about. Dirty pig.”

“Pity.”

“Listen to me, will you?”

“Yep. All ears, darlin’.”

“So,” she lets out a sigh, then takes another gulp of her wine, “We get shitfaced and whoever touches the other first loses.”

Harry gives her a look, pupils dilated and lips turned upwards in a wide grin. “So am I taking my jogs off or not?”

“Oh fuck off, no! Clothes stay on. Just-” another hiccup, a silent burp more like, “Just don’t touch me. And I won’t touch you. It’s not- it doesn’t have to be sexual, y’know.”

“For now,” he mumbles and it’s loud enough for her to hear and send him a glare but he laughs it off.

Glass after glass, Y/N begins to feel her world shift, her vision becoming ‘shaky’, and she lets out a giggle because it’s been a while since she felt this way, since she’d gotten wine drunk. “I love this.”

Harry hums, one hand rubbing his eye as he tries to pour more wine but there’s only a couple of drops left so he tuts, placing the bottle back on the table and he downs that last couple of drops. 

Despite his drunken state, he tries to sing along, I never thought I'd feel this kind of hesitation...my hand on another girl...I wish I didn't have to lie...but his tongue feels like a wet sponge, so heavy, and he wants to put his hands- or her hands in his mouth so she can...so she can, she can do anything she wants to. Whatever she wants to.

“You sound shite when you’re pissed. I’m glad you say no to alcohol while singin’. God, my- I can’t feel my hands,” she mutters, trying to reach for the bottle, but Harry reaches at the same time, both stopping their movements when they remember their silly little game.

Harry looks at her, he really looks at her, and she blushes. 

He knows she does because she looks down and scrunches her cute nose and Harry wants to shoot himself in the dick.

“No touchin’...right,” he whispers. “’s empty, pet.”

Y/N looks up, finding him smiling down at her. “What’s empty?”

“The bottle, silly girl. Finito. Fini.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They’re silent for the most part, Valerie still playing in the background, and Harry leans his head back and closes his eyes. He puts one arm on his side, palm stretched on the sofa where he knows Y/N’s hand sits close, and he tries to move it closer but, once again, he knows he’s playing with fire. 

“Y’trying to touch me?” She says, voice low but soft regardless, and it makes him smile.

“No.”

“You so are. I’m literally looking at your hand right now.”

Another smile. “Why y’staring at m’hand, you fuckin’ creep,” Harry takes a risk and moves his hand more to the left but he lets out a sigh when their hands still fail to touch.

“Who- whoever,” she clears her throat, “Whoever loses pays the other a hundred quid. Hundred and fifty five...and five pence.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Harry snorts.

“It does. You wanna touch? You’re gonna pay!”

“Y’know,” he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, straightening up on the sofa. “I’ve heard that before-”

“Harry, stop. I know what you’re gonna say.”

“All right, all right. C’mere, lemme pinch y’cute cheeks,” he reaches his arm, just to wind her up, but she stops it with her hand which slaps Harry’s with force.

Their eyes widen and they look at each other for a while before Harry breaks the silence with a snort. “You- fuck. You owe me a hundred and fifty...five quid. And five pence,” he can’t help but laugh harder at the pout that’s forming on her face. “Oh, come on-”

“You set me up!”

“I did no such thing. Them’s the rules, babe. I accept Visa, Amex-”

“Amex? Who do you think I am? Fuck sake. I hate you so much.”

“You really really really...really don’t. Y’love me really.”

She reaches and flicks him in the forehead but he surges forward, grabbing her hand in his and without thinking, he puts her index in his mouth and bites.

"Argh! Harry you horny bastard, always wanna lick something- ew, give me my fuckin’ finger back!”

[silkylious]

Limbo (Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: bakugo katsuki x female reader warnings: heavy angst, eventual tiny bit of fluff at the end

omf this request is so nice i feel so bad that my writing is literally garbage in this, but thank you sm for requesting this!! <3 and im so sorry if i didn’t do your request justice (i legit hate my writing here :’))

To say the state of your relationship was unbearable would be the euphemism of the century.

Your thoughts often ran amuck, always hopelessly crawling back to that one despaired curiosity; wondering if he shared the same sentiment about your wishy-washy “friends” status as you did. He probably didn’t. That’s the seemingly unshakable brick wall that would inevitably dead-end your lovesick daydreams, each and every time. Though when his roughed-up hands linger on your skin a millisecond too long, when his steeled stare melts, hard rubies morphing into blazing lava pits, threatening to mar your very heart and soul with their scorching intensity –you’re not exactly certain you’d mind that– that’s when a flicker of something ignites within you. Hope, longing, doubt. Whatever it is, it terrifies you. Because you’re agonizingly aware of what that entails. He’s got you hook, line and sinker, but torturously he refuses to do anything with that. Almost like pulling someone in for a hug then abruptly and without explanation stopping midway, he keeps you at arm’s length. Not too far, not too close. And how that cycle destroyed you.

Katsuki was the type to jump into action and ask questions later. Except a lot of the times when these questions pertain to his own emotions, he didn’t even try to answer them, opting to shove them to the corners of his psyche, collecting dust, steadily accumulating until they become too much to ignore and he (sometimes quite literally) explodes. It’s a vicious loop that he could never break away from, he’d even come to find a sordid comfort in it. His coping mechanism was by no means healthy, far from it, but he’d grown familiar to the toxicity.

Katsuki couldn’t make heads nor tails of his feelings for you. Whenever he impulsively threw himself into the lion’s den that was your affection, caught in the moment, in the glimmer of genuine adoration in your eyes, he never came back the same. A piece of his heart would irreversibly split off and reside in the palm of your hand, he was scared that nothing would be left of it, that he wouldn’t be able to regain his bearings until it was too late. You so effortlessly juggled with his feelings, all with a single smile, it scared him that you had so much power over the fluttery sensation in his chest and yet, in the moment, it felt good. It felt so good to indulge in whatever fucky feeling was messing with his head, to let you hold him in the depths of obscurity with all prying eyes shut and what little words exchanged hushed. It felt so alleviating to feel skin on his own (for once not in battle), gentle, comforting but not coddling. It was unspoken between you that you were both more than friends. You knew it, he knew it. Neither of you ever mentioned it. What neither of you knew, however, was how far the other’s feelings ran.

But as high as your silent love made him feel, he crashed back down into the concrete when he was left to his own devices. Without your intoxicating scent, distracting touches fogging his rationality, Katsuki had all the time in the world to overthink. And overthink he did. His pride picked apart the delicate flowering in his heart, ripping it petal by petal until nothing was left but a garden of beautifully withered leaves, a condemnation to what he considered a weakness.

Katsuki was a taker by every sense of the word. Basking in your wispy adoration, only to brush you aside in favor of focusing on academics once he’d had his fill of your love. It was sickening.

Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t outright confessed to him, maybe that’s what soothed the overbearing guilt that crawled up his throat whenever he saw that dejected face of yours, the one you made because of him. If your feelings for him ran deep, surely you would have said something by now, at least that’s what he thought. Or more precisely, that’s the excuse his mind conjured up in hopes of easing his conscious, trying to convince himself that self that yes, he was hurting you, but at least he wasn’t hurting you that bad. He was infinitely aware that this doesn’t put him in any sort of moral high ground, nor does it justify his actions, but, again, it was a last-ditch effort to relieve his anguish if just by a little bit, even if he knew that excuse was bullshit.    

Surely he knew, there’s no way in hell someone as hawk-eyed as him didn’t notice the tyranny he held over the porcelain pitter-pattering of your heart, didn’t notice the fleeting, love-filled glances you sent his way. This was getting ridiculous, you were starting to believe he was taking some twisted sense of pleasure from your heartache, but he wouldn’t do that, right? He didn’t derive some sick kick out of having you indefinitely under his thumb, at his beck and call… right? A few months ago, you would have answered those uncertainties with a resounding “No!” defending his cruel behavior till the bitter end. But now…

Now you weren’t so sure.

And yet you still found yourself in his dorm, on his bed. It was supposed to be another study gathering, but one thing was glaringly missing. Y’know… the gathering. Kirishima was out training and he hadn’t bothered to invite the rest of his brain-dead, self-proclaimed squad. And that’s how you found yourself alone. With your best friend and secret crush. Just dandy.

Your hands were restless. Pulling at the seams of his blanket, cracking your own fingers, picking up your pencil for a brief moment of concentration, answering one or two questions only to drop it back on the mattress again and fidget some more. Katsuki wasn’t fucking blind, and your unease was ticking him off. Though he surprisingly hadn’t said a thing about it just yet, he was clearly nearing his wit’s end. His silence didn’t prevail for much longer, the meek sigh and not so subtle glance you chanced his way being his tipping point.

“What.” It came out as a statement, a demand rather than a question. What was he demanding? He hadn’t thought of that yet, his temperamental limbs already taking the wheel and pressing on the gas without a destination in mind, just being short fused for the sake of it. Was it even his place to be making demands in this situation? Katsuki knew the answer to this one like the back of his hand, a solid no.

“What…?” You really had no idea what Bakugo was expecting with a question like that. He still had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“The hell’s got you so jumpy?”

“It’s nothing…” It was a lot more than nothing, that’s for sure.

“Don’t lie to me, (name). What the fuck is up with you?” Ah, there it is again. That look. His words were as cut-throat as ever, and his mouth was still pulled into that seemingly permanent scowl. But his eyes conveyed something that was whole worlds asunder from his harsh tone. Golden brows furrowed as they usually were, though unusually upturned just the slightest bit. You despised that look. It ensured that you’ll forever be caught in his grasp, forever there for him when he never spared you the time of day.

Your lungs constricted by a force of gorgeously wretched agony. Katsuki wasn’t fair when he bared his soul to you like this, it filled you with such fervent euphoria that torrefied its way through your being, singeing your veins with luminous infatuation. And it hurt. Because you knew he’d cage himself right up as soon as the moment of vulnerability perished.

A crystalline sheen permeated your vision. This wasn’t going to end well.  

“I said it’s nothing,” Your voice raised. You hadn’t meant for the words to be as frosty as they came out, but it seemed like your subconscious was utterly done with the tedium of heartbreak he keeps putting you through.

“What is fucking wrong with you? I was literally just asking why you were being so goddamn obnoxious today and then you go and make a big fuckin’ deal out of nothing!”

“Well, maybe I’m just fucking tired of giving you everything I have and getting nothing in return, Katsuki!”

Your chest rose and fell with each scalding breath that entered your lungs. The blood through your veins was pumping. Never had you been confrontational, and your sudden outburst wasn’t exactly welcome to your system. You wanted to vomit. This was not how you wanted things to turn out, you absolutely needed to leave, distance yourself from the emotional strain he was inflicting on you.  

Without taking notice of the panicked glint in the cherry red of his irises, you bolted out of the suddenly claustrophobic room, leaving Katsuki to stare at his agape door before flickering his unfocused attention to your supplies still laying on his bed.

Katsuki erupted time and time again, with you being as patient as a receiving end could ever be. It’s specifically because of your godly patience that he never considered what he would do once you erupted.

With your back sliding down your dorm room door, and little friction stopping your descent, you wondered and maybe even wished he’d call after you, come banging on your door with bristling apologies on the tip of his tongue. However, the jarring reality was very clear to you. You’d decided on that day, with your head buried in your tear-stained pillow, that these were the last tears you’d ever shed on him, that you were going to put him through the same wringing hell he’d put you through.

You were going to ignore Bakugo Katsuki’s existence just like he’d periodically ignored yours.

The following week had been bleak at best and excruciatingly bitter at its worst for the both of you. It was so strange having to adjust to the absence of the other, even if your company more often than not had been a quiet one, it was company nevertheless. The most grueling part though, was your shared friend group. They’d noticed that something was obviously awry, but since neither of you said a thing about it, they decided it would be best if they didn’t either. The awkward dead silences during lunch were still purgatory to behold. But after a few more slow paced days, the sun seemed to shine bright again. For you, that is.

You didn’t realize how much of your schedule revolved around Bakugo until he was completely out of it. How much time you spent with him, dreading him, thinking about him… him, him, him. He’d consumed your thoughts from the first sparks of dawn till the hallows of dusk. You had so much free time now that he was out of the picture, it was crazy. The more time you spent on yourself, on your hobbies, getting to know other classmates outside of your immediate friend circle, the duller the ache in your chest. Until it was but a static buzz. Yet you couldn’t deny that, with time, your fury had mellowed out, leaving behind a cold loneliness you couldn’t elude whenever your aimless stare landed on him, almost like it was drawn to him by muscle memory.

He was the exact opposite.

You’d think the throbbing within him whenever you finally gazed his way then instantaneously looked in the opposite direction would knock come modicum of sense into his stubborn head. But nope. And seeing you thrive without him only cemented what he already knew. He really was no good for you. So much so that it barely took anytime for you to readjust to the lack of him in your life, and not only did you adjust, you were the best he’s ever seen you both mentally and academically. In the first week of you ditching him completely, his bruised ego kept him for reaching out to you, but now, seeing that elated grin on your face –the one that had been gradually dwindling over the past few months– he didn’t want to take your newfound happiness away, he’d figured he’d done you more than enough harm already.

Heart heavy with reluctance, Katsuki made the decision to give up on your relationship. Deciding to wordlessly cheer you on from the sidelines and watch you bloom, flourishing into the person he robbed you of being for a chunk of your life, though whenever your spring hit, it would be without him. Until some day in the future where his pride wasn’t as suffocating, where he could genuinely, wholeheartedly repent his grievances and only hope for your forgiveness.

Kirishima never took Bakugo for a quitter, hell would freeze over before he even thought such a thing. So this was certainly a shock. What was even more shocking ­– and overwhelmingly concerning– was the fact that Katsuki had willingly, on his own accord confided in him, and he’d, in his own roundabout way, taken accountability for being a gigantic douche to you. As much as the redhead respected his friend’s decision to stay clear of you, he couldn’t help but wish you’d just talk to one another for once. Kirishima really was a saint, having to listen to two idiots ramble about how much they miss the other.

“Listen, man. I know you feel bad and all that, but maybe you should just talk to her? I’m sure she’d like some closure on this just as you do, even if that doesn’t mean things will go back to the way they were.” Eijirou tried to reason, praying to whatever higher being out there that Katsuki would just get the fuck over himself and communicate with you.

“Fuck no. That’s not fucking happening, shitty hair,” Kirishima rolled his eyes at the oh so affectionate nickname, thoroughly done with his best friend’s melodrama. Welp, I guess there’s only one thing left to try. He heaved internally, mentally and physically preparing himself for Bakugo’s tantrum.

“Well, you know that if you won’t talk to her, others will, right? I heard some guys saying they’re gonna ask her ou–”

“Shut the fuck up! I don’t give a rat’s ass who asks her out!” He definitely did. Eijirou hid his smile. Checkmate.

“Whatever you say, dude.”

Later that day, three distinctly powerful knocks woke you up. Needless to say, you didn’t think that night would end up with you and Katsuki staring each other down, seated on your bed at one in the morning. Words got stuck in his throat, so he just… noiselessly watched your face, as if trying to telepathically ram his constipated emotions into you, in hopes that you’d make sense of them. Obviously, that didn’t work.

“Did you come banging on my door at one in the morning just to stare at me, Bakugo? I mean I know I’m pretty but still–”

“Shuddup.” Not really the best thing to say to you after weeks of radio silence. You were about to make another salty remark, but he opened his mouth first.

“I fucked up,” The fact that he was acknowledging he was at fault was… something. But that wasn’t nearly enough to pay off the debt off turmoil he’d caused you.

“No shit.” You replied without missing a beat. The ice that tinged your words caught him off guard, but he really shouldn’t have been surprised. He sighed, knowing he’d have to strip himself of everything, including his pride (especially his pride) down to his very core, to have a go at a second chance.

And so, he did.

He poured his everything out for you to observe, without an ego film distorting his words. Syllables reeked of muted agony, he really had rid himself of anything and everything that wasn’t his deepest soul. He finally offered you himself just as you had done countless times before. Katsuki swore that his heart would –and always has been– explicitly yours, he’d roar that fact at the constellations above if you so wished him to. And while it would take a while to heal from coruscating blisters he’d inflicted, you were more than content mending and welting your heart with his.  

