#please god i could go on about this for HOURS it's such a brain worm for me!!!!

[the-californicationist]

Through a Glass, Darkly

A new priest is assigned to your remote abbey, but when you go to him for confession, you realize you are kneeling before the Devil himself.

Anonymous asked: Hiya Cali, crazy thought but happy october 🎃 brain worm, think about mirror sex with vampire!Price / 141 and the absolute flith that would pour from his mouth as he watches you stretch around seemingly nothing…

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TW: vampirism, blood play, priest abuse of power, heavy religious imagery, fem!reader, rape/noncon, virginity loss, corruption, mind breaking, historical fantasy au, father/my child/sister religious titles, fully adult characters

You’ve been warned, and I don’t wanna hear it. Your click, your fault.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. — 1 Corinthians 13:12

—x—x—x—

When Mr. Hawthorne arrived that morning with fresh milk, eggs, and a cart full of potatoes and turnips, you thought you would forget yourself and fling your hands around his fat neck. It had been weeks since supplies had been delivered, and although you lived in what was probably the smallest abbey in the world, you were just thankful that you had not been completely forgotten.

“Oh, thank you, Mister Hawthorne! We are so grateful for your service. The Lord rewards the generous,” you praised him.

The plump man’s face flushed red and he took off his sweaty cap, holding it limply in his hands,

“Tha’s alright, Sister. I had a good yield this season. You send a letter over to us if you need anything more. Hopefully that new priest will be arriving soon. Margie said she spotted him at the inn yesterday afternoon.”

“New priest?” You asked, wholly unaware of your abbey receiving an actual man of the cloth.

“Yes, Sister. He looks a little rugged for a holy man, but she said he was wearin’ the collar, clear as day.”

“Oh,” you mused, unsure of what to say.

“I’ll take my leave of you, Sister. Hope he’s a good one. It’ll be nice to have services back in the old church.”

“Yes, it will. Take care, and safe travels, sir. May God bless your next harvest.”

You watched as his rickety cart, pulled by an equally rotund mule, delivered the farmer away from you and your tiny sanctuary. As soon as he was out of sight, you rushed back through the wooden doors of the abbey to find Sister Ruth and Sister Sarah to tell them of the news.

They were both as shocked as you were. You had all three been convinced that the good Pope had completely forgotten about your little sect, and no letters had come for months. But, a new priest in this parish would bring much needed governance to the provincial people of your small village, and you needed to prepare.

You and your fellow nuns cleaned, cleaned, and cleaned some more. By nightfall, the abbey gleamed anew.

As you were preparing for bed, you heard the whinny of a horse outside of the abbey doors. You looked out into the corridor, and Sister Ruth was peeking out as well. Arming yourselves with long, steel fire pokers, you made your way to the entrance. Ruth nudged you with her elbow, encouraging you to call out. So, you said,

“It is past hours. Please come back tomorrow!”

“I’m Father John Price, and unless I’m mistaken, this is my abbey,” a deep, gravelly voice called out to you, seeming to flow and roll through the door with a convincing ease.

You cracked the wooden portal and looked out.

There, holding onto a frothy, exhausted steed was the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He wore an all-black capello romano on his head, towering above you by at least a full cubit. His face was pale, protected from labors under the sun, but his hands looked like they had certainly known the true meaning of work. His body was well-muscled and immense. Even in the midst of his flowing black robes, you could see the bulging form of his shoulders stretching the fine fabric. Around his thick neck, his white clergy collar sat dutifully under a jutting Adam’s apple and a proud chin, shaven although the rest of his beard was trimmed to full length.

But it was his eyes that unnerved you. For all of his brutish form, the look in his gaze made your blood run cold. There was something hypnotizing about the pale blue irises. It made him seem almost inhuman.

That deep, purring voice returned, and he stepped closer to you, threatening your threshold with white, sharp teeth pulled in a tight smile,

“Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

“Forgive me, Father. Please, come in. Sister Ruth will take your horse to the stables. Allow me to take your bags and show you to your chamber.”