[yandere-daydreams]

Kinktober - Day Nine

Prompt: Breathplay + Maid Dress

Pairing: Epel/Reader (Twisted Wonderland)

TW: Dub-Con, AFAB!Reader, Third-Year Epel, Degradation, Choking, Slight Feminization, Disassociation, Unhealthy Relationships, and Rough Sex.

You really should’ve stopped after he put on the dress.

It was pooling around your waist, now, flowing but forgotten, rustling and creasing with every thrust of Epel’s hips, every slap of skin against skin, every harsh glare and stifled curse and vile name directed towards you. It was still beautiful, even if you would’ve preferred to have a better view. It was such a brilliant shade of black, stunning against his pale skin, silken on the inside and velvet on the outside, just like the ribbons running over his heaving chest, binding the loose white fabric underneath into place and fading into the sleeves as they ruffled over his shoulders. You assumed it’d been cute, before he put it on, something innocent and just out of character enough to get both of you off. You assumed it’d be fun, if nothing else, but you were beginning to have second thoughts.

In your defense, Epel never said he was against it. You’d been with him long enough to know about his insecurities, at that point, but he was so vocal when something bothered him, and he’d been so dismissive of this kind of thing in the past, you just thought he’d finally warmed up to the idea when he sighed and asked if it’d get you to stop biting at his heels. Still, that wasn’t an excuse. You’d been distracted, and you hadn’t bothered to notice the way he grit his teeth as you played with the strings of his corset, how his fists clenched at his sides as you tied and retied his apron into place, when you decided you could make a more befitting bow. The stockings had just been a step too far, the thing to push Epel over the edge. You’d managed to nag and tease him into one, cream-colored and skin-tight and lovely, but its twin laid discarded somewhere else, beyond the small portion of his bed you’d been confined to.

You’d never been so thankful Epel was a Dorm Head. You weren’t sure you’d be able to stand it if anyone, much less a roommate, walked in on a scene like this.

“You’re such a bitch.” His voice brought you out of your thoughts and back to reality, but reality was still hazy, all dark colors and mixing hues and the barest hints of moonlight forcing its way through oppressive, heavy curtains, the ones you’d pulled closed upon Epel’s request. The venom in his tone was clear, though, as crystalline and as jagged as the feeling of his nails digging into your wrists where he held them above your head, as the sharp, sudden spikes of pleasure that shot through your system whenever you began to think you might’ve finally, finally passed out. You could only hope you would, eventually. It would’ve been a kindness.

Epel had never been very good at taking the lead, but things tended to get… messy, when he did. It was an uncalculated approach, mismeasured and mishandled to the point of making the act more perverse than it had to be. It was just luck that his pelvis caught your clit whenever he bottomed out, that with your legs wrapped around his waist and the edge of his flared skirt trapped between his teeth, he just so happened to hit the spot inside of you that you’d never be able to ignore. He wasn’t trying to make you feel good, that was obvious. If anything, he was being harsher than he had to be.

You wanted to block it out. You wanted to block him out, but you doubted he’d be merciful enough to let you, tonight.

“Not even smart enough to keep your damn eyes on me,” He growled, the low reverberation hitting you a moment before the sharp crack did, your head snapping to your side as your cheek burnt, threatening to swell and bruise before the sun was up. A pitchy, whiny noise found its way through your parted lips, something between a moan and a sob, but even that was cut off as Epel’s hands found your neck, eager and tight, like he’d been waiting to all day, or, since you raided Pomefiore’s storage closets, at least. Your hands were free, now, but it was all you could do to claw at his forearms, to kick your heels into his back, to struggle so weakly and so uselessly, Epel’s stern frown broke into a smirk, as he went on.

“This is what you wanted, right?” He spat, his pace picking up, his cock driving into you with a renewed vengeance. With sense of spite that only came when he knew it’d be followed by an immediate reward, one in the form of your choked whimpers and pained expression, in this case. “You wanted your cute, timid little boyfriend to sit back and let you play with his dick. You wanted me to roll my eyes and pout and beg for you to turn me into a livin’, breathin’ fuck-doll.”

“I-I didn’t--” You tried to deny it, you wanted to deny it. It wasn’t true. Epel was your boyfriend, your closest companion, the man you trusted more than anyone else in the world. You loved him, and you trusted him, and you wanted to be able to do something new for the sake of doing something new. It wasn’t your fault he was too insecure to see that. It wasn’t your fault he was too fucking paranoid to wear a dress without throwing a temper tantrum. “Please.” You were whispering, you couldn’t do anything else. His grip was too tight, too little air was getting to your lungs. Your windpipe felt like it might cave in on itself, if he put his weight behind his vice-grip. “I thought it would be… It was supposed to be fun--”

“Fun for you, maybe.” The sentiment was punctuated by a sharp piston of his hips, his calloused palms pressing into your neck as he watched you struggled not to cry out. It still felt good. It shouldn’t have, but it did, and he knew that. Epel knew it did, and that was the worst part. To him, it still looked like you wanted this, and you doubted he’d ever be convinced you didn’t. “Such a liar. Goin’ on about your golden intentions, like you're not into this. Like you ain’t ready to cum all over my cock like a fuckin’ pervert.”

You opened your mouth, but you were the one to cut yourself off, this time, the one to wince and curl up and hurt until it was all you could do to fall into the mattress and shut up. You couldn’t stand to look at his face, anymore, your eyes rising to the lacey collar around his neck, a cheap bell failing to ring whenever his body jerked forward and forced yours further into the mattress. Your mind was fuzzy, your consciousness faded to the point of numbness, but you could remember fiddling with the clasp, kissing Epel’s cheek when it finally fell into place. You could remember wanting this. You could remember wanting him, even if this wasn’t how you’d pictured it.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you were a pervert. 

Maybe this was your fault.

You didn’t think you’d really be able to live with yourself, if you accepted it was his.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Damien Dalgaard x Experimenting!Fem!Reader || Drabble

Plot: You want to safely experiment with recreational drugs but Damien wants to keep that from happening so he stretches his power in the world of drug sales to prevent anyone of note from selling to you.

Warnings: References to responsible recreational drug use, drug dealers, slightly controlling/possessive ways. Sexual references, also. Its mostly fluffy though

I stand one bisexual drug dealer

~~~

"Jacob, please. Come on. I have the money, I have my drivers licence- you know me! I don't want anything crazy, just something fun! And safe!" You press your hands together in a 'praying' gesture and set the hulking figure with a pleading gaze. "And I have plans to take it, at home, with my sober mum in the room. Really, I have no precarious plans!"

"I know, I trust you sweetheart. But I just cant sell you anything." He shrugs, turning his body towards the bar exit so he can escape you- but your hand flies from your side and to his forearm, gently, to stop him. He whines. "Come on, Y/N... "

"Jacob... " You fire back, in the same pleading tone. Then an awkward smile slips across your lips and raise an eyebrow in question, crossing your arms over your chest. "Come on," You tilt your head to the side. "What's really going on? You're the 4th person that's refused to sell me anything and I'm running out of notable dealers."

Jacob rubs the back of his thick neck, the skin stretching under his palm, and he grits his teeth together. "Look, I... " Making a frustrated noise, he lets go and shakes his head, avoiding your gaze. "Someone... doesn't seem to uh... be too pleased, at the idea of you... " He tilts his head to one side, then the other. Choosing his words carefully- not that he has to. Understanding is starting to sink in as he speaks, anyway. Finally he drops his arm and sighs out a frustrated sigh. "Buying any drugs."

Damn it.

As Jacob says sorry and slips away from you successfully this time as you sigh and lean back on the pillar behind you. A certain blue eyed devil boy, who was unknowingly to you, keeping an eye on the exchange between you and Jacob from the bar, picks up his drink and slips through the crowd to you. As soon as you see him, you roll your eyes. Of course he's here, on top of everything else!

You refuse to even say hello to your stalker and give him the damn satisfaction, and just glare at up at him from the pillar instead. Although, you're careful not to pout- lest you only cement his juvenile opinion of you.

"Sorry, sunshine. Got to him a few minutes before you got through the door."

You huff. "Damiennnnn." A smirk flickers at the corners of the raven haired dealer's lips, just like any time you would groan out his name; The context be damned. "Why're you doing this?"

"For your own good, baby. You know tha- " Before he can even finish that sentence, you're rolling your eyes and moving to leave him right there in the bar, but he manages to side step you and get in front of you again. His hand curls around your arm, gently. "You wouldn't like it. I know you wouldn't, you're a good kid. I'm just saving you from a bad experience."

"That's not your choice to make." You snap back, gaze meeting his and, for once, being the icier party. "Damien you're not my mum. And you're not my boyfriend- neither of which would change a damn thing about my decision, if you were in fact either of those things to me."

"Well that's just too bad sweetheart, because alert the presses, cuz I seem to have just beat the system." Like the hot douche he tends to be, he makes a show of looking you over, from head to toe. "Because I don't see any fucking drugs, on you."

You growl, and exclaim hopelessly. "I would if you would just sell them to me!"

"Not gonna happen."

"Why!?"

"I told you." Damien moves closer, hunching over you. You can feel his breath on your forehead, but still you stay firm. He's annoying, and frustrating, and a pain in the ass. Your personal brand of sexy, yes, but all those other things first and foremost. "You're a goody-two-shoes, and you wouldn't like what it does to you." Oh, he says it like its scientific fact. And it seriously grates on your nerves. Why is he so insistent??!

You roll your eyes deeply, enough to really feel it before talking again. "I wouldn't or you wouldn't?"

A slow, mischievous grin slips over his face. But its just a show and does little to cover up the unsureness in his eyes. "Sweetheart. Does that distinction really matter that much?"

You cross your arms. "It does if you're thinking like a boyfriend but refuse to act like one, jerk." For a moment he doesn't say anything. His mouth opens a little, like words should come out immediately - a deflection, a denial. Something clean and easy, - but he just... gets stuck. Freezes. Realisation of how real those words you just spat out must truly be slowly dawn on you, and you revert your gaze from his. The anger from before kind of just, slips right out of you. "Cuz... you come to see me a lot. You try to protect me. We're having regular sex, you bring me my (Chosen drink) for no conceivable reason other then to make me happy... " Things start to make sense to you as 2 and 2 come together. Your eyebrows knit together and your gaze flickers up to his, then away again. Then you shrug. "But then again, that cant be it, right? You don't do relationships, right?"

"Right." He replies back, quickly this time. Too quickly.

"Right." You say back, then chew on your bottom lip and look around. You cant see much of the rest of the bar, and the partyers being loud as hell around because Damien's so close and is shielding you from everything, but you don't know quite what else to do, now. He's frozen, and even when he defrosts you're not sure he's going to have anything remotely productive to say and might just brush you off actually which would be sucky, so... Maybe, you should... go???

But just as you move to slip around Damien and leave, he seems to gather his wits and clenches his grip harder down on your arm. "Hold on, wait a moment, there." He looks up and finally meets my eyes again; You raise an eyebrow expectantly. What? He sighs, and leans forward, rests an arm on the pillar above your head - caging you in, - and squeezes his eyes closed for a moment, controlling himself. "Where are you going?" For gods sake.

"Home- there you go thinking like a boyfriend again though! Why do you need to know where I'm gonna be??"

"Why do you answer me, in the first place?" He shoots right back this time, causing you to blanche up at him. A slow smirk spreads across his lips again- this time, real. There's a definite mischievous sparkle in those blue-blue eyes. "Do you want me to be your boyfriend, Y/N?"

Sputtering, mostly to waste time so you can find the right response to a bold question like that, you say nothing. What? What? This is not about you- Why don't you feel violently ill at the concept, though?

Must be just because he's standing so close. He's pretty, that's it. Your own personal, addictive brand of pretty. That's all- "Maybe?"

... what??

For a moment all the mystery, mischief, good old bad-boy energy and just, plain, darkness just leaves him. Its unbelievably endearing and all you can do is stand there like a doll watching Damien laugh, quietly, at your response and probably the fact that you must look like a startled baby bird right now too. Briefly you let yourself dip into that box pushed into the very back of your mind, hiding away all the things that you shouldn't think about regarding Damien, and wonder if that's what he looked like all the time, before. When he was all geeky and book-nose-y. A 'goody-two-shoes' himself. You read about that part of his life on Gossip Girl. He didn't talk about it, for damn sure.

Then you shut that down because its in that box for a reason. Its not appropriate for you to dig that deep, with him.

But also you're totally confused, with where this conversation might be going. Should you pick up that box? Its becoming dangerously close to being appropriate.

"Maybe?" He asks, clearly amused. Like a chameleon, his colours change back again to drug dealing dickhead. You don't mind. You like both.

You tilt your head to the side, raising an eyebrow. "... Well, do you want me to be your girlfriend?"

He rolls his eyes, smirking, and chooses to torture you with his own 'Maybe', making you huff. He's amused by it, before setting you with a serious, questioning look. "If I did, though... What would that mean about your little drug quest you got going, here?"

Oh.

You're back here again.

Wonderful.

"Well," You take a deep breath, and reach up to cautiously hang your arms loosely around his neck; Something you've done plenty of times before but never so intimately. Not this kind intimately, anyway. Absolutely not. This kind, is what makes you nervous. More then when you met him, your first time at a bar on your own. More then any of the times someone dangerous approached you both when you were with him, definitely more then when you had sex - no matter where, - . More then roller coasters and giant swings. "I don't think it would go away totally," You say, carefully. "if I was your girlfriend, or anyone's girlfriend. Then, I think I'd be... too preoccupied, to think about that. For a little while, at least."

After a moment of letting your words sink in, Damien makes a thoughtful 'Hm' sound and wraps both his arms around your waist- gathering you up against him. "Sounds like time that could be used convincing you not to try."

"You could see it that way." You grin, rolling your eyes. But like a light switch, those words seem to ease the whole situation. Damien's hands on you, the feel of him close, isn't anything new to you. But it feels different all the same. Like you're really allowed to like it, now. In all the most innocent ways possible. "But good luck."

"I think I'll take my chances with that option." Damien proclaims, and for a moment you just stand there together. The bar's music blaring in your ears, making them pink and hot, the material of his dark coat cosy to the touch and making you feel enclosed in it and safe despite all the chaos that bars encase, Damien looking around the room; Not assessing possible sales for once or checking for danger. Just... stewing in his satisfaction. The frustration bleeding from the both of you earlier seemingly evaporated like it was nothing, as you grin down to yourself. "Also," He pipes up again coyly after a few minutes, catching your attention by squeezing you a little bit, also. "With you as my girlfriend," Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend- "now, I can do this any time I want."

Then he leans down and presses his lips against yours - less needy then usual. Not looking for anything more. Just kissing you to feel your lips against his, - in a kiss that sends tingles all over your body, and forces you to get up onto the tips of your toes to reciprocate with as much passion.

BONUS:

"Welp, I'm gonna get going now." You exclaim once the kiss is over, or you just cant hold your breath anymore, and reluctantly pull out of his arms, fixing your bag on your shoulder. You flash him a grin, tilting your head to the side. "Probably see you tomorrow?"

"Where are you going?"

"Home!" What does he mean, 'Where are you going?' ??? "I told you. I have cookies there, and my sister will eat all of them if I stay away all night."

Damien just stares back at you, waiting for some punch line, apparently. When no punchline comes after too many moments, he holds up a hand to slow you down- as if you had moved at all, with him staring at you like that. Any dose of those blue eyes are lethal. "Wait, you're really going home?"

"Yep." You pop the 'p', equally confused with him as he is with you. What does he mean, 'Wait, you're really going home'?????? Of course you're going home. That's what you said? Twice?

He just continues to stare at you. "What?? Cookies, Damien."

"I can buy you cookies." He assures, but you shake your head.

Tempting, but- "Mm, not these. I baked them."

"I can buy you ingredients."

"But then I have to wait for them to bake, and cool, when I can just take a 15 minute tram ride home and eat them now."

"Okay- " Damien sighs, kneading his forehead. "Alright, I might be new to the boyfriend thing Y/N, but don't people in relationships traditionally spend a- well, an obscene, amount of time together?" You smirk and giggle, at that. Oh, that's the issue. He thought becoming your boyfriend would be a bigger thing.

Hmm, you look away and wonder how to word this...

"Damien. Heads up, but as far as I'm aware, you've been acting like my boyfriend for months now. We've just labelled it now- not much is gonna change, except maybe I'll use the 'boyfriend card' sometimes with you. Don't sweat." With that, you lean up and peck him on the cheek as he smirks; relieved. Then you step back totally, resigned to not touching him again tonight even if you want to. That was goodbye. "Now, I'll text you later? Have a good night!"

"Night." He chuckles, pocketing his hands and turning to watch you leave.

[hongism]

shifting desires - j. jaehyun x reader x mark lee

➻ pairing: jaehyun x fem!reader x mark

➻ wc: 3.2k

➻ genre: smut, pwp

➻ rating: M, 18+

➻ warnings: threesome, explicit smut, oral sex: m & f, fingering, face-fucking, slight choking on dick, multiple orgasms, creampie, cum eating, unprotected sex!!! wrap it before you tap it folks!!!!, idek what else to tag

➻ summary: jaehyun is bold but he’s never been this bold, especially not during a movie night with you and mark.

➻ requested by: @wheresmymoniat

➻ prompts:

“Are you really watching porn right beside me?”

​​

You drop your head onto Jaehyun’s shoulder, a small sigh leaving your lips as you watch the TV screen with increasing boredom. His hand comes to rest on your thigh and squeezes the muscle before beginning to rub small circles against your clothed skin. He has his phone in one hand, and he’s watching something on the screen rather than looking at the TV, but you can’t see what he’s doing. Mark sits on the other side of the couch, feet propped on your lap, and he watches the television with much more enthusiasm than either you or Jaehyun.

A few minutes pass like that, and you feel your eyelids starting to grow heavy as you rest against your friend’s shoulder. All of a sudden, he shifts under you, and you jolt into a sitting position again. Mark glances over as you move quickly. Your eyes are on Jaehyun, however, and you try to figure out what caused his sudden movement. He doesn’t look back, gaze still glued to his phone screen without a care in the world. It’s like you and Mark don’t exist at all, and you want nothing more than to smack the device out of his hand so he actually pays attention.

Rather than doing that though, you just reach forward and grab the phone from him.

“No!” Jaehyun exclaims automatically, but it’s too late because you’ve already got the device in your hands. Mark leans forward to glance over your shoulder and see the screen as well. Neither of you are ready for what you see. It’s a lewd image that causes your jaw to drop. Mark chokes out a nervous laugh that you know is only an attempt to veil his embarrassment. Jaehyun lunges towards you and grabs the phone back, and you can’t even fight back in your shock.

“Are you really watching porn right beside me?” You ask, tone incredulous as you look to Jaehyun’s face. You expect to see some form of embarrassment on his features, but he just shrugs and returns to watching the screen. “Jaehyun!”

“What? I can put it on the TV if you’d like.”

You choke at his suggestion, but Jaehyun continues to have zero shame. He presses his legs further open, revealing the prominent tent in his grey sweatpants, and you try your best to avoid looking at him again.

“At least go to the bedroom, for fuck’s sake,” you grumble as you pull your legs up on the couch and curl into yourself. You move to lean against Mark this time, but he shifts away from you awkwardly.

“I-I, uh…” His voice dies in his throat as you turn to look at him now. A faint blush dusts his cheeks. He’s dragged a pillow over his lap, but now that you know what Jaehyun is watching, you know exactly what’s hiding under that pillow.

“Are you serious?” You ask, releasing a deep sigh. Mark swallows in response and doesn’t meet your eyes.

“He’s probably thinking about fucking you like the video,” Jaehyun pipes up. The words send both you and Mark into a state of shock. Mark starts laughing only to choke on his saliva and fall into a fit of coughs. You whip around to glare at Jaehyun’s form. When you turn to him, you find his gaze on you. His phone is gone, and he’s turned his body towards you. Your eyes flit down to the tent in his pants.

“W-What?” You stammer even though you know exactly what Jaehyun means. Jaehyun has always been bold and a bit on the flirty side; that’s something you’ve known since the start of your friendship. This is completely different. It was just a friendship, and it’s always been that way. The same goes for Mark, except Mark is marginally less intense and a lot more shy. The three of you have a solid friendship, and while Jaehyun is not shy about talking about his exploits in the bedroom (or other places), he’s never directed those exploits towards you.

Jaehyun pushes closer to you on the couch. Your heart begins to speed up as he edges closer and closer. You reach behind you to support yourself when you lean away from Jaehyun, but your hand makes contact with the pillow over Mark’s lap instead. He groans at the pressure. You don’t intend for the sound to affect you the way it does, but Mark’s moan sends a surge of arousal straight to your core.

“I said… he’s probably thinking of fucking you like the guy in the video,” Jaehyun repeats, voice falling to a whisper. “Or seeing you get fucked like that.” Something about the way Jaehyun says the words causes your core to coil. You press your thighs together to alleviate some of the sudden pressure between your legs. Jaehyun notices the small movements, a smirk overtaking his lips. “Do you like the idea of that?”

“I… yes.” Your voice is faint, nothing more than a whisper that can barely be heard over the rumble of the television. Jaehyun’s lips twitch, tongue darting out to moisten them, and you follow the movement with your eyes.

“Do you like the idea of me kissing you, Y/N?” Comes Jaehyun’s next question, and he’s already leaning in before you can answer. You respond by leaning towards Jaehyun. His lips ghost over yours, delicate and soft against you, and you sink into the sensation. His tongue pokes at your lower lip, and you don’t hesitate in granting him access to your wet cavern. He hums into your mouth, tongue swirling against yours. Jaehyun’s hands find your hips, gripping the flesh tightly, and he tugs you into his lap. You drape your arms over his shoulders and dig your fingers into his hair. His tongue is warm against yours, and you know that he’s going to overpower you but you still wrestle for dominance.

You nearly forget about Mark because of the overwhelming haze that’s rising in your mind. Pleasure fills your system, you sink further into Jaehyun’s touch, and he digs his fingers further into your hips. The force is enough to be bruising but it draws a moan out of you nonetheless. You push your hips further against his, dragging your crotch over his and grinding down against his bulge.

Jaehyun pulls his lips off yours for a fraction of a second, just long enough for him to hook his fingers around the hem of your shirt and tug it up over your head. You neglected to wear a bra since it’s your apartment and these are your best friends, but as Jaehyun’s gaze drags hungrily over your form, you can’t help but feel a bit shy. His hands fall to your breasts, squeezing the skin under his fingers. You respond to the action with delicate moans. Jaehyun takes the small sounds as encouragement and brings his lips to your sensitive nipple, pulling the skin into his mouth while kneading the other.

You throw your head back at the sensation, and Mark is there to catch your head with his shoulder. You don’t know when he moved, but his chest is now flush against your back and his erection prods at your back as he pushes closer to you. His lips find your neck in an instant. He ravishes the bare skin with his tongue, dragging the flat of his tongue over you before sucking at it harshly. One of his hands slips around your abdomen. It travels further and further down until deft fingers slide into the band on your pajama shorts, revealing your lack of underwear and sopping folds. Mark pushes into the wetness with his index and middle fingers. He drags over your clit, causing your body to jerk under the touch, then he starts working small circles around your sensitive bud.

You can’t contain your lewd noises as the two men go to work on your body. Arousal takes over your senses. Mark’s fingers speed up as your moans grow louder and louder, and you’re certain that if he keeps up at that pace you’ll hit an orgasm sooner than you’d like. Luckily, Jaehyun pulls off your breasts and slaps Mark’s hand away from your core.

“Bedroom,” he all but growls. A moment later, Jaehyun is hoisting you onto his waist, hands braced on your ass, and he carries you down the hall to get to your bedroom. Mark trails after you, and you watch him move over Jaehyun’s shoulder as the older man presses marks to the side of your neck Mark left untouched. He tugs his shirt off as he follows Jaehyun, pants dropping along the way to the bedroom as well.