He followed behind you at a close distance, studying the abbey’s courtyard and walls, judging its worthiness. You were proud of the work you had done to keep it in good working order, but you knew it was in desperate need of repairs.

As you walked, you tried to make small talk to ease the tension,

“I have been in prayer thanking God for your arrival, Father. It has been many years since we have been blessed to house a priest within our abbey walls. Our parishioners will be filled with joy to return to their pews.”

“Mm.” His hum was polite but noncommittal, so you gave up on the niceties.

Finally, you reached his cell, you pried open the door and allowed him to enter before you. He studied the spartan room with the expected amount of enthusiasm, and watched you lay his bag down on the small chair at his desk. You straightened out the Bible that lay on the table, making sure the corner matched up with the edge of the table, placing it just so.

“Will you take supper, Father Price?”

“No, I am not hungry. You will find that I eat very little, in fact,” he said, taking off his cloak and laying it on the freshly-made bed. He hung his hat on its hook and tried to straighten his hair.

“Should I have a mirror brought in for your cell?” You asked, thinking that he may need to look presentable. As a nun, you never used a mirror as a rule, but you were willing to accommodate your new steward as best you could.

“Do you use a mirror, my child?” Price’s voice deepened and smoldered like a bundle of kindling, threatening to burn. He stepped toward you, using his size to impose himself upon you in the small space.

“N-n-no,” you stammered, “Of course not, Father. But I am not in a position to be perceived such as yourself.”

“Recite Proverbs 31:30, my child,” he commanded, stepping closer to you, slowly creeping into your personal space, close enough that you could smell the scent of the sun and the grass on his robes, mixing with the sweat of his skin.

You swallowed, clearing your throat, and obeyed,

“Yes, Father. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”

“Good,” Price smiled, using his finger to lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “We must not succumb to vanity, my child. A dutiful disciple is one who serves others, yes?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, stepping backwards, away from his touch, hanging your head in reverence.

“In fact,” he purred, “It is James 1:23 which reminds us that those who look into the glass will be blinded by their own desires, only seeing themselves, incapable of suffering God’s divinity. It is the good works done that are worthy of praise, my child, although…”

He stepped forward again, grabbing your chin in his huge hand roughly, clutching the very bone of your jaw, making you gasp,

“Our Lord has taken special care to display his almighty talent in your face, has he not? Such delicate features. Like an angel.”

His mouth was so close to yours that you could smell the heady scent of iron and musk on his breath. His piercing eyes never left yours, pinning you in place.

Then, he released you, and you left the room without being dismissed, closing the cell door behind you and rushing back to your own cloister. You rushed into your room, locking the door fast, and knelt at your altar to pray for forgiveness.

Except… you were not asking to be forgiven for suggesting vanity to your new priest. No. You were asking to be forgiven for the warm, wet lust that was smearing across the crease of your thighs. Father Price had awakened strong feelings in you not of enlightenment, but of lurid desire, and you begged to be cleansed.

The next morning, Father Price called the abbey together. Yourself, Sister Ruth, and Sister Sarah reported to the small courtyard, along with two young pilgrims who had lived there since the past summer, Timothy and David. You and the nuns had suspected them as runaways, but they pledged themselves to the cloth and took care of the manual labor around the premises since you lacked any monks to speak of. They were well into their young adulthood now, and they would become apprentices to Father Price, if he saw fit.

You tried to put what had transpired between you and the good Father out of your mind, but seeing him in the cold light of day did nothing to quell the sinful desire you felt towards him. The way he had grabbed you…

“Good morrow, everyone. I ask that you will join me in our Biblical studies every morning. I find that the word of God helps me put the rest of my day right. I want to begin at the beginning, yes?”

He looked around at all of your faces, as if anyone would protest against his power, and then he continued,

“What does Genesis 4:7 tell us, Sister Ruth?”

“Speaking to Cain, the Lord said: If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.”

“Sin lieth at the door,” Father Price mused, then, as if shaking himself from his thought, he said, “Please continue, Sister.”

“And Cain talked with Abel, his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel, his brother, and slew him. And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother's keeper?”