When you reach your room, Jaehyun tosses you to the bed with a surprising amount of strength that has your core throbbing. He tugs his shirt off with ease and drops his pants just as quickly as Mark did. He moves to climb on the bed with you, but you stop him with your hands bracing his hips. You get on all fours before him, eyes clouded with lust as you look up at him. Hesitant fingers tug at the band of his underwear. You pull lower and lower until his hardened member springs out. He’s well-endowed, to say the least, and it would be a lie if you said that you hadn’t thought about how… large he is from time to time.

He watches you with hooded eyes as you dip closer to his cock and give a tentative kitten lick to his leaking head. He hisses at the contact, and that slight noise encourages you to continue. The mattress dips behind you. You gasp around Jaehyun’s cock when hands brush against your hips and tug the pajama shorts down to your knees. You help Mark a little by lifting your legs one at a time so he can pull them completely off.

You push your lips further down Jaehyun’s member, taking him as far as you can without gagging, and you drag your tongue over each dip and vein along his cock. Mark’s hands push your legs further apart. Cold air hits your core but the sensation doesn’t last long as a warm and wet muscle brushes through your folds. You want to turn and look back at Mark, see his face as he eats you out, but you’re too preoccupied with Jaehyun to do so. Instead, you bob your head along Jaehyun’s member, humming when Mark’s tongue flicks over your clit. Jaehyun’s hand flies to your hair when the vibrations carry over his dick. You look up at his face with fluttering lashes, seeing gritted teeth and sweat on his brow already.

You have to admit that it’s a beautiful sight, even if you never expected to see it in this sort of position. His fingers tighten in your hair and guide your mouth along his cock. You slacken your jaw to let him take control and fuck your mouth as he sees fit. Before his hips start bucking into your wet heat, he pulls out to let you take a deep breath.

“We need a safeword,” he says through heavy pants. You pause, barely able to think straight with Mark’s tongue ravishing your dripping cunt. Glancing over to your vanity, you spot something that causes you to look back up at Jaehyun.

“Mirror.”

“Mirror? Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, Jaehyun, I’m sure. So can you get back to fucking my mouth?”

Jaehyun groans at your words, teasing your bottom lip with the head of his leaking member. He doesn’t thrust back in quite yet though, seemingly still having something else to add before he gets back to business.

“Tap on my hand three times if it’s too much,” he says, tone suddenly soft. His hand reaches out to drag over your cheek, and you lean into the touch. Mark chooses that moment to thrust his tongue into you particularly hard, and a wanton moan escapes you. It’s enough encouragement for Jaehyun to grip your hair against and thrust his cock into your mouth, immediately hitting the back of your throat in one thrust. He picks up a brutal pace and slams against your throat with each jerk of his hips. It’s enough to cause your eyes to water, but it’s not unpleasant yet, mostly thanks to Mark’s continuous touch at your cunt.

Mark pushes two fingers into you alongside his tongue, curling them against your tight walls in search of your sweet spot. He finds it within four thrusts of his fingers. You cry out around Jaehyun, and the older man takes it as pain, quickly pulling out of your mouth to check your expression. You’re too busy seeing stars from Mark’s touch to pay any attention to Jaehyun, however, and with two more thrusts of his fingers, you clench around Mark. A powerful orgasm washes over you. Jaehyun leans forward to capture your lips, kissing you as you ride out the pleasure, and Mark’s fingers and tongue don’t stop until your body stops trembling.

You’re still gasping for breath when Jaehyun pulls you up and places you on your back on the bed. It’s a good thing that he didn’t try to put you on your hands and knees against because you aren’t sure your body could hold yourself up any longer. You glance down between your legs, expecting to see Jaehyun lining up with your stretched hole, but instead, it’s Mark who standing at the foot of the bed. You find yourself a bit confused by the sudden switch of positions, especially as Jaehyun climbs onto the bed and seats himself behind your head. He reaches for your hands and interlocks your fingers with his. You blink up at his face, finding a gentle expression across his sharp features.

You don’t have time to dwell on his expression long though, because Mark pushes into you a moment later. It’s a much larger stretch than you expected and much larger than his fingers. You gasp at the sensation of being filled up, and Mark doesn’t stop until he’s completely buried in your tight heat. Your walls squeeze around his member involuntarily. He doesn’t move for a little bit, giving you ample time to grow accustomed to the new stretch. You glance down at where he’s standing and drag your gaze over where the two of you are joined then up to his face.

“Pl-Please fuck me,” you plead, pushing your hips against his cock. Mark hisses as you squeeze around him almost painfully. He pulls his hips back and drills back into you with one quick thrust. You cry out at the head of his member drags against your walls. He shifts as he begins to pick up a steady rhythm, trying to find the perfect angle to hit your sweet spot, and it doesn't take long for him to move your hips and find that angle. Jaehyun squeezes your hands tighter as you rock against his body. The force of Mark’s thrusts pushes you back on the bed, and if not for his grip on your thighs and Jaehyun behind you, you’re sure that you would be edging closer and closer to the headboard.

“I bet this is what you wanted, isn’t it, Mark? You wanted to fuck her like this? See her so loud and needy under you? Just wait until I have my fun with her and you watch on. I have so much I wanna do to her.” Jaehyun purrs the words. His still hard member is smacking against your head with each thrust that Mark gives, and part of you wants to reach out and take hold of it.

“F-Fuck,” Mark exhales as he slams into you. Your thighs tremble from the pressure, and your core is beginning to coil again as the pleasure heightens. You squeeze Jaehyun’s hands as tight as possible, and you can’t imagine how it doesn’t hurt him because the grip hurts you. Mark’s reaction basically confirms Jaehyun’s words. There’s a dirty sense of pleasure that rises in you at the thought of the two men imagining you while watching porn. You clench around Mark’s member, urging him to hasten to his climax as you do, and it works. His thrusts begin to stutter but he keeps fucking you until you are hit by another crashing orgasm. Mark rushes to pull out of your pulsating cunt and strokes himself to completion on your stomach. Hot, white spurts of cum spread across your skin.

Jaehyun doesn’t give you any time to recover though; he releases your hands and reaches down to scoop the cum onto his fingers before bringing those same fingers to your lips. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, Mark’s cum salty in your mouth, but you don’t stop until Jaehyun’s hand and your stomach are completely clean.

He must have decided that he’s waited long enough at that point because he climbs back off the bed and moves to where Mark was just standing. Rather than taking you in the same position though, he pushes you a bit further along the bed then flips you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up until your ass is high in the air. He climbs onto the mattress and positions himself directly behind you. You don’t have time to think twice before Jaehyun buries his member in you. The stretch is bigger than Mark for certain, but he at least helped open you up for Jaehyun so there’s no pain as he pushes into you. You try to prop yourself up on your hands only for Jaehyun to push your head down against the bed again. You gasp at the sudden show of force, and a whine slips through when Jaehyun presses your head to the mattress.

Jaehyun begins to fuck into you at a brutal pace. The angle causes his cock to drill even deeper in you, and you cry out at the pressure. You could cum again just from that feeling but Jaehyun makes it even better by reaching down to flick your clit. You writhe as he touches you, so oversensitive from two orgasms already that you aren’t sure if your body can handle a third. Jaehyun doesn’t seem to care about that one bit because his pace doesn’t let up, and you reach a third orgasm before you know it. Your lips part in a silent scream against the sheets as the blinding pleasure washes over your body. Jaehyun chases his own orgasm, fucking into you without cease until his hips stutter. Your whole body goes warm for a moment, and you whine as Jaehyun fills you to the brim with his cum.

He pulls out of your used hole slowly, and cold washes over you immediately. Jaehyun doesn’t stop moving though, turning you over onto your back gently and sweeping your damp hair off your sweaty forehead. You remain limp in his arms, muscles already aching from the sex. Mark pops into view, eyes full of concern and affection.

“I’ll get the shower going,” he says, patting you on the thigh as he moves for the bathroom. Jaehyun remains over you with gentle hands that sweep over your cheeks.

“That was really nice,” he murmurs before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

“We’ll see about that. Maybe next time you can do something other than watch porn on the couch.”

​​​☽     ☾

if you would like to request something, check out my milestone celebration!

[mnictasbcl]

Too close to you

Here is my next story for @connor-sent-by-cyberlife‘s #dbhghostsinthemachine challenge, prompt OCT 19: GPS Signal Lost.

Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson, Kidnappers

Tags: Kidnapping, Whump, Blood and injury, Torture, Swearing, drugged, Computer viruses, Eventual happy ending

Summary: Connor wakes up in an unfamiliar place, lost, confused, and with all systems that could help him get out offline.

 Read it on AO3! Or, read below...

Chapter 1: Smile

Connor awoke to darkness. He could feel the cold sting of gravel against his cheek, and, as he took in his surroundings, felt something tied around his wrists and ankles. He struggled blindly for a moment, but they dug in tighter, bringing thirium welling to the surface of his skin.

So, he stopped, took in a breath, and turned inwards. He managed to get a better scan of the room, seeing a crack of light peeking in through the ceiling. But other than that, the room was empty. It was…

Nowhere.

His GPS signal wasn’t working. Either the room was secured so that his scanners couldn’t get through, or his head had been injured in some way. But running an internal scan… didn’t work either. Something was messing with his systems, making every letter brought up in his mind palace a jumbled mess.

Connor tried to move backwards, limbs uncooperative and sluggish. All he achieved was knocking into the wall.

And then it all changed. The darkness turned to light, door at the other end of the room swinging open with a crack, figure walking in.

They seemed to sway back and forth in his vision, and that was when he realised his ailment. Something had been put in his systems, whether injected into his thirium or lines ran into his code he couldn’t quite tell.

“You’re awake.”

He found himself dragged up off the ground, pushed back against the wall. He struggled vainly to stay upright, feet scrabbling for purchase on the ground that was moving beneath him as if he were atop a choppy ocean.

A hand grasped around his throat, effectively stilling him.

“Quit moving around. We need you lucid for the camera.”

Connor blinked, mouth opening to speak but words didn’t follow. He didn’t know what to say. This didn’t make sense.

The last thing he recalled… he…

He didn’t know.

But when the man lifted up his phone and showed him the screen, he recognised the image of Hank at once.

“Good, you remember him. You want him to be safe, right?”

Connor nodded.

“Don’t want us to shoot him in the head the minute we see him?”

Shook his head.

“Then cooperate. Say what we want when we tell you to, and the Lieutenant will be fine.”

He blinked, lines of text suddenly appearing in his vision. He cleared his throat, attempted to grit out the first few words.

But they all ran into each, and he was left hunched over, coughing.

“Fuck’s sake, I told you, you should’ve given him the other virus! He’s useless like this.”

“Sorry, boss.” Another voice echoed out of the darkness. “I thought it was stronger than this.”

The man sighed. Shook his head, tapping a button and the lines of text disappeared from Connor’s vision. “No, no. We’ll have to make do. Maybe… maybe this will be another way of getting Anderson to come here. If his plastic pet’s fuckin’ broken he’ll come running here in an instant.”

Someone stepped towards him. Then he felt a rough hand grab his hair, forcing his head back up off his chest.

“Smile for the camera.” The man said, a sneer in his tone, before he punched Connor in the gut.

[rhysismydaddy]

After Midnight pt. 1 (Feysand)

Synopsis: After a tumultuous, heartbreaking relationship, Feyre Archeron turns to online dating for a break from normalcy. Or rather, to Velaris Nighttime Ventures, the most exclusive, high-dollar escort system around. She needs to ease back in to intimacy, so this seems like the perfect idea. But what happens when her escort turns out to be someone she can’t get out of her head? Someone who seems to understand and appreciate everything about her? 

My many disclaimers: Stole a line in here from The Hating Game. And one from ACOTAR obviously. And the story line is loosely based off of The Kiss Quotient. Basically, I’m a fraud.

__________________________________________________________

~Feyre~

If I told any of my friends I’m about to hire a hooker, they’d laugh themselves silly. 

And, to be honest, the idea is a little ridiculous to me, too. 

I’ve never had a problem getting a date in my life. Brownish blondeish hair, blue-gray eyes, and an athletic build give me slightly above average looks. A lucrative job makes me financially sound and independent. A lifetime with two sisters gave me a sense of humor. 

I’ve dated prom kings, nerds, and everything in between. I’m completely normal. 

Or at least I used to be. 

After everything that happened last year, I don’t know if that’s true anymore. 

My therapist tells me constantly it’s okay that my last relationship changed me. And the multiple degrees on her pretty green wall tell me she knows what she’s talking about and that she’s completely correct. 

Even if... even if it doesn’t feel okay. 

Even if I can hardly stand looking in a mirror or being hugged or someone giving me a compliment. 

Even if I haven’t felt like myself in so long, I don’t even know if I’d recognize it if i did. 

Because while I used to love putting makeup on, choosing a dress, and going out, the thought now fills me with so much dread it makes me nauseous. 

What if I just make the same mistake as last time? 

My sister's told me my whole life to guard my heart, but I always laughed it off and  said she was being cynical. And what do I have to prove it? Trust issues and a standing appointment Dr. Motley. 

Men don’t deserve my trust. At least not right now. 

But... it’s time to move on in the physical sense. 

And since running the risk of taking home the wrong man scares me shitless, I’ll start with someone who can’t reject me, can’t make me feel worthless. 

Someone who won’t develop feelings for me or get attached and demanding. Someone... who won’t mind giving me control. 

A hooker. 

Or escort, like the Velaris Nighttime Ventures website says as I scroll through pages and pages of profiles. 

Gods, this is more stressful than my first gallery opening. 

All the profiles include is a picture, probably-fake name, height, an age, and a simple sentence about them. 

It feels creepily similar to online shopping. And there are so, so many options. How the heck am I going to choose one? 

Scrolling down further, my eyes roam over men of every skin tone, age, and height. I don’t have any real preference, but decide I need to have a few ground rules, otherwise this will take forever. 

Age? I’m twenty-seven and don’t have an interest in being a cougar, so I set the range from twenty-eight to thirty-five. 

Height? At 5′6, I’m not exactly tall, but I’ve always found men who were more attractive, so I shrug and put the minimum at six feet. 

Pressing enter, I watch the website sort, then look at the number of men left. Thirty. Not bad. 

Scrolling through slowly, I realize it’s kind of like a yearbook for an all male college or something.

A college full of really sexy men. 

I pause on a few, but something about them make her keep going. I want the complete opposite of my ex, so any with features like him get eliminated. 

Eventually, I get to the last row, feeling a little dejected. 

But then I see him. 

His eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, and once I see him, I can’t look away. Without another thought, I click on the profile. 

The name under the picture reads Rhysand. No last name, probably for privacy purposes. He’s a few years older than me. And tall--6′3 tall. But that isn’t what draws me closer. It’s the sentence he’d written. 

To the stars that listened -- and the dreams that are answered. 

My fingers ignore the rational part of my brain and click the button to book an appointment, and before I know it, I’m looking at a confirmation page. 

For tonight at midnight. 

Oh gods.

~Rhysand~

After working at the bar for a few hours, I head back to my shitty apartment to get ready for tonight’s appointment. 

Someone has booked me for an “evening of adventure and pleasure” as the confirmation email tells me. 

Wonderful. 

All I know is her name: Feyre. It doesn’t sound like an old-lady name, so there’s that. 

Those are the worst. It feels like fucking someone’s grandmother. Not that I’d know, exactly. And I mean sure, most of my clients are older. But there’s older, and then there’s old. Fine line between the two, let me tell you. 

Most of the people who hire me are in their forties, trapped in miserable marriages, and desperate for a decent lay. They’re also filthy rich, because I’m not cheap in the slightest. 

It’s why I’d agreed to this shit in the first place. 

Yeah, I have to psych myself up and sleep with a random lady, but the pay is killer. And the more money I make, the quicker I can stop. 

So I shower and go through my pre-appointment routine, trying not to think about what’s become of my life. 

There weren’t any special requests on the appointment, but the meet was set for a swanky hotel downtown, so I put on a dark suit and white dress shirt. My hair doesn’t need much work, so I leave, figuring I’ll get there early. 

The drive over’s quick, and soon I’m walking inside and sitting at the bar. She has my picture, but I don’t have a clue what she looks like, so she’ll have to come find me. 

After a few minutes, someone settles next to me, and I turn around with an expectant smile. 

But when I see who it is, I stop. And hating myself more than I thought possible, I tell the woman, “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”

Which really fucking sucks, because she’s beautiful as hell. 

Smooth skin, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and kiss-me lips kind of beautiful. 

She gives me a strange look, then says words I’d never expect from someone like her. “I’m Feyre. I’m the... client.”

The way she cringes on the word tells me it’s her first time doing something like this, and the thought makes me a little too happy. 

I know I should say something to comfort her, but all I can think is... she’s definitely no grandma. 

~Feyre~

He keeps staring at me for a few more moments, then smiles and says, “Sorry. You’re not what I was expecting.”

I nod, then realize I have no idea what to say. Or do. Fuck, this is weird. “Do you want a drink?”

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “Feel free, though.”

That’s the first good idea I’ve heard all day. After ordering from the bartender, I turn to the man next to me and smile sheepishly. “I don’t really know how this works. It’s my first time with... this.”

“I figured.” He’s turned toward me, one arm braced on the bar. “You can have your drink, and we’ll go upstairs when you’re ready.”

A nervous laugh ebbs out of me, and I blush. “Okay.”

Gods, am I really going through with this? 

I mean sure, he’s hotter than all hell, but he’s a prostitute. 

Would you rather invite a random man home with you? the bitch that lives in my brain asks with a knowing smile. 

I ignore her as a drink’s set in front of me, finding it helps a little. The man next to me just watches, face a mixture of confusion and amusement. 

Somehow, the photo didn’t do him justice. He’s ridiculously attractive, with dark hair, almost violet eyes, and tan skin. There’s a hint of stubble on his strong jaw, surrounding the sensual mouth that’s currently smirking at me. 

I’m definitely attracted to him, but this is still weird. 

“So, why are you doing this?” he asks as I drink. “If you don’t mind.”

I’m sure as hell not telling him the truth, so I say, "I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

Rhysand smiles, and it only makes him more attractive. “Fair point.”

Then he looks me up and down, raises his dark brows, and asks, “Ready?”

Not in the fucking slightest. “Sure.”

By the time we reach the elevator, I’m practically shaking. Telling myself that I can do this--that it’s what I want, for gods sake--doesn’t really help. But I don’t say a word as we glide up, then walk to the room I’ve rented for tonight. 

When we get inside, I avoid looking at the bed as I turn to him. 

Rhysand smoothly takes off his suit jacket, then leans against the wall and crosses his ankles. “You seem nervous.”

He certainly doesn’t. Every move he makes is smooth and easy, like he’s so comfortable in his body he doesn’t ever get nervous or self-conscious. 

Must be nice. 

“I do?” It’s a deflection, and we both know it. 

“You’re shaking like a wet dog.” My nose wrinkles at the analogy, and he grins. “A very cute wet dog.”

I told myself I’d be alright, but now that I’m alone with him, I realize I’ve told absolutely no one where I am tonight. And if things go wrong... I start pacing. “I’m, uh... it’s just... nothing. Let’s do this thing.”

I should write sonnets. 

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say a word as he walks to sit on the edge of the bed. Feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, I sit next to him. 

“Why don’t we just take things slow?” 

Thank the gods. I nod. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, using manners I definitely hadn’t expected but much appreciate. 

I nod again, trying to keep my hands from shaking. 

Rhysand raises a hand, but I swallow and push down the flare of panic as he cups my jaw and tilts my face to his. Then he leans in--keeping his word and going very slowly--and I brace myself as his lips brush against mine.

My body doesn’t exactly know how to feel when they touch. On the one hand, a very handsome man is kissing me. On the other... a man is kissing me. 

I ignore the second thought and kiss him back. 

His lips are silky soft against mine, slowly urging them open, and then his tongue is in my mouth, caressing mine. Everything’s slow and sensual and practiced. 

And even though it’s a picture-perfect moment, it feels like that scene in the movie where the dumb blonde goes down the dark hallway while the entire theater screams at her to run. 

Oh gods oh gods oh gods. 

My brain’s playing me a repeat of the last year on fast forward, and I press my eyes closed to try and block it out. 

I’m fine. 

Rhysand leans into me, and then I’m on my back with him hovering above me, still kissing me. His surprisingly muscled frame is heavy against me, pressing me down into the soft sheets, and his elbows are by my head.

Nothing’s wrong. 

Everything’s wrong. 

I take a quick moment to remind myself that if this had happened a year ago, I’d probably have wrapped myself around him and let him do whatever he wanted. 

But the past twelve months weren’t just a bad dream. And the band-aid protecting the stupid, naive girl I used to be from the harsh realities of the world has been ripped off and torn to bits. 

And suddenly, I can’t breathe. 

His head snaps up immediately, and violet eyes gaze down at me, full of concern. A weak hand comes up to press against his chest, and he sits up immediately. “Feyre? Are you okay?”

I shake my head and practically roll off the bed onto the floor. It’s completely undignified, but I don’t care. My lungs are on fire, my throat tight with the tears I’m barely holding back. 

I have to get away from him; I have to get some space. 

My back hits the wall, and I curl into myself, pressing my forehead against my knees. 

Breathe, Feyre, breathe. 

The silence in the room is broken only by my gasps, and I focus on the sound, letting it remind me that I’m here, that I made it out. 

I don’t let myself think about the other person in the room. It’s just me, and I’m fine. I made it out. 

There’s scratchy carpet under my legs, a wall behind my back, and more than enough air in the room. 

Eventually, my brain catches up with the obvious, allowing oxygen to fill my chest. I’m gulping down breath after breath until my heart rate finally starts slowing down, and it’s only when my head stops feeling fuzzy do I open my eyes. 

Rhysand sits on the bed, beautiful eyes wide, watching me. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Gods, he’s probably uncomfortable beyond belief. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, cutting him off and shaking my head. I know I should get off the floor, but my legs feel like jello, and I don’t want to crawl around again. “I, um...”

The words to explain the panic don’t come easy, but he stays silent, giving me time. 

And because I’m a coward who still can’t admit what happened to me, I repeat the words my therapist suggested I try. 

“I have problems with intimacy.” It’s hardly a whisper, but I know he hears it. “And, um... I thought it would be easier with someone like you.” I flinch at my own words and try to make it sound less offensive. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, Feyre. I understand.”

Tears burn the edges of my eyes, but I force them down and steady my voice. “You can go. There’s money on the desk.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you like this. Unless I’m the reason.”

“No, it’s not you,” I assure him. “You’re great. I just have a hard time relaxing with- I mean around-”

“Men,” he finishes quietly. 

And even though I didn’t tell him, he looks like he can read the words off my face. Rhysand doesn’t say another word, but his eyes are understanding and calm. 

He extends a hand, the silent invitation clear, and for some reason, it makes me smile as I slowly get to my feet, using the wall to support me.

Walking over, he takes my hand in is, and I notice how rough his palms are. Before I can wonder what he does to get such big callouses, he takes my other hand and places them on his shoulders. 

“You’re in control. There are no expectations with me.” The words wash over me, settling in, and my heart slows down a bit. “If you want to kiss and call it a night, we can. It’s up to you.”

For some reason, hearing that he doesn’t care helps. It’s the reason why I chose this, I guess. I’m the client, and I’m in control. 

Finally feeling calm, I slowly run my hands over his shoulders, down his arms. He’s heavily muscled, but it’s smooth and lean, not bulky. From a physical life, not from hours spent in a gym.

I can see the faint lines of tattoos beneath the shirt, but I don’t move to unbutton it. 

His eyes stay on me, and I meet them as my hands drift to his face. The stubble I’d noticed earlier is rough against my fingers as I trace his jaw, then the strong slope of his eyebrows. 

It’s been a year since I touched a man. Longer since I did so this... leisurely. 

My hands find their way into his dark hair, and I smile at how soft it is. His head tilts back a little and his eyes drift close. I don’t know if he’s putting on a show or actually enjoying this, but he seems calm at least. 

And I think... I think this could work. 

Working on my intimacy issues with him could help fix me, maybe even get me ready for a real relationship. 

So I lean in slowly and press my mouth to his. 

Like he said, I’m in control. While earlier had felt like being kissed, this feels like kissing. I move my mouth slowly over his, tracing the curve of his lower lip softly. 

He really is a beautiful man. 

And patient, too. He’s extremely patient while I take my time learning the shape of his mouth, then the angle of his jaw. He stays still, eyes closed, letting me explore. 

I slowly drift back to his mouth, and when he eases his lips open, I meet his tongue with mine. It’s slow and light and just enough to make me want more. 

My breath comes shorter, but it isn’t in panic.

Taking his hands from the bed beside him, I place them on my hips. His fingers flex, but they stay exactly where I put them, even as I wrap my arms around his neck and press a little closer to him. 

We’re still just kissing, but I feel it in my entire body, all the way to my toes. 

I pull back and take a deep breath, not knowing how to put what I want into words without embarrassing myself. Bright violet eyes meet mine as Rhysand runs his tongue across his lower lip. “Just say it.”

How can he read my face so well after just an hour of knowing me? 

“Lean back,” I say, my face warm with a blush. “But don’t turn us over. I can’t... I feel trapped.”

Rhysand just nods, gripping my hips tighter, then lays down with me on top of him. My chest is against his, my legs resting in between his. It’s the closest I’ve been to someone in a long time, and I wait for the panic to set in, but none comes. 

“You okay?”

A small part of me wishes he wouldn’t be so damn understanding and nice. It’s making me feel so incredibly stupid, even as it warms my heart. 

I nod, then put my head down against his chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

Looking back up, I meet his eyes hesitantly. “You’re probably so weirded out by me. Paying you just to come make out like teenagers.”

He smiles, and it makes some of the nerves untangle. “Silly woman. I could kiss you all night. You have the most delicious mouth.” He leans in and kisses me, as if to prove it, then makes a deep humming sound. 

“That’s absurd,” I mutter, even though I feel a lot less anxious now. 

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “You taste like fucking candy.” His arms loosely wrap around my waist. “Tilt your head to the side and I’ll prove it.”

I do, and his mouth meets my neck, slowly but in a way that makes it feel like I’m being devoured. Tingles shoot down my body as he sweeps my hair off my neck to get better access, and a soft moan escapes me as he sucks on the spot between my shoulder and neck. 

He pulls away enough to say, “You have a really sexy moan, too.”

My face goes scarlet, and he grins up at me, then we’re kissing again. Gods, the man can kiss. He’s letting me control everything, but it’s obvious he’s good at what he does.

Even though I’m almost delirious with lust--something I haven’t felt in a long, long time--I know this is enough for tonight. I’ve already had one panic attack, and I don’t want to push myself too hard. 

So I pull back and tell him, “You can go. I don’t think... this is good for tonight, I think.”

“I feel like you’re not getting your money’s worth if I leave now,” he says, and if I could’ve sworn I hear a hint of sadness in his tone.

I shrug, not telling him the money for tonight was nothing to worry about. Instead, I just slide off him and stand up, straightening my shirt. “It’s was more than okay. Seriously. Thank you for being so understanding.”

Rhysand rises fluidly and grabs his jacket, then turns to me. Before he can speak, I say, “I actually wanted to talk to you about another appointment.”

After an awkward pause, he says quietly, “I don’t really do... repeats.”

“Oh.” There’s no way to hide the disappointment in my voice. 

I’d thought that I’d be able to work with him slowly. Build on what we did tonight. The thought of having to find a different man and explain why I’m so emotionally stunted... shit. 

What if I freak out again, in front of someone new?

Gods, no wonder he doesn’t want to come back. He’s already had to deal with an hour of my trauma. Who would ever sign up to do it again? I’m damaged goods.

“It’s not you, I promise. I’ve just had a few clients get sort of... attached. So I made a policy to not meet with women more than once.” He sounds nice and apologetic, and it grates my nerves a little. 

Rejection is rejection no matter how you look at it. 

And no matter how fucked up I am, I don’t need anyone’s pity.

But, like a big girl, I smile and nod. “I get it. It’s fine. I’ll find someone else. Your money is on the table.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Find someone else? What do you mean?”

My eyebrows fly up at how shocked he sounds. He just saw firsthand how not okay I am, and he’s surprised? 

“I mean that I’ll find someone else. I have intimacy issues, and I need to work on them. I understand completely that you’re uncomfortable with that, and I’ll find someone who isn’t.”

There’s a flicker in his jaw. “And you’re planning on using the website for this someone?”

“It’s really none of your concern.”

“Feyre, there are some not so great people on there. You shouldn’t use-”

My patience snaps. “You have absolutely no right to lecture me. You don’t want the job, I will find someone else, since it’s such a goddamn burden. Now thank you very much for tonight, but you’re community service is done. You can go.”

There are too many emotions on his face to process them all, but I definitely register shock. 

“I promise it isn’t about you, okay? You’re great. Hell, I’d want to sleep with you even if I wasn’t getting paid. But I have a policy, and-”

“Like I said, I understand. You can go now.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t use the site to find another guy.”

There’s something about the command in his voice that grabs every last thread I’m hanging by and rips them free. I march over to him and jab a finger into his chest. “Do not tell me what to do. Ever.”

Rhysand eyes narrow, but it isn’t in anger. It’s like he’s looking at a puzzle, and he just figured out the piece he’d thought would fit won’t. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I remove the finger-gun from his chest, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he catches me completely off guard by saying, “I’ll do four more appointments.”

Rolling my eyes comes a little to easy. “Don’t do me any favors. I’m not your goddamn charity case.”

“No, because if you were, you’d probably be a little grateful.” Whatever retort I had planned dies in my throat. “But it’s not pity. I don’t want you getting hurt by some other guy from the site.”

There’s enough genuine concern in his voice for me to believe him. And the last thing I want is to put myself in danger. 

But I still ask if he’s serious, because to be honest, it sounds perfect. 

If I can fix myself in six appointments. 

That’s a pretty big if. 

“Yes, seriously. But I’m going to charge you more, and we can only meet here.”

I shrug because I sure as hell wasn’t about to invite him to my place. And unless he’s planning on charging enough to buy a house, it should be fine. “Okay.”

He glances at me, then down at himself, like he’s suddenly aware he’s still standing here. “Okay.”

And just like that, I’ve hired a hooker. 

____________________________________________________

Part 2 is here because I have no self-control. Let me know in the comments/my box if you want to be tagged :)

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[sohin-ace]

Diavolo - Empty

Pro tip: go on youtube. Search "creepy ambiance music". Click on "NECROMANCY" by Horror Music World.

You are now in anxiety mode. Survive.

TW: Mentions of suicide, self harm and you know... Toxic relationships. It's Yandere, you know what to expect.

"I have to go get some food and water, okay? I'll be gone for about an hour." He leaned down and pressed his lips against your forehead in a gentle kiss. "I'll hurry, so behave."

You didn't say anything and watched him as he hesitated to move his gaze away from you. He slowly turned around and opened the door, taking his sweet time.

'Just leave already.'

You weren't at peace even when he closed the door, locking every single one of the seven locks he installed on the door. A tight security system to prevent you from fleeing.

The apartment was so dead silent you could hear his footsteps from outside hitting the stairs as he walked down.

So silent. Deafening. So lonely. Even the sheer sounds of your breathing and heartbeat were loud and infuriating to you.

God, so damn infuriating.

You clenched your fists, barely feeling anything from it, rage and anxiety building inside you.

'No detail escaped him, huh?', You thought to yourself. He even cut your nails so short, you couldn't inflict the slightest damage from trying to dig them into your skin.

What a smart man.

What a smart bastard.

Everything was so miserable. You stood in the middle of the living room, staring daggers, not even sharp ones, into the void. You rathered not look at anything, for the sake of your own sanity.

Anything in this place could trigger a mental breakdown from you. Who knew what you could do if your eyes fell on those picture frames of you and him? Or those unwithering flowers on the table? Or even just the books he loved so much resting on the shelves?

Everything here reminded you of him. Of what he did to you. How he had stripped you of your freedom, your dignity...

Your will to live.

Yes. Today you would take your freedom back. Today, you would spread your wings and fly. Away from him. Away from this.

The thought itself brought a smile to yourself. Oh you couldn't wait. You chuckled a, what in other circumstances, would be a cute bubbly laugh, but here, seemed more crazed and unnerved than anything.

Oh you couldn't wait to end this.

Your head twitched towards the kitchen, hope sparkling weakly again inside you. Gone for an hour? That should be enough.

You walked towards the kitchen and looked around. Knives, knives... Where did he keep the knives? It's not like you knew the kitchen all that much, he barely let you roam the house much.

The counter and cupboards were all empty. Everything was empty. Even the fridge contained so little, you even wondered how the hell did he even manage to cook meals for the two of you. Did he even cook for the two of you? Where did the food come from? Did he send one of his numerous pawns or that weird Doppio guy do that dirty work as well?

You dug up frantically through every drawer, and cabinet, hell you even checked inside the oven!

Empty.

There was nothing. No forks, no cups, no nothing. It was like the kitchen had barely just been furnished. Your breathing became labored and your chest tightened painfully.

What was the meaning of this? It didn't make any sense. He made you eat together, you were positive you had used silverware and dishes before.

Did he hide them too? Did he really mistrust you so much he hid any bit of potential danger? Did he think you'd try that hard and would not take the risk?

That damn fucker.

The only thing preventing you from screaming bloody murder currently were your wheezy breaths.

It was scary. So scary. That he would think like that. That he would know how much he killed your sanity. That he would know how far you were willing to go. He knew he knew he knew he knew he knew-

"He thought..." You wheezed and held yourself over the counter, your other hand clutching your painful chest. Your voice was leaving you and you were drenched in sweat, panick and anxiety arising from within. "He thought I would cut myself with the shards..."

You didn't know if you were laughing or sobbing at that point. Not that he was wrong about it at all, in fact, he had guessed perfectly right. But the fact that the idea even crossed his mind and that he acted upon it just added to your dive into madness.

He just knew he destroyed you so bad he couldn't trust you with even a single blunt object, because he knew you'd find a way to harm yourself on it. That's how low he thought of you and he was right.

What else were there to do? He always kept a careful watch over you, even when he worked, his back turned to you, he'd whip his head towards you at the meerest noise you made. If he wasn't home, he'd have someone to keep an eye on you.

He would sleep with you, shower with you, dress you up. Every occasion he had to take control over you, he took.

It was a miracle that he ended up unshackling you from his bed, trusting you enough to let you roam pointlessly around the house, but visibly not trusting you enough to let you be around even a porcelain plate.

You wanted to give up. The windows could be opened but the metallic blinds were steel shut. Just like prison bars. He could sacrifice a little sunlight if it meant you wouldn't try to jump.

You dragged your feet towards your couch and sobbed. Loud. Desperate. Letting warm tears stream down your face. It was over. You couldn't do anything.

You plopped yourself on the couch and buried your face in your arms to muffle your wails. That was it. That was the only liberty you had. You could only cry, cry, and cry, until the tears ran out.

You couldn't cut, you couldn't jump, you couldn't poison yourself with cleaning chemicals, hell, he made sure there wasn't even enough water to give you water poisoning. Even tap water was limited. He calculated everything.