“You are,” the priest’s voice rose in his chest, startling Sister Ruth and silencing her words. He began to pace back and forth, slowly stalking through your small ranks, “You are your brother’s keeper. You are more than that. You are keepers of this entire parish, are you not?”

“Yes, Father,” you all said in unison.

“There will be a reckoning in this parish,” Price snarled, “I will not lead a flock of demons disguised as sheep. If any of you hear witness or see evidence of sin, deliver it to me at once. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” you repeated.

“I will now take your confessions. I understand that it has been a number of years since you were cleansed, so be prepared to repent lest you allow the Devil into your soul.”

“Yes, Father.”

The day dragged on through the gray clouds, and Father Price had taken his time with the confessions of the members of your abbey. Sister Sarah had gone into his cell after the boys, and she had emerged with red eyes full of tears. You had comforted her in hushed whispers in the corner of her cloister, asking her what he had done, thinking it was something even more awful that how he had accosted you last night.

“He…” Sarah sobbed, “He made me kneel on sharp stones while I recited my prayers. It hurts so much, Sister.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Although sharp stones were not a gentle punishment, they were at least devoid of physical contact. He had not taken a hand to her. But, Sister Sarah was young. She had avoided some of the harsher training practices of the more traditional members of the church. You knew that there were a bevvy of punishments that would make kneeling in discomfort feel like a blessing.

Sister Ruth also came out sniffling, reporting that she had fifty lashes across her palms for the sin of plucking figs off of a nearby tree owned by the neighboring farm.

Again, you sighed and thanked God that he had a little mercy within him.

His cell door opened, and Father Price locked eyes with you and demanded,

“Come, my child. It is time for your confession.”

“Yes, Father Price,” you complied, taking your leave of the other nuns and following him into his cell.

Inside of his room, a shaft of sunlight cut across his face, illuminating his eyes and stunning you, keeping you from moving forward.

“Shut the door, my child,” his timbre was ominous, and you tried to hold yourself together.

“So far,” he rose from his seat and walked over to you, “I have cleansed the souls of a nun who is a thief, another who is a sloth, a young man who is a liar, and another who is filled with pride. It seems, Sister, that you have allowed the Devil through the door, indeed.”

“Forgive me, Father. I knew not of their wicked ways, nor have I your wisdom to correct them.” You stared at the stone floor. It was easier than looking at him.

“I do not believe that the wickedness was borne within them,” Father Price mused, tapping his finger on his lips as if deep in thought, “Because I discovered this beneath your mattress, and so I know the evil is inside of you.”

In his hands, Father Price held up a square, familiar, looking glass. You trembled, watching as your own reflection met you back. You could see the fear spread across your face, and you were disgusted by it.

“Tell me, my child. How did you use this mirror?” He asked sweetly, but as he watched you think about how best to answer the question, his voice became hot with fury and he snarled into your ear, “And don’t you dare lie to me. I will know your deceit.”

Your heart was banging in your chest, and so, beyond your better judgment, you told him the truth.

“I used it to… examine myself, Father.”

“Show me,” he commanded.

It was as if his whole cell bent and bowed under the weight of his authority. Your body began to move against your own will, relenting to his instead. Without thinking, you pulled back your habit and let your hair fall down your back. Then, you began to peel away your robes. Underneath, you untied your shift, and you allowed the fabric to pool on the floor at your feet, staring at yourself naked in the glass.

He watched you in silent awe, his pupils darkening, his mouth parted at his full lips, his chest heaving as he watched you make yourself bare before him.

“Go on,” he said, knowing that you were not finished with your demonstration.

You felt yourself obeying him helplessly, and you performed the same inspection that you did in private in front of him.

“I wanted to see how God hath made me, Father. So, I looked.”

“Where did you look, my child?”

“Here,” you raised your hands to squeeze the supple flesh of your breasts, showing him how your nipples were bouncy and puffy until they turned stiff and tight.

“And here,” you allowed your hand to fit itself between your thighs, spreading your labia, covered in dense hair, until your pliant lips revealed a shining, smooth center, wet and ready for pleasure.

“Now that you have examined the Lord’s fine works, what did you do with this knowledge?” Price asked.

“I would touch this part of me, Father, and I would let it bring me to Heaven.”

“I would like to know Heaven, my child. Turn around.”

You tried to stop yourself, but he was using his power to bind you. You were nothing more than a toy, helpless to his every whim. You turned, your back facing him, and he set the mirror on his desk so that you could see yourself within it. Then, he moved in front of you and his body blocked your view, reaching down to grab your chin like he had the first night he arrived, raising your mouth up to his.

You thought he would kiss you. His lips were just within reach, but he commanded you darkly,

“Confess.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you recited dumbly, “It has been three years since my last confession. In that time, I have…”

His mouth covered yours, kissing you deeply, feeding you his long tongue and eating up your words before you could say them. Then, you felt his hands on your breasts, squeezing them cruelly, pinching your nipples to make them ache and sting. You couldn’t help the lewd sounds that escaped your throat, but he didn’t seem to care to stop you. Finally, he pulled away, and when you looked into his eyes again, the bright blue had been replaced with a Hellish red.

You gasped, and he grabbed you tighter, pulling you towards him by the soft meat of your breasts, making you cry out in agony. That noise seemed to please him because he smiled down at you, and you could see that his teeth had grown into long, wolf-like fangs. He chuckled,

“My pretty little sinner.”

“D-d-demon!” You cried breathlessly, shaking from fear as he held you to his body.

Price bared his fangs at your assessment, hissing from the title,

“Yes, and you have invited me in, so eager to be corrupted.”

Releasing you from his grip, he held you around your waist with one arm, and he used his free hand to dip between your legs, discovering your wetness there and sighing from it.

“Mmm… Let me taste your sweet, little Heaven, Sister.”

He knelt on the floor in front of you and held onto your wide ass cheeks in each hand, forcing your hips to tilt toward his face. You looked down and watched as his impossibly long tongue flicked against your swollen bud. His wide tongue parted your lips to drag wetly between them. You tried to hold back your cries, but you’d never known such pleasure, so you could barely keep it in. You prayed for forgiveness as you came apart against this demon’s mouth, succumbing to his vileness.

Then, you glanced into the mirror, and you noticed that you couldn’t see his head. Only the collar and robes were visible in the glass. All you could see is how your lips were being spread apart, seemingly on their own.

He had no reflection.

“You… you’re…” You couldn’t say the words, but Price knew what you meant to call him.

He looked over his shoulder, using his thumbs to spread your lips wide apart, gazing at them in the glass and smiling even though he didn’t have a reflection to smile at. Then, he looked back up at you, a sick grin spread across his lips,

“Cain, yes. The immortal wanderer, cursed from the earth which hath opened her mouth to receive my brother’s blood. And I have not tasted food, for it becomes ash in my mouth, just like He promised. But, blood… I can taste blood just fine.”

He planted the softest kisses between your shivering thighs, sucking on the thin skin, and then, after slaking his thirst with your sticky center once more, he sank his fangs right in the inside of your thigh, making you howl with pain.

His eyes were locked on yours, watching you writhe in agony, your nerves sensing his venom coursing through you as he sucked the life from your veins. You watched yourself in the mirror, seeing the puncture wounds, watching as blood spilled out across your skin, smearing and being licked away by his greedy tongue. Finally, he released you, and the poison of his mouth took effect. You became deeply fatigued, and you could barely stand on your own. He had to hold you in his arms to keep you in position.

He stood, smiling down at you, his mouth caked with your dark blood, his teeth stained red,

“What a blessing you are, my child. Such perfect innocence tastes so fine, so… pure. I almost hate to sour your ripe little fruit, but that will be sweet in its own way, yes?”

You watched as your demonic priest yanked at his collar, popping it from his neck. Then, he pulled off his robes, tearing away at his layers until he was as bare as you, both of you fully naked and pressed together, joined in a crash of skin and heat, his mouth painting your body with your own blood as he kissed and licked your breasts and belly, teasing you with his tongue as he explored you.

Then, he stepped around to your back, and you caught sight of his heavy cock as it swung between his legs like that of a rutting beast. You tried to fight the black spell you were under, but it was no use. You were trapped in his thrall.