It was over. There was nothing you could do. He won again. Diavolo wins again...

You let yourself break down, almost comforted by your own cries, the only thing that made you feel alive. The only emotion remaining. The last healthy bit within you.

You knew you had to stop, though. Because one hour flies by fast, and Diavolo could cut his time short whenever he felt, and if he came home to you crying, he'd shower you with questions and try to console you. And that was the last thing you wanted. In fact, he didn't even deserve to see or hear you crying.

You hated to be confronted by him, and to be held by those bloody hands of his, and to be talked with that fake, manipulative concern in his voice, deepening softly just for you.

Oh he could have been such a good man if he wasn't such a disgusting fucking monster.

You couldn't bear closing your eyes that were stinging and burning as you kept them open, drying them out. Every time you closed your eyes, you were haunted by the visions.

The visions of blood, from your loved ones. The picture of his brain splattering out of his skull. The sight of her guts spilled out, still pulsing out of her stomach. How they crawled vainly on the floor with their limbs torn off messily barely kept connected to their bodies by gooey strings of flesh, bones scraped against the ground. The ones dearest to you.

"Why... Even my poor animal..." Your voice cracked painfully through labored sobs, your heart skipping with every scene you recalled.

Everything about the memories was so wrong. Everything about Diavolo was so wrong. Killing every one you deemed dear to you was one thing, but why did he have to make it so gruesome? Why did they have to die in such agony? Why? Just why?!

If he truly loved you he would have at least let them go fast and painless. He would have at least spared you the trauma. He couldn't even let you have the bliss of knowing they passed on quick and peacefully. You were stuck with the knowledge of their suffering, the screams, the gurgles, the pleads for mercy, the gore.

The pain was to much, the burden so heavy. Why did he not let you kill yourself? It's be so easier if you could just die. He claimed he loved you, but he made you suffer every minute.

Without realizing it, and very slowly, you calmed down. Not because you were finally at peace, or because you were unwinded, but because you were at your limit.

You were so tired, your eyes were swollen and begging to rest, your voice was gone, your throat dry and your mind so shattered, you couldn't even think about all that made you so unhappy anymore, or the painful memories. Your thoughts were empty. Your soul was empty. Everything was empty.

Slowly but surely, your drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

Diavolo walked back home earlier than anticipated. He did hurry, and he somewhat knew he wouldn't actually take a full hour to do his errands. He hated to go outside and he especially hated to leave you to yourself.

He unlocked all his locks on the door with great patience. He was proud of this work, very secure, so that nobody, not even yourself, could ever take you away from him.

He walked in slowly to the scent and warmth of home. He wasn't sure what he was expecting you'd be doing, but he didn't expect you being passed out on the couch.

Oh Diavolo wasn't scared. He was confident he skipped any danger from the house. He was sure you never even discovered that this place was actually not an appartment, like you believed, but a villa. He had locked the other floors so carefully.

But he also knew you were one clever little cat and maybe, just maybe, you may have found an issue to hurt yourself, even a little bruise.

He did not appreciate that thought.

He clenched his teeth, grinding them out of stress. The reason you were passed out on the couch better not be his worst case scenario. Or else...

Like a bipolar disordered man, his tone switched under a second. There was nothing to worry about. Surely his little gattina was just taking a nap, he thought to himself. Of course, you didn't get much sleep last night, that would make sense.

There was nothing to worry about because Diavolo was absolute, and he planned everything and he was confident. Nothing escaped him.

Like the lover that he pretended and believed to be, he quickly put his bags away and approached you on the couch, not wanting to be away from you any longer.

He stared longingly at you. You looked so pretty, so adorable, all vulnerable like this. Unaware of his looming form shadowing you, so innocent.

He noticed how wet your arms and cheeks were and how blemished your face was. Certainly, you had cried. It was fine by him, though. He'd allow you to cry to yourself when he wasn't there. Because it was harmless.

He leaned over, getting closer very carefully. Gosh you were so lovely to his crazy green eyes. He could hardly contain himself around you. No one has ever had that effect on him. Your skin, your hair, your scent, your lips, everything about you was soft and gentle and sweet. It was even cute when you thrashed around and kicked and insulted him.

He looked over your small form, studying you. Your wrists were so thin, scarred, often shaky. He noted you dropped a lot of weight since he took you here, but it didn't matter. You were beautiful regardless, and he would protect you, because you were so fragile, and it was his duty as a husband.

As if to confirm his thoughts, he grabbed one of your wrists, wrists that he had grabbed so many times before. It was so light, like a little twig, his entire fist closed on it. It was a crime to be so deliciously weak. It was like asking to be taken, held, snatched, manhandled.

Good thing Diavolo was the one to have you and not anyone else. Who knows what kind of crazy fuckers had bad intentions out there? Especially in these dangerous parts of Italy.

He moved you with no effort whatsoever and the lack of response or reaction from your poor body just made his twisted heart clench even more. It was so desperately easy to just use you to his will, it was almost scary.

He let himself plop down comfortably on the couch and laid you back down to rest your head upon his thighs, so that he could watch your angelic face and touch your hair as you rested, nested close to him.

Like two empty lovers.

I mean... I did say I'd never write yandere again, but I've been back to playing Mystic Messenger and Saeran inspired me. (Don't worry, there are no spoilers here!)

Also, the fic was so long, I decided to cut in in half and make the other half into another character. Recycling is always good for the planet. So expect another domestic Yandere story some day.

[the-hopeless-haze]

Someone to Pull You Up Short, to Put You Through Hell (Being Alive Chapter 6)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Read on Archive

A/N: Okay this is over 8k words. Sorry? But it’s got everything: angst, fluff, smut... so there’s a reason this got away from me. This is also my submission to @thefanficfaerie​ ‘s DW quote challenge: I had #49 “Never trust a hug. It’s just a way to hide your face.” 

CW: Smut as aforementioned. This is NSFW!

Where the hell had you been hiding that dress? It was a simple green number that clung tantalizingly close to the curve of your breasts and waist, and then flared slightly to rest at a slightly inappropriate length, halfway down your thigh, about three or four inches of fabric past your ass. Rafael would definitely question taking you home to his mother in a skirt that short. It was strange, seeing you wear this because you often dressed conservatively. Hell, Liv showed more cleavage than you did on a day to day to basis.

But your legs in that dress, lengthened by a simple pair of black heeled sandals... his breath caught in his throat as you walked into the bar with Carisi and he never was able to fully exhale because you kept flitting around, barely paying attention to him. And it was hell, watching you play pool with Carisi against Nick and Amanda, Carisi’s body flush against yours as he helped you set up your shot.

“You okay, there, Rafael?” Liv asks.

“Mm,” he responds, barely looking at her, eyeing you across the bar. You were taunting Amanda; he could tell by your facial expression as she was setting up her cue stick. He’s pulled up short by how young you look; god, you really were a kid compared to him, weren’t you?

“I know the verdict didn’t go the way any of us wanted it to,” she says, but his mind is so far removed from anything that might have happened at the courthouse today. “But try to relax.”

“I’m relaxed,” he murmurs. Figures she would think he was tense because of work. A few months ago, that would’ve been what was running through his mind while he nursed his drink. But now, work stayed at the courthouse and his office because he had you to put him through hell when he was outside of it.

“Sure,” Olivia says sarcastically, but she follows his gaze, and his pulse quickens once she sees that you’re right in the line of it. “You squeeze that glass any tighter and it’s going to break.”

Rafael sighs, looking down at the glass of scotch in his hand. He downs the rest of it, rolling his eyes.

“(Y/n) looks nice tonight, hmm?” Olivia asks, a glint in her brown eyes that makes him wonder if feigning innocence is even worth it.

“She always looks nice,” he says, deciding to play into it since he had no other cards left. But you don’t look “nice”, you look fucking delicious, and “nice” is an understatement if there ever was one. Anyone in this bar would think going home with you was akin to winning the lottery.

But you’d go home with him, at the end of the night, or at least... he thinks.

You’re still leaning against Carisi even though there’s no real reason to now, and he tries not to think of how much sense you two would make as a couple but ultimately fails. Sure, Carisi had never been married either, but he was also almost ten years younger than Rafael. He was taller, fitter, maybe more attractive, and he was a detective and there was no sticky situation with the DA that would have to be sorted out if you two got serious. The two of you were always attached at the hip whenever he stops by the precinct, but now you’re attached by more than even that, what with hands on shoulders and backs pressed against chests.

As a complete shock to absolutely no one, you and Carisi end up losing the game of pool and have to buy the next round. You were tipsier than he’d ever seen you, your face flushed from the copious amounts of alcohol in your system. Amanda, the awful influence she is, evidently talked you into doing shots with her earlier in the evening, and you kept sucking down cocktails afterward.

Rafael himself is feeling the effects of the scotch more tonight. He’s honestly lost count of how many he’s had, and seeing you in that dress had him inebriated already, but he’s feeling particularly woozy and melancholy as you come back over with another old fashioned, the amber liquid sloshing around in the glass. You slide in the booth next to him, maybe a little too close for appearances’ sake. Carisi sidles in after you, saying something in your ear that you laugh loudly at.

“I don’t think he’d appreciate it,” you say. Were you two talking about him? Son of a bitch.

“I think we should order an appetizer,” Olivia says, her tone concerned. “You need to sober up a little, (y/n).”

“I’m fine,” you protest.

“You could barely walk over here,” Rafael says, and you raise an eyebrow. “You either have to eat something or slow down.”

“Okay, Padre,” you snicker. “What do you suggest we get, then?”

“I’ve been dying for a quesadilla,” Rollins says before Rafael can answer. “I’ll split one with you.”

“Deal.”

Rafael is startled when he feels your foot against his. Then he thinks his heart might stop as you slide upward, past his ankle, your toes getting caught in the hem of his dress pants to touch the bare skin of his calf. Were you really going to do this here? He catches your eyes and he knows by the glint in them that yes, yes you were. If this night wasn’t hell already...

Your hand comes to his knee, and you’re nodding at something Nick just said, biting into your quesadilla. And your hand slides higher up his left thigh, halfway, before sliding back down to his knee. You do this a couple more times, tantalizing slow, your hand coming up a little higher each time before it makes its descent.

Just as your hand reaches the apex of his thigh, he grabs it and pulls it away. The last thing he needs is a hard-on in front of all of SVU, and while he’d need a little more attention to get there it was best to stop you while you were ahead. Your lips form a devilish smirk as you sip from your glass, but you take the hint and keep your hands to yourself.

Rafael will be damned if you think you’re the only one allowed to play, and if it weren’t for the few drinks loosening him up he would’ve never even thought about it, but your legs in that dress... tentatively, he takes his left hand and places it on your right knee, squeezing tight enough to leave the imprint of his fingers and he edges up against the soft skin of your thigh until he reaches the hem of your skirt, and then travels back down, copying your ministrations from earlier. You don’t stop him as he rides the fabric up a little the next time his hand meets your inner thigh, his fingertips touching the hemline of your panties, and his breath catches in his throat not for the first time that night. You were wet. You couldn’t seriously want him to do this? Not here? Rafael had never been an exhibitionist but he’d be a goddamn liar if he said this wasn’t turning him on. Ultimately, he errs on the side of caution. He wasn’t going to take advantage of you when you were this drunk and he isn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of giving Carisi a free show, either. Rafael cannot wait to get the fuck out of this bar.

The conversation splits into fragments, Olivia and Rollins chatting about some new store that opened up while Fin and Amaro rehash the case again. Neither discussion sounds particularly interesting to Rafael, and he turns to you, but you’re deep in a tête-à-tête with Carisi.

“You’re the best partner I’ve had, (y/n),” Carisi says.

“Mm. You too.”

“You just saying that, doll?”

You giggle. “No.”

“I mean it, though. I’ve had bad luck with partners... and squads.”

“Poor baby.”

He chuckles, rubbing your arm and pulling you closer to him. “Not anymore. Manhattan’s a good fit. We've got a good squad here, a good ADA, and you. Best pardna in the world."

"Aww, you're too sweet," you slur.

“No one’s as sweet as you, doll.”

You crinkle your nose and laugh. “Does that ever work, Sonny?”

“Sometimes,” he chuckles. “It doesn’t work on you?”

“You wish,” you tease. “But no.”

“Anyway...Nah, I mean, you saw it. No one liked me when I first got here except you.”

"It was because of the mustache.”

"Now you're being mean."

"Sorry, baby, but you know that mustache was awful.”

“Okay. Maybe. But... all my other partners, I mean, not that it lasted long, but none of them ever wanted to talk to me and got aggravated with me. You and I, though? We’re the dream team. And I just want you to know I really appreciate you.”

“I appreciate you, too, honey. So much," you say and you press your lips against the side of Carisi's mouth. You would’ve kissed him on the lips if you weren’t so drunk that you missed.

The hell you have condemned him to now is ultimately ten times worse than the hell he'd put himself through earlier. Before it was only speculation, but now? That was it. You were going to leave him. Of course you would. That’s how the story always went from the start, and that’s how you would go, too. Instead of Alex, you’d leave him for Carisi, and he’d have to spend every day a living hell, watching the two of you at the precinct the same way he had to watch Alex and Yelina together. Who was he to think you would be any different?

Carisi's face reddens in the dim light of the bar and he laughs. "Jesus, someone needs to tap you out, huh?"

“Probably,” you slur, nestling yourself against his shoulder. “I can’t remember the last time I drank this much.”

“No more then.”

“Whatever you say, honey,” you murmur, and you kiss his cheek again, the print of your lipstick visible on Carisi’s face.

Rafael can’t stand it anymore, can’t stand the way the two of you are already all over each other. Couldn’t you have talked to him first before you decided you wanted to drape yourself on another man? Even Yelina had that decency!

If he thought he disliked Carisi before, he hates the man now as he kisses the top of your head, smiling down at you.

“I’m calling it a night,” Rafael announces abruptly, standing up just as quickly, grabbing his suit jacket and his briefcase. “Goodnight, all of you.”

Just as he reaches the door, Rollins catches him by the shoulder. “Aren’t you going to make sure your girlfriend gets home safe, Barba?”

What, were you going to send Amanda over to add insult to injury now? Fuck this. He’s far too old to be playing these games, and he should’ve fucking known better to get involved with you.

“Fuck off,” he snaps. “You know she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Hostile, much? Bet you wish she was,” she teases.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “What do you want?”

“Listen, it’s just... you live the closest to (y/n), right?” Amanda asks, knowing damn well that’s not the case. “Well... you know she’s had a few more than she should have. So could you please take her home?”

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he sighs and nods. He can’t be that much of an asshole even if he’s hurt right now. “Alright. I’ll get us a cab.”

“Thank you, Barba. Been a real pleasure,” she says, smiling brightly. “Keep your hands to yourself, though. She probably won’t remember it tomorrow.”

He steps out into the humid August night, a slight breeze in the air indicating fall was on the way. Irritation seeps through his veins as multiple cabs drive by that he could’ve caught, but you must have been too busy giving your goodbyes to your new lover. Jesus Christ, could Rafael be any more self-pitying? It was time to start getting over you and start getting used to the sentence of being single again.

You head out a few minutes later, stumbling in your heels. He catches you but maintains a distance. His only goal was to get you home because even though he hates you right now, he hates the thought of what could happen to you inebriated in this city at this hour more. You were already a file on someone’s desk. He didn’t want you to be one on his.

You smile widely up at him, your eyes glassy as marbles, and you kiss him full on the lips. He doesn’t kiss back, only shrugs you off him, heading toward the street and hailing a cab.

“Rafi, baby, why don’t you wanna kiss me?” you whine. “Wanted to kiss you all night. Want your hands all over me. Remember earlier? Please, baby.”

“You were kissing someone else,” he snaps harshly.

“What? No, I wasn’t,” you say, furrowing your brow, swaying a little.

“I refuse to believe you’re that drunk that you don’t remember what happened minutes ago,” he says as a cab pulls over. Rafael opens the door. “Get in.”

“No, honey, what are you talking about? I didn’t kiss anyone. Don’t wanna kiss anyone but you,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. The cab driver tsks, rolling his eyes.

“Get in the goddamn cab, (y/n),” Rafael says sternly. “You need to go home. We’re done.”

You don’t say anything, but he sees your face fall as you nod and oblige, staggering into the backseat of the cab. Rafael follows, closing the door behind him, telling the driver your address. It’s silent for a few moments until you turn to him. He can’t make out much in the muted lighting of the cab but he knows you’re on the brink of tears; your lower lip trembles and your eyes are glassier than they were outside the bar. “Rafi, baby, ‘m sorry. I don’ know what I did but I'm sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“Like you don’t know what you did! You were all over Carisi all night!” he barks, and he’s startled by how guilty he feels when you finally do break out into hysterical tears. He’d known you were drunk, sure, but maybe you really were that intoxicated that you didn’t know why he was upset until now.

“Sonny and I are friends, Rafi. I don’t want to be with him. I only want to be with you,” you stutter in between sobs, grabbing his collar. “I’m sorry for...whatever you thought, but it’s not like that.”

There you are again, tugging on heartstrings he didn’t know he had as you tug on the fabric of his shirt. The pang in his chest now tells him no, that you weren’t done even if he wanted nothing more than to escape this hell you were putting him through. “Can you stop?” he says gently. “Stop crying. Shh.”

“But you’re mad at me,” you whine. “I don’t want you to be mad.”