“Watch yourself in the mirror, my child,” Father Price commanded you, grinning as you immediately obeyed, “Come and behold the marvelous works of God.”

You couldn’t turn your eyes away. You were alone in the mirror, and yet, your breasts were being crushed by invisible fists, your nipples tormented between unseen fingers. Then, you felt Price fit his phallus against the entrance of your sex and press it into you, stretching you wide across his prodding cockhead. You saw how your body was being invaded by him, pulling itself apart to allow him inside. The dark hole of your quim opened like a toothless maw, drooling and starving, hungry to take him deep within you, welcoming him up to your womb.

You sobbed at the strain, and then you felt something give way sharply inside you, and he had a much easier time of filling you with his engorged length. As he fucked himself up into you, he was grunting like an animal, praising you in your ear, telling you his own confession,

“Forgive me, my child, for I am sinning. Right now… I am sinning with you, and it is so sweet. God has made you for me. What a gift you are. See?”

He used his hand to swipe at your gaping hole, bringing his hand in front of your face so you could see the bright blood that coated his fingertips,

“You have broken so easily for me. The Lord knew you needed me to come and serve you. He brought me to you, my child. You welcomed me inside, didn’t you? Spread these lips for me, invited me in… Didn’t you? Say it.”

“Y-y-yes, F-father…” You whimpered, tears dripping down your chin and onto your bare chest.

The loud slapping of skin against skin filled the cell, and you watched as your hole spread wider and wider, taking more of him with each punishing thrust.

“Louder, my child,” he hissed in your ear.

“Yes, Father!”

His hand was playing in your slippery folds, massaging your hidden bud and forcing you to clench hard around him from the pleasure. In the glass, you could see your hole trying in vain to twist itself shut, pumping him in a steady beat.

“Didn’t you pray to God for a prick like mine when you touched your filthy quim in your mirror?”

“Yes, Father!”

It was true. You had touched yourself, hoping that you might one day know the pleasure of being taken by a man. You had watched the mating of cattle in the field next to the abbey many a summer past, hanging clothes and sheets on the line, and yet all the while looking into the grassy glade, staring at the bull who would mount his cow and thrust his turgid rod into her to breed her deeply. And she would croon for him, and when he left her, the spent seed would hang in long, thick strings from the head of his phallus, making him wet and ready to sink his sword through its next sheath.

“And the Lord answered your prayers, did he not? Begging him for someone to breed you like this, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Father!”

Price was the bull, and you would be bred by him, and you would be cast out of God’s mercy forever. Ruined. Steeped in sin and tainted by lust.

“You smell like a ripe plum, my sweet child, and you’re just as soft in my mouth,” Price began to lick your neck from your sloping shoulder all the way to your earlobe, over and over, letting his spit cover your flesh. Then, he sank his fangs into your vein and began to drink from you in long, slurping sucks, swallowing your blood into his throat in audible gulps, moaning with each mouthful of your essence.

The venom of his demonic bite made your head cloudy and your will compliant.

“Touch yourself, my child,” he mumbled, quickly returning to his feast on your flesh.

You had no choice but to obey. You felt him increase his pace, his long cock bottoming out inside of you with each thrust, flinging his weight into you like a hammer. You began touching your breasts, pinching yourself gently as you watched your ruination unfold in the looking glass, helpless to stop it.

Then, you began to touch your rigid nub, taking over for him as he continued to drink from you. You made achingly slow circles around your most sensitive spot, and because you were so wet, you were able to go faster without any discomfort. You made yourself come quickly, jerking your hips against him as he fucked you, listening to him groan from the feeling of your tight hole trying to squeeze the come out of his body.

“Beg me for my seed, Sister. Beg me to spill it in you,” Price murmured, licking your neck in the spot where he had bitten to rub the taste of your blood across his tongue.

“Father, please… Please come in me. Spill in me… oh!”

You felt him jerk inside of you, and then you heard his growling orgasm rip through his body, his cock pulsing wildly, shooting ropes of creamy seed all over your walls, bursting through your tight, virginal core.

“So perfect for me, so perfect…”

Price caught his breath while he was still inside of you, panting and smiling against your neck before he pulled out of you, watching his invisible shaft slip through your cunt in the mirror, the gaping hole slowly shrinking before your eyes. As he retreated, you saw large strings of come drip out of you, white and endless, flowing out of you and onto the floor of the cell.

Father Price dressed himself in front of you, leaving you standing where he had last commanded you to be, admiring your ruined body. Once he clipped his collar back under his shirt and cloak, he stepped in front of you to pinch lightly at the tips of your nipples again, making you whimper like a hungry mutt.

“For all your virtues, Sister, you are prone to sin. An innocent such as yourself must be trained to resist the Devil. Come to my cell for confession every morning and every night. I promise,” he stroked your cheek and then your neck, right where he’d bitten you, “I will put my goodness deep inside of you, my child. Right here.”

His other hand came to touch your bare belly, gently caressing the skin and flesh that protected your womb.

“Yes, Father,” you said, trying to avoid his furious gaze, shaking with pure, gut-wrenching terror, understanding that for you, there was no escape. You were under his vampiric command, and if he wanted you, your body was going to obey. You’d taken the Mark of Cain on your neck, and the only hope for you now was to beg for his mercy.

“Take this mirror with you, my child. I want you to kneel in prayer over it, spread those plump legs wide, and I want you to watch my seed drip out of you. With every drop, you will thank God for me and my prick. When the Lord answers our prayers, it is our duty to be grateful.”

“Yes, Father,” you said, pulling your robes back on and adjusting your habit.

He handed you the mirror, and you took it with a crushing amount of shame, feeling his come still seeping in a steady stream out of your well-used hole.

As you left his cell, he smiled down at you, carefully petting your cheek,

“Don’t worry, my child. Your next confession is in only a few hours. You will feel the warmth of the Lord’s forgiveness again very soon.”

—x—x—x—

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

AO3 Link

[lsunstreakerl]

Oh my god I want to hug them so bad and wrap them in blankets it‘s unreal 😭.

Compilation of my favourite moments in no particular order:

Max basically saying „I don‘t care if Alex moves in, just don‘t fuck next to me“

Christians unprofessional behaviour (wanting to comfort a teenager)

Christians and Totos reaction to the fact that Max still has the Duct Tape BootsTM

Christian trying to not freak out (and kinda failing) when he realizes that Max is related to Jos and is possibly without any type of legal care taker.

Max teasing George about his crush/more-than-friends-feelings for Alex

Max and George being so siblings its killing me fr. They hate each other sometimes but they hold each other so dear I‘m gonna cry

Helping each other with the contracts for driving and sponsors. I can just see them sitting across at a kitchen table and going ham on the clauses.

Max getting a haircut from Pascale

The tiny gax smau post made me think about the possibility that they might be doing the cuddle thing when one of them is feeling like garbage.

Imagine Alex, still at RBR, not doing well in a race and Max texting George to come to Alex' driver room. RBR mechanics being very confused for a second because thats one one of theirs, but then they recognize George and let him be because they know he‘s probably here for Max. Eventually one of them opens the door to Alex' driver room because they haven't opened the door in a few hours and finding them on the floor because the couch isn't big enough for all three of them.

Sorry if it’s long, the brain worms have infected me <3

tiny max is a menace and relentlessly teases george about the way he looks at alex like he hung the stars in the sky. (until they get together and he's like "oh please god go back to how you were before I can't stand it")

christian experiences one (1) emotion that isn't ruthlessness or victory or cutthroat viciousness and immediately decides he just has to die. no other option. why is this wet mop of a child making him feel squishy things where is franz—

christian handles the unwelcome squishy emotions by making them toto's problem also. toto hates it equally as much, and then they find out there's more wet mop children.

baby bull child is bad enough to give christian hives, but finding out said baby bull child doesn't have an adult sends him into anaphylactic shock. a fever dream. a manic episode. he wakes up and realizes he's successfully pitched the idea of a clothing brand to Red Bull.

george is so pathetically obvious and alex is so pathetically oblivious... how could he not make fun of them.

they would take a bullet for each other, but they'd spend the rest of their lives teasing the other for almost getting shot.

contract renewal or new contracts is a whole event in their place. papers all over the kitchen and the living room, constantly going through highlighters, thinking out loud to each other all the time. george works under the table at a local bookshop that lets him use their printer to get all the contracts in physical media, and they let him take highlighters home too! before he got that job, he and max were going to the local library and printing them out in 20 paper chunks at a time to avoid getting in trouble, and it took forever.

pascale saw them get more scruffy with each race and eventually just couldn't take it anymore. the irony of george not eating his sandwich and instead lying to max and giving it to him later, is that if they'd just said that they were hungry, the leclerc's would've fed them both :( but they don't know any better, and the leclerc's still think there's an adult around. (an incredibly absent adult, sure, but they're certainly not thinking that max and george are alone.)

they absolutely still do the cuddle thing when they don't feel well. or when they're stressed, or overwhelmed, or really anything out of the norm! it's a comfort thing. the smau post is when their flight had been delayed, and while everyone else is trying to get comfy on airport chairs, the three of them have slept through worse, and they're very experienced at what's comfortable for them. (because when you've been sharing a bed and a bedroom for as long as they had, it's muscle memory.) it's also kind of nostalgic for them, because at this point they're in a two bedroom place (max and charles aren't together yet), and while max has no issues occasionally invading their bed when he wants comfort, it's not every night like it used to be.

They've also been known to catch power naps during race weekends in weird spots when there's a delay :)

[coveofsecrets]

@kiyoahdiy requested: Platonic yandere Sengoku as the father of the reader, but the reader is a pirate, despite coming from the marines.

─── ✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ─── "𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚝"

-> Platonic! yandere! Sengoku x reader

-> Warnings: Marineford spoilers, minor character death, violence, blood, kidnapping

-> Word count: 3.1k

-> HOLY HELL THIS TOOK SO MUCH LONGER THAN I THOUGHT. THREE REWRITES. THREE. REWRITES + EDITING. HOLY FUCK. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns

─── ✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“The Great Battle of Marineford.”

A mug of beer held in the air, scarred fingers loosely wrapping around the handle.

“Has a lovely ring to it, don’t you think?”

The person holding the cup sighs, “Just imagine,” eyes closing as grand dreams and high hopes weave themselves behind eyelids. “Us, in the spotlight, our bounties skyrocketing by the minute…” Letting that fantasy unravel, Yánzǐ opens his eyes back up, irises traveling to you. “Doesn’t that sound grand, Captain?”

Prompted to answer, you divert your view from the sea to your first-mate.

Being in the spotlight…

Out on stage, onlookers’ attention focused on nothing but the actions of your crew, waiting with bated breath for the next line they shall deliver…

The thought makes a bitter taste pool in your mouth.

Usually, it’s an idea you can get on board with, but this time is different. This time, the stage lights must shine on another ensemble.

“Not really,” is your answer. “All that sounds grand to me is supporting Newgate for this war.”

The ‘support’ is mainly to pay back a… personal debt you owe to the Warlord, even if he’s insisted too many times he’s needed no reimbursement.

Yánzǐ chuckles, “Aw, really? Wouldn’t you like to see your bounty rise, though?”

“I would, but that’s not my main goal for where we’re gonna be,” you clarify, turning back to the seas. 

No sight of land.

Even when squinting, all you can see is the unknown blue. 

We’ve been sailing for three weeks, though. Khia said it should take three weeks to get to Marineford. Did we get off course?

A seed of worry is planted, immediately starting to sprout- roots digging into your brain as the stem wraps around flesh, so tight it could burst.

In order to spray a weed killer onto that anxiety, you call to your helmsman: “Khia, how much longer until we get there?”

The mentioned person pulls their head up from a book, foot moving from atop the helm to see you better.

“Six hours.” Barely louder than the crashing waves, you have to strain your ears to hear them.  “Unless you want me to go faster?”

Six hours…

The feel of vines wrapping around an organ lessene, but still lingers.