“Then why would you do that?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t wanna pay too much attention to you because you don’t want them to know about us.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to make out with Carisi!”

“I didn’t. I know I would never do that. I love... I love being with you, Rafi, honey, and I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You sniffle and try to stop crying, snuggling against him the way he ached for you to at the bar. Ultimately he’s struck by how much you care and how much he cares in return. For all his talk of not wanting to get too close he sure as hell didn’t like the idea of you getting close to anyone else, either. And living like that wasn’t fair to either of you, was it? He’s reached an impasse. Either he has to stop keeping you at a distance or stop keeping you at all.

“Do you really wanna end it? Please don’t. I’m sorry. Please, Rafi,” you beg.

“You kissed him,” Rafael says irritably.

“Oh really? You’re acting like I fucked him in front of the whole bar. I kissed his cheek!”

“So you do remember.”

“But I don’t understand why you’re that mad! It doesn’t mean anything! We’re just friends!”

“Like I’ve never heard that one before,” he scoffs. “What were you trying to do? Hm? Make me jealous? Well, you can fuck right off with that, (y/n).”

“I wouldn’t do that! Why are you being such a jerk, Rafael?”

“Why are you acting like a goddamn child?” he asks and immediately regrets it as you start crying again. You’re not uncontrollable anymore, but you’re clearly hurt and you shrug away from him.

“I’m drunk and so are you,” you hiss. “So maybe we shouldn’t talk until the morning before we say more things we can’t take back.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he sighs tiredly.

Despite arguing professionally, Rafael could never win interpersonal spats, so he stopped trying. And some of his partners took it as if he didn’t bother to argue, then he didn’t truly care. One time his mother told him, “Buena suerte, mi hijo, if you think you can find somebody that doesn’t put you through hell,” after he’d ended yet another fling because they’d gotten into a fight Rafael didn’t see the point in resolving. Why should he make himself miserable because she felt slighted? Why should he have to apologize for saying words in anger that he obviously didn’t mean? Why should he have to give up any of his comforts for the other person? Why should you have to fight at all? Little disagreements were fine, he’d had those with you about cases and such, but there was no harm done in those. You both got over them and kissed and made up. But here and now, you were both hurt by each other’s words and actions, and there were tally marks etched on the chalkboard for a score to be kept between the two of you. Who would come out the victor? One of you would win, and the other would have to lick their wounds.

He’d seen it so many times before, his mother cowering down in front of his father, admitting fault and crying to herself as she did laundry or cooked. She always took the blame, even though he clearly was at fault in being the aggressor.

Suddenly, he realizes with horror that he is taking the role of his father in this situation. How many times had his father come home drunk, reeking of beer and cigarettes, hurling baseless accusations at his mother that she had been sleeping around? One time he had even asked if Rafael was his own son, which, nice try—Rafael was the spitting image of the elder Barba—but how different was Rafael right now? What was Rafael doing now other than fabricating stories in his head and reading more into looks and touches than he should have?

Jesus, he was far too drunk himself to be thinking about this now. All he wants is to go home.

But you don’t let him.

He walks you up to your apartment, and you leave the door open. “Please come in,” you say. “I don’t wanna talk tonight. Please just come to bed.”

“But—“

“Don’t argue with me anymore tonight. Save it for tomorrow,” you whine, slipping out of your heels, damn near falling until he catches you. “I don’t care what you say to me, Rafael, but I’m telling you neither of us is leaving. What we have is too good and you know it. No one’s going anywhere, honey. So come to bed. We'll figure it out tomorrow."

What a series of bold statements coming from the mouth that drank half her weight in liquor. He’s dumbfounded by how confident you are in them, but he supposes maybe it’s the alcohol itself that's giving you this unshakeable nerve.

Rafael can't help it, and he tightens his grip on your waist and kisses you harshly, tasting the sweetness of the orange and bitterness of the whiskey and the hints of salsa on your tongue as one of his hands threads in your hair. "You're mine," he growls.

"When did I ever say I wanted to be anyone else's?"

That's right, you hadn't. He’d only assumed, like the complete asshole he is.

-----

The light from your bedroom window bleeds in, waking Rafael up hours before he wanted to. It wasn’t often he had a Saturday he could sleep in and usually he took advantage of it, but your apartment is far too warm and he can't stay asleep. Memories of last night come back in fragments, and if the aching of his head is any indication, he had a few more than he should have last night. By the time you wake up, he's worried himself into oblivion. Were you going to smarten up and leave him?

“Mm. Good morning,” you say, looking up at him. “I’m never drinking again.”

Rafael chuckles. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Don’t talk so loud,” you whine.

“Do you...remember last night?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah. Are you still mad at me?”

“A little. But I’d understand if you were mad at me too. And I—“

“Okay. No. I need coffee first.”

“Mm. Woman after my own heart,” he says, and you smile, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. Had he already lost you?

You’re still clad in that goddamn dress as you get up, but it’s lost the glitter and glamor from last night, as now it’s wrinkled and askew, the fabric clinging to your right hip and giving him a peek of your ass before you pull it down on your way to open your bedroom door. You might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even though you’re hungover, even though you have mascara tear-stained under your eyes, even though you’re both upset with each other. And isn’t that worth holding onto, even if you had your own circle of hell reserved just for him?

After both of you clean yourselves up a little, you’re brewing coffee and swallowing pills to relieve the aching in your heads. You lean against your counter, and Rafael stands awkwardly in the middle of your kitchen, stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

“Okay. So talk,” you say, handing him a mug when the coffee is done.

“I suppose I should apologize,” he says, sipping his coffee, wincing at the acidity. "My accusations were out of line. But you can’t be hanging off Carisi if we're going to do this. I'm not watching that.”

“Hanging off Sonny? Really?”

Rafael rolls his eyes. “What do you call it, then?”

“I was...maybe a tad more affectionate than was appropriate, Rafael, I’ll give you that. But Sonny’s my partner, honey. And I’m not going to stop being friends with him because it makes you uncomfortable that we’re that close.”

“I didn’t say that, did I? I’m not going to control that. But cool it with the kissing, okay? And you leaning up against him all the time, the flirting, all that bullshit? You’re not single just because they don’t know about us.”

You look at him, stunned. “I didn’t know you cared that much.”

“What?”

“You always seem so distant. I really didn’t think you got jealous like that,” you say, shrugging.

“I’m not jealous,” he scoffs. “I just don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“Mm.”

“You’re leading him on whether you realize it or not,” Rafael says. “So cut it out.”

“I am not leading him on, Rafael! Jesus Christ. You’re friends with Olivia. I don’t say shit.”

“Last time I checked I didn’t kiss her and drape myself all over her last night, did I?”

“Well, whatever. To be fair, I think we both know I wouldn't have been so affectionate if I was sober. I get like that when I'm drunk," you say, your face flushing. "I'd have kissed Amanda too if I was sitting near her.”

"Maybe you shouldn't drink so much, then."

"Maybe not. Trust me, I'm feeling it right now."

"I bet you are."

You grimace, rolling your eyes as you gulp your coffee. “Why did you have to go there, though? Threaten to end it? Jesus, I know you were drunk, too, but... that was completely unfair.”

"I know,” Rafael says, sighing. “I just...”

"Why can't you just admit that you hurt, Rafi?" you ask suddenly.

"W-what?" he stutters. "What does that even mean?"

"I know I don't know all your ex-lovers' names or even how many there are. And I don't need to know. But I know it wasn't just Yelina that hurt you and you need to stop letting that get in the way of us. I haven’t left yet. I’m still here. Rafael, I'm begging you: can you stop thinking of all the ways this can go wrong and just let it be? Jesus, I can feel the pounding in your head sometimes. You need to relax. Entiendes?”

“(Y/n)... I...” he trails off, at a loss for words.

“You don’t have to say anything. Come here,” you say, and you put your coffee down, hugging him tightly. “I know where all of that came from last night, and I get it. You’re in pain; anyone can see that, Rafi. But I’m not going to be punished for crimes I didn’t commit.”

“Of course not,” he murmurs as you pull away. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re forgiven. Just relax, honey.”

Rafael reaches back for you, hugging you close, not so much because he needs the support but so you don’t see how close he is to tears. It’s something his abuelo used to say, something Rafael never quite understood when he was little: “Never trust a hug. It’s just a way to hide your face.”

Sure, he was mostly joking when he said it, because one of Rafael’s younger cousins, Néstor, was infamous for stealing jewelry from his abuelita, and he’d always hug his accuser so they didn’t see his guilty smirk. But in hindsight, he thinks maybe his grandfather was also warning him about his mother’s favorite defense mechanism - whenever Rafael asked about the screaming between her and his father, she’d give him the tightest hugs, and he’d hear her sniffling in his ear, but he never did see her cry.

Well. He understands it perfectly well now, because god forbid you see him this emotional over this. Rafael still isn’t used to this tenderness - is this what being loved feels like? It’s been so long, he doesn’t remember. Or maybe this was this just a conniving way for you to put him through hell? Get him to trust you, maybe even love you, only to pull the rug out from under his feet?

Could you really be that cruel?

“Rafi, you okay?” your voice cuts through; like it always does.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t let you go until the heat behind his eyes fades, until he can make himself force a smile.

——

You are a fucking tease. He wonders how any man ever put up with it, although he thinks he may be the first man you reserved this torture for, and maybe he should be more flattered, that you feel this comfortable with him. But this? This was the very definition of cruelty. Apparently what you had done at the bar had only been a prequel to the hell you had in store for him.

He wants to quit his job if only to get away from you. He doesn't think he can handle it anymore.

You’d said that when you were ready to have sex, he’d know. Never in a million years did he think this was what you meant.

"You have sauce on your tie," you tell him as you're walking up to the courthouse. "I have that stain remover stuff in my purse. Let me take care of it."

"Oh, no, I know better than that," he laughs, but it's really not funny at all. "I have to present my case in fifteen minutes."

"That's enough time," you protest. "Come on, you really want to go up there with tomato sauce on your tie?"

He rolls his eyes, stopping you short by gripping your upper arm. "Given the choice between a stain and a raging hard-on, I'll take the stain," he growls in your ear. "I'm not playing your game today."

"Rafi..." you whine, and he hates you. He thought whining would be a turnoff, would be too juvenile but fuck, it goes right through him and shoves him right through the gates of hell, where he belongs. “Who said anything about that? I was just going to help you. Didn’t know you got excited from stain removal. I’ll bring you my laundry if you ever want to do it.”

"Shut up," he chastises, then looks down at his...spotless tie. He doesn't know what he expected. "Nice fabrication."

"I wasn't under oath," you say, blushing a little. He remembers the last time you'd told a little white lie a week ago, told him his suspenders weren't fastened correctly, and under the guise of helping him you'd gotten him completely riled, like he was twenty years younger, kissing him and feeling him up until he damn near took you on the couch in his office.

And then you left.

What the hell kind of game were you playing?

“I’m still charging you with perjury,” he snaps back, still holding your arm. “What was your plan, hm?”

“I plead the fifth,” you say, a brilliant grin playing on your strawberry lips. He wants to kiss you so bad, it takes all his strength not to.

“Of course you do, niñita.”

“I’m no little girl,” you say, stepping closer. He’s all too aware the two of you are outside the courthouse and the last thing he needs is for press or defense to see the two of you. He’s thankful he’s not on a high profile case.

“No, maybe not. But you’re definitely a bad one,” he says, letting go of your arm.

“Well, maybe you’ll have to punish me, papi,” you whisper, and then you’re leaning up to kiss him. A shiver runs down his spine - who had ever been able to get a reaction out of him like that? - and he damn near ravishes you right there.

But he can’t. He has five minutes now.

He pulls away, reluctantly, taking your hands from his shoulders and squeezing them in his own. “You’re awful,” he mutters, looking into your eyes. “Straight from the womb of Lilith.”

“Ooh. You wound me,” you say sarcastically as he lets you go and starts walking up the courthouse steps. You follow, and once you get to the courtroom you say, “Go get em, tigre.” And then you wink, straightening his tie.

“Do you ever stop, mujer?” he asks, exasperated.

“No rest for the wicked,” you snicker, pecking him on the lips.

He hates you so goddamn much.

---

“I’m working, (y/n),” Rafael mutters.

“You’re always working. You shouldn’t have taken on that other A.D.A.’s cases too. You deserve a break, honey. Let me give you one,” you say, moving closer to press your lips to his jaw. “We don’t have to go out tonight. I can cook something later.”

“What did I buy that dress for then, hmm?” Rafael wasn’t exactly in the habit of gifting things, but after seeing you in that green dress he decided you needed one like that in every color, and he started with a deep red number that he left by the door for you when you walked in his apartment. And, just like the green one, it caught his eye and pulled him from his work whenever you so much as moved.

“I think it’d look better on the floor,” you murmur. “Don’t you?”

“You’re killing me, (y/n),” he groans as he meets your eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I told you not to question me, Rafael—“

“Yes. I know. But I still want your consent.”

“So you are going to stop working?” you purr.

He chuckles. “You let me finish this paragraph and I’ll give you the attention you so clearly crave.”

“How long is that going to take, hm?”

“A lot longer if you keep talking,” Rafael snarks.

“Fine,” you say, and he foolishly thinks that is that, but you have other ideas, as always. Your lips attach to his jaw again, and normally he’d be able to work through that, but one of your hands slips down to stroke his thigh and he can’t even remember who this fucking email was for, never mind what it was about.

“You know it isn’t funny, right?” he asks, glaring at you.

“What, Rafi?” you ask, feigning innocence.

“Teasing me like that,” he says, finally closing the computer and placing it on the end table. He grabs you by the waist and pulls you on top of him, relishing in your squeal of surprise.

You laugh, squirming against his grip on you. He doesn’t let you get away, and pulls you down to kiss you roughly, his tongue dragging against yours as his hands tangle in your hair.

“You’re an awful woman.”

“Mm...so you’ve said,” you say, looking up at him, lust-blown pupils so wide that only a thin ring of iris can be seen. “What are you going to do about it?”

He doesn’t say anything, just kisses you deeply, again and again, moaning softly as he thrusts his clothed cock against you. “Mm, feel me? That’s what you’ve done to me all week.”

“What about what you do to me, papi?” You whimper. “How am I supposed to control myself, mm?”

“Talk about it,” he says, running his hands over your breasts. “Tell me, niñita, and maybe I’ll go easy on you. Make me a deal, cariño.”

“Mm. Love when you talk to me in Spanish,” you say huskily, leaning down to kiss him, trailing down his neck. “Mm, and then when you’re concentrating, you’ll cross your arms across your chest, and your sleeves are rolled up, and mm, all the muscles in your forearms flex, and I can see the veins in your hands bulge as you click your pen open and closed. Amanda makes fun of me for staring, but how can I help it, papi? And don’t even get me started on the suspenders, mm, love to pull on them when we’re alone in your office. Love when you kiss me like I’m your last meal on death row.”

He meets your eyes as you lift your head back up, groaning softly. God, hearing you put a voice to it... and then he kisses you just like that, letting go of any reservations he once had, his hands pulling up your dress as he rolls his hips against yours. “Mm, you’ve been a bad girl, though,” he whispers against your lips. “Letting them know you stare when we’re supposed to be working...”

“I can’t help it, papi,” you say pitifully, trying to grind against him and ultimately failing due to his grip on you.

He chuckles, pecking your lips. “So what do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want if you plead guilty.”

“Guilty to what?”

“Oh, you know what,” he says, running his hands over your now-bare thighs, squeezing your ass lightly, earning a moan from you. “Being a tease. Pulling me up short when I’m trying to work and putting me through hell with teasing me all week. What's your plea, niñita? We both know you're guilty, but I need you to admit it."

"Mm, and if I don't?" you ask, starting to unbutton his suit jacket before he takes your hands in one of his to stop you.

"Then I bring you back to your place."

“You drive a hard bargain, counselor,” you say, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth. “Mm. I plead guilty to being so attractive that my boyfriend can’t keep his dirty hands off me when we’re supposed to be working,” you tease, smiling cheekily. You were like him, in some ways, sometimes, that brass ego shining through. Rafael knows more than anyone, though, that brass egos always serve to cover up deeper insecurities.

He laughs, drawing himself back to the present, kissing up your jawline to your ear, only to whisper, “Not what I said. Now, do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Your whole body shudders against him, and you suck in a breath as he sucks at your pulse point, your heartbeat racing wildly against his tongue. “Fine. I plead guilty to being a tease. Now for god’s sake, do something else, Rafi,” you whine. “Wanna feel you. Want you to make me feel good.”

“I think we need a change in location,” he says, more to himself than you, and carries you off to the bedroom, flicking on the light before laying you on the bed gently. You were a vision, that tight scarlet dress bundled up at your hips, giving him a peek of the black panties you wore underneath. He takes his suit jacket off, kicks off his shoes, staring at you the whole time. You stare back, blushing at the intensity of his gaze.

"Rafi," you whine. "Come over here."

He laughs. "Miss me already?"

"Need you."

"Well..you can't have these heels on my bed," he says, helping you take them off and then massaging up your legs until his hands are at the precipice of your thighs, your breathing rate audibly increasing as he reaches higher.

"Rafi. Please," you groan as he makes eye contact with you, starting to kiss back down all the skin he just touched. "Who's the tease now?"

"Oh, absolutely still you."

"Objection."

He chuckles against your thigh. "Yeah. See, the difference is I'm going to come back up here and give you what you want. You just leave after you rile me up."

"I had to go back to work,” you protest.

“Mm.”

“Are you actually mad at me? I can stop—“

“Oh, don’t you dare stop,” he says, kissing back up your other leg. “I get splitting headaches, and the interruptions help some.”

“Yeah, the aching goes somewhere else, huh?”