“Yes, please. That would be nice.”

Nodding, Khia straightens themself up, readying themself to make the ship take speed.

Well, at least that’s done…

The plant is set alight, dissolving into ashes, no longer taking much priority in your thoughts- although a little bit still lingers and god you can’t get it out of your mind-

Gah!

What matters is that it’s mostly gone, this absence allows you to pick up on footsteps approaching, discolored arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“Ah, Captain!” Comes the bellow of the crew’s doctor. “What’re you so worried for? We’ll be fine!” A laugh echoes from her throat, haughty and egotistic; uncontainable joy spreading across the deck, allowing it to worm its way into the hearts of many others.

Well, except for you.

Somehow, her infectious glee never manages to even touch you; even now, as all you can do is frown to her aching smile.

Anxious.

You’re anxious, and like the douche she is, Sasi always notices.

“Is it your dad?”

Leave it to her to be straightforward, allowing for no hesitation or hiding on your end.

Allowing a few seconds to pass, you order your thoughts, soon sighing, “Not… necessarily.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see Yánzǐ perk up. “Well, it is. I’m… worried about the power he holds. we all know he’s going to be there for the execution of Portugas, as well as some admirals.”

Something gross starts to swish around in your gut.

“I know Newgate will be able to handle himself, but I’m sure that Sengoku’s-” His name is practically spit out. “-gonna call out the big shots, especially for a battle such as this.”

Yánzǐ’s creeping closer, you note.

“And I’m worried. About my crew, about all of you.” A short huff from you, as you shake your head. “I… powerful forces are going to be there. Admirals I haven’t heard of, probably with abilities far surpassing our crew. Hell, knowing them, they might do something underhanded.” A dull pain in your bottom lip, teeth digging into it. “…look. If anything happens, I want you all to prioritize your lives. Run away if need be. Your honor does not matter, but your-”

Yánzǐ’s voice, purposefully set at an annoyingly high pitch, rings from behind you.

“AWH, CAPTAIN!”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, practically yanking you to his side.

“You don’t have to be so worried,” he shouts, “There’s a reason we’re called The Forsaken Pirates!”

Sasi’s fingers snap, a grin on her face. “Oh- you’re right!” The doctor moves to your other side, also wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Why would we prioritize our lives when we have a name to spread?!” The woman becomes loud, voice spreading out across the ship.

All of a sudden, Khia balks. “Oh, hush!” They slam a fist onto the hull, making their presence known. “Must you always be so loud?! I can’t focus on driving the ship with your incessant screaming!” Despite their words, though, it’s obvious they’re hiding a smile of her own, just squished down with all they have.

To her insult, the doctor gasps, a hand dramatically brought to her chest. “Why, I-!”

Thus, dramatics ensue.

Khia and Yánzǐ, the doctor and the first mate; both people starting to argue with one another, throwing insults and punches of all kinds at either side. From an outside perspective, it looks like they’re fighting to the death.

On the inside, though, it’s different.

The two of them have suppressed grins on their faces, uplifting ends to their sentences, and fists that’re lighter than usual.

They’ve gotten along better than when they first met.

To the spectacle, people start to perk up, some crowding around the two, egging them on, a few even placing bets on who will win.

At the end of the day, though, it’s all in fun and jokes.

At the end of every day, it’s all in pure fun and jokes.

It’s something you appreciate about your crew.

No matter the situation, no matter the threat, they’ll always manage to make the scene lighter than it really is.

Whether a fight, a near death experience, or a war.

Broken terrains, and beaten corpses.

Chipped swords, and damaged bodies.

In this arena, multiple people stand; one side against another, shades of grey fighting against a collective shade of white.

Within that grey, is the beams of every single one of your crewmates, unaffected by whatever happens around them. Like shooting down a fish, they take down whatever is in their way, uncaring of the injuries on their bodies, or the fear they may feel.

Another one.

Needle pricking into an arm, sword stabbing into the neck of a man.

Right before it explodes, you jump back. Hands come up to cover your face, debris and smoke decorating your arms.

Cogs and oil; metal and fire.

What the hell is that thing