He chuckles. “Guess you could say that.”

“I didn’t want... I didn’t want the first time we had sex to be in the office,” you say. “I’m sorry if that’s what you thought—“

“No, I understand,” he nods, coming back up to kiss you on the lips gently. “I get it. I don’t want to pressure you. I don’t feel like I’m owed anything. Okay?”

“Okay,” you say, kissing him again. “I want to, now, though.”

“Ask and ye shall receive, princesa,” he says, riding up your dress even more to reveal a few inches of your stomach, kissing down to the hemline of your panties before taking them off. “Hermosa,” he breathes, staring at your pussy, already visibly slick from arousal. “Is it okay if I go down on you?”

“By all means,” you say. “If you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” he murmurs.

His tongue delves in, tasting you for the first time. You’re quiet at first, tentative, but as he starts to eat you out the way he kisses you: like a man on death row, as you had quipped, your moans become a chorus to edge him on. He teases you too, purposefully moving away from spots you’re more vocal at, only to be met by your fingers running through his hair and pulling at him, in any attempt to get him back over there. He can’t help but let out soft moans every time you pull hard. His hands reach up to squeeze your hips, and every so often he’ll look up to see your chest heaving, your face flushed. Sometimes your eyes would flutter close as you’d let out a moan, tugging at his hair. He can feel strands against his forehead - you’d broken through the gel he’d put in this morning. “(Y/n),” he grunts, slipping two fingers into you as his tongue swirls around your clit. “Mm, tan dulce...such a pretty cunt. Who are you so wet for? Hm?”

“Ohhhhh, fuck,” you moan, rolling your hips in a vain attempt to ride his fingers. “I think you can make a pretty good guess.”

“No,” he growls. “Tell me. Or I’ll stop.”

And to prove his point, he does - and he knows he’s being mean, verging on cruel, but there’s something about the way you’ve teased him all week that makes him think you’ll respond in kind to his edging. Besides, seeing you beg for him? His cock swells at the mere thought, never mind you actually doing it.

“Rafi, I was so close,” you whine.

“Then be a good girl and tell me who brought you there,” he whispers, his lips searing hot against your hipbone as he pulls his fingers out of you slowly.

“Fuck, fuck, it’s you, Rafael. Only you,” you say desperately, evidently realizing he’s serious. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

“Mm. Buena niña,” he murmurs, and with that he plunges his fingers back into your heat, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit. “Didn’t take long for you to beg. Such a good girl, (y/n), just for me.”

You whimper, rolling your hips. “Need your tongue. Please.”

Rafael chuckles, but he obliges, swirling his tongue around your clit again and again as he scissors his fingers in and out of you.

“Rafi—I— I’m close,” you choke out as his tongue flicks over your clit a few times in quick succession.

“Good girl. Come for me,” he says, and he knows you’ve let go once your legs start shaking and your hand clenches into a fist in his hair. He laps up whatever you give him, his tongue licking broad strokes, and he has half a mind to think he brought you over the edge again.

Once he’s done, he comes back to kiss you, his tongue against yours, and you moan at the taste of yourself from his lips. “Rafi. Want you.”

“Fucking insatiable,” he chuckles. “Mm. Then why don’t you undress me?”

You reach up and make quick work of his tie, but the buttons on his waistcoat prove to be more difficult. “Oh my god, Rafi, I’m going to rip this fucking thing. You had to wear a three-piece today?”

“If you rip this, I’ll never speak to you again,” he says, half-kidding. “Maybe if you calmed down... what do you need?”

“I want to be good for you,” you murmur. “I don’t have the kind of experience you have and I—“

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he cuts you off and grabs your hand, placing it on his clothed, swollen cock. “You feel what you do to me even when you’re fumbling with my clothes?”

Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, as you keep eye contact with him and palm him through his pants, and he groans, pulling you on his lap and kissing you, harder than he thinks he’s kissed anyone in his life, or at least anyone recently. He finishes the buttons on his vest and unclips his suspenders, kissing you the whole time, and he helps you lift your dress over your head, unclasping your bra and cupping your breasts in his palms, running his thumbs over your nipples, relishing in how you shuddered at his touch. You help him shrug his dress shirt off his shoulders, and he lifts your hips to push two of his fingers in you. You whimper in his ear, probably still sensitive from coming so soon before.

“You still have too many clothes on, Rafi,” you protest, running your hands up his undershirt. God, your hands were smoldering against his chest. He doesn’t say anything as you pull the fabric of the shirt up. He knows he’s under your mercy now, and if he’s being honest, he likes the constant relinquishing and then gaining of control more than he thought he would.

Your hands run over his nipples a little too long, causing his breath to catch, and he tries not to let out a moan but he ultimately fails. You noticed everything, anyway. He would’ve been found out at some point.

“Mm? You like that?”

He nods wordlessly, and you lift the shirt over his head.

“Help me get those pants off you and I’ll give you what you want, papi,” you purr in his ear.

"What I want is to be in you,” he murmurs, as you pull down the zipper and unbutton them. Rafael places you on the bed gently, deciding to take them off himself and his boxers follow suit.

"What the hell, Rafael?" you ask, blushing.

"What?" he asks, suddenly self-concious.

"L-like no one ever told you that you’re packing," you stammer. "Now I know where that ego comes from."

"Shut up, (y/n)," he laughs, relaxing a little, and comes to lie down next to you again, kissing you gently, his cock throbbing painfully with anticipation. Then, you run your hands over his chest again, and pinch his nipples lightly, and he's a mess, moaning your name, running his hands up and down your waist as he comes to lie on his back.

"Mm, now I know what to do to get what I want," you giggle, your hair falling in your face and -- oh, your tongue swirls over his left one and every nerve ending in his body is on fire. This, the culmination to the hell week, it might be too much. He might actually die right here.

"(Y/n), please," he begs.

"What?" you ask, moving your mouth to the other nipple and your hand moves down to his cock, stroking him gently.

"You need--oh fuck, (y/n), fuck,” he pants. Not many coherent thoughts run through his head at this point.

"Words, Rafael," you say, your voice lowering an octave.

"I-- you need to stop, (y/n). Too good. Need to be in you now or I won't last," he chokes out.

You oblige. "We'll save that for another day," you chuckle, lying down next to him. "How do you want me?"

"Too many ways to count. But... do you want to ride me?”

“Sure, but you need to help me out first. It’s been a while,” you say, blushing.

"Anything you need," he says gently, motioning for you to lie on your back, his tip teasing at your clit before he pushes himself into you, a few inches and you're already whimpering. "You good?"

"Yeah. You can keep going."

Your hair is splayed across his pillow, your breasts tantalize him with each breath...god, he was never going to be able to get this sight out of his head. He's stopped short for a moment, looking at you. You look up at him and smile, and he smiles back, an intimacy there that’s maybe unprecedented.

It takes a few minutes before he bottoms out fully, your walls quivering against him.

“Mm, fuck, Rafi,” you moan, running your fingers over his nipples again, bucking your hips against his. His lips attach to your neck, sucking gently on your left side, careful not to leave a mark. “Help me get on top.”

He does as you say, and you’re tentative at first, needing some encouragement from him, but your body knows what it’s doing. He’s so horny and strung out from the week that anything could bring him over the edge.

It’s his fucking nipples that threaten to do it again, though, and he knows they’re going to be sore tomorrow from all your rough ministrations. He never had a woman be so enthusiastic about playing with them before, and it’s just another way you drive him absolutely insane.

“(Y/n), fuck!” he groans. “You have to stop.”

You pout, drawing your hands away from him, quickening your pace. He leans forward to press his thumb against your clit, eliciting his name from your lips over and over again.

“Mm. Take my cock so well, bebita, mm, buena niña,” he says under his breath. “Such a good girl for me. Mm. Come on. Get off on my cock.”

He meets you thrust for thrust now, and he can feel it before you can, your walls tighten against him, and in seconds he has you flipped over, driving into you brutally from that angle as you fall apart, high-pitched moans and heavy breaths falling from your kiss-bruised lips.

The clenching of your walls is enough to drive him over the edge, and he bites at your shoulder without thinking, the feeling too much as he spills himself into you. “Such a good girl,” he whispers, kissing and licking at the bite mark. “Mm... fuck.”

"Mm, try not to think about that when we're at work," you laugh and he groans, flopping down on the mattress, his face pressing into the pillow.

"You are going to be the death of me, cariño," Rafael says, laughing too.

But oh, what a way to go to hell.

Tags: @caked-crusader​ @thatesqcrush​ @law-nerd105​ 

Want to be added to my tags? Let me know!

Next Chapter

Also I’d really appreciate feedback on this one since it’s my first time posting smut and I’m nervous ahhaha lol

[hale-13]

Euarthropoda

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 9 - Bugs

Peter enjoys visiting Tony out at the lake house - even though his mentor insists on going hiking.

Words: 1924, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark

TW: Light Discussion of Mental Health

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“A hike?” Peter asked, his voice dubious and still heavy with sleep. Tony had dragged him out of bed at an ungodly hour to shove a homemade breakfast with all the fixings down his throat before their supposed foray into the ‘great outdoors’.

“A hike,” his mentor confirmed, putting an ungodly amount of ketchup and sriracha on his omelet, making Peter crinkle his nose in disgust. “Eat up! We want to get out there early so we aren’t out in the hottest part of the day.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed,” Peter pointed out, talking around a mouthful of hash browns with grilled onions – it still blew him away that the Tony Stark he remembered severely burnt or set everything on fire before the Snap but now was perfectly capable of cooking a delicious meal. Wild. “But neither of us is what one might call ‘outdoorsy’,” Peter pointed out, air quotes included, adding another mound of bacon and sausage to his plate when Tony nudged the platter closer.

“Sure we are!” Tony protested. “You spend most of your day outside and I live at a lake house.”

“First of all,” Peter said imperiously, using his fork to point at this mentor and speaking with his mouth full. “Living at a lake house doesn’t mean that you’re suddenly a skilled outdoorsman. It just means that you have money. And second,” Peter continued, speaking louder over Tony’s spluttering, “I spend no time outside at all whatsoever.”

“Lies and slander,” Tony argued. “I’ve seen the logs for your suit so I know just how much you aren’t in your apartment no matter what you tell May.”

Peter threw his arms up in indignation. “Time in the suit does not equate to time spent in the wilderness! It’s climate controlled for fuck’s sake.”

“Language,” Tony admonished with a glance toward the stairs. Morgan had a penchant for creeping around to eavesdrop and had picked up lots of new… vocabulary… that she was all too pleased to teach her multitude of friends at school much to her teacher’s anger, Pepper’s embarrassed rage and Tony’s chagrin. Peter just rolled his eyes – he had super hearing, he would know if Morgan was creeping up on them. “Finish your breakfast.”

“Ugh,” Peter groaned but gave in. He knew a losing battle when he saw one – he was pretty stubborn but, if anyone could beat him out, it was Tony Stark. “Where are we even going?”

“Just around the lake,” Tony answered, spreading Nutella liberally on his toast. “It’s a few miles and I realized I hadn’t shown you the trails yet.”

Peter hummed and looked out the window where the watery light from the early morning sun was cascading over the kitchen and leaving long shadows. It was so much quieter here than the city, the only noise coming from the birds and the gentle lapping of the water from the lake onto the shore. It really was a beautiful place and, despite his verbal protests, Peter actually wasn’t that upset about spending a quiet morning walking around the shore of the lake and relaxing – it had been a rough week of Spider-Manning and he was ready for a break.

“Pete?” Tony asked, pulling him from his musings. “We don’t actually have to go if you really don’t want to. You know that right?”

“I know,” Peter reassured him. “I think I do want to.” Tony gave him a bright smile before grabbing his empty plate to put in the dishwasher.

“Go get changed,” the man said. “I’ll meet you by the dock in a few minutes once I get this put away,” he gestured to the few dirty dishes left on the table, completely empty due to Peter’s voracious metabolism.

“Sure,” Peter agreed. “I’ll do my best not to wake up Mo.”

“Oh God,” Tony groaned. “Please do. We’ll never get out of here if she wakes up.”

Peter laughed, leaving the kitchen to climb up the stairs and enter his room. It was supposed to be a warm day so he pulled on a pair of shorts and a worn out tank top along with a pair of beat up sneakers. Tony was already down by the dock when Peter made his way outside, stretching out his calves, two HydroFlasks sitting in the dirt next to him.

“Ready?” Tony asked, tossing him a bottle which Peter caught easily.

“Yep,” he agreed, stretching his own arms over his head to pop his back and release the tension in his shoulders that was a constant from all of his web-slinging. Tony set an easy pace, following the dirt trail around the lake and Peter fell into step next to him, their conversation light and lulling into comfortable silence in some places as they hiked, just taking in the scenery.

The area truly was stunning; an uncovered gem that Tony had been lucky to find. Land like this didn’t sit around unoccupied for long in the upstate area and Peter could see himself – one da, hopefully – retiring somewhere similar. Maybe Tony would let him build a house out here someday, he was certainly developing a taste for peace and quiet.

“May said you’d had a tough week,” Tony finally brought up lightly, confirming Peter’s suspicions for the alone time away from curious and meddling ears. The two were the absolute worst gossips at their bi-weekly co-parenting lunches – Peter was just lucky Happy hadn’t started joining them since he and May had started dating. Peter wouldn’t get away with anything if all three of them were involved.

Peter mulled the question over for a few minutes before shrugging, deciding to try for nonchalant. “It wasn’t great but I’m okay,” he finally conceded, voice carefully light.

“You can talk to me Webs,” Tony said carefully, his tone neutral. “If anyone knows what this business is like its me.”

They continued in silence for a minute more before Peter stopped in the path and leaned against one of the trees overlooking the lake, watching a Great Blue Heron wade in the shallows a few hundred feet from them pursuing its next meal. “I lost somebody,” he ground out. “I was right there and I’d already webbed up the bad guy but I guess one of his arms was free enough to still aim and fire his gun and…” Peter sniffed, eyes dry but stinging.

Tony sighed but didn’t offer any platitudes. “It sucks and it’s not fair,” he agreed, reaching out a hand to squeeze Peter’s shoulder quickly in solidarity. “And its going to happen again; all that matters is how you handle it. How are you handling it?”

“Mostly by punching a brick wall until I break my knuckles,” Peter admitted, carefully not looking at his mentor’s facial expression which he knew would be disapproving – Tony wasn’t really a fan of Peter’s penchant for using pain and violence to work through his emotions. He held up his right hand though, allowing the man to inspect the unmarred skin and healed bones without protest knowing he would be fighting a losing battle.

“I think we should talk about healthy coping mechanisms again,” Tony joked without humor. “Because this isn’t it.”

“I know,” Peter admitted.

“You give any more thought to my offer?” And Peter had. After the ‘Blip’ both Tony and May had tried to talk Peter into seeing one of the therapists the Avengers had on retainer. His identity would remain secure and he could vent and develop healthy coping mechanisms. Work through some of the issues he knew that he was repressing. Figure out how to deal with the PTSD WebMD told him he had. He had refused them a couple times over the months he had been back but now…

“I‘ve thought about it,” he admitted.

“And?” Tony asked, voice patient but with a hopeful undercurrent he couldn’t quite hide.

“I’ll try it,” Peter agreed, grunting in surprise when Tony pulled him into a firm hug that Peter leaned into, returning it with equal force and closing his eyes to rest his forehead on Tony’s flesh shoulder, tension he didn’t know he was carrying releasing from his muscles.

“I’m so proud of you kiddo,” the man whispered into his ear and Peter felt a watery smile pull up his cheekbones.

“Thanks,” he said as he pulled back to meet Tony’s eyes only for his mentor to be looking at Peter’s shoulder instead of his face. Peter knit his brows in confusion. “Tony?”

“Hold still Pete,” he said, gesturing to Peter’s shoulder. “Got a little wolf spider on you. I’ll get it.”

“A WHAT!” Peter screeched, jumping backwards and yanking his tank top off, ripping it to shreds and tossing it before running his hands over his arms, hair standing on end and skin crawling like he was covered in bugs.

“Uh,” Tony said, looking caught between laughter and confusion. “You okay bud?”

“I HATE spiders,” Peter said, shuddering and climbing halfway up the tree behind him to get away from his shirt on the ground and the arachnid that may still be in it. He was taking no chances. “Aren’t you going to kill it?”

“Kill it?” Tony asked faintly before letting out a snort. “Hate to break it to you Pete, but we’re in his territory not the other way around.”

“He lost the chance to live when he climbed on me,” Peter spat out venomously, eyes still locked on the shirt. He wasn’t letting the little bastard escape. “Can you please just kill it?”

“Pretty sure you flung him halfway to the city already,” Tony choked out around his laughter, picking up Peter’s discarded shirt and shaking it out to check it. “Think your shirt is toast.”

“You’re sure its gone?” Peter asked suspiciously, still perched on the trunk of the tree and feeling over his arms to make sure it wasn’t still on him.

“Yes Peter, Christ. Can you get down from there?” Peter narrowed his eyes but dropped back to the ground, scanning the area nervously. His Spidey sense was tingling uncomfortably from the adrenaline that was working its way through his system. Tony looked him over for a second to make sure he was okay before letting out a snort and then bursting into laughter. “Spider-Man afraid of spiders. Oh this is good!”

“Yeah yeah,” Peter grumbled, crossing his arms over his bare chest and feeling his cheeks heat up. “Laugh it up.”

“Aw its okay buddy!” Tony said, draping his arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulling him back down the path toward the cabin. “We all have at least one irrational fear. Say,” he said, voice teasing, “does May kill them all for you at home?”

“Hell no!” Peter said, shaking his head. “She’s worse than me – Ben always had to handle the various vermin that would come in the apartment uninvited.”

“So what do you two do? Go ask a neighbor?” Tony teased, lightly elbowing Peter in the ribs and causing him to scowl. “Scream until someone comes running? Call Happy?”

“We just… leave. You know, let it do it’s thing. Then we come home and are just really uncomfortable for a few days,” he said squirming a little in discomfort at the thought.

Tony let out a bark of bright laughter, pulling Peter into a side hug. “We can work on something to help you with that later in the lab I think.”

“Please,” Peter agreed in pure relief, following along back towards the house and keeping a weary eye on his surroundings… just in case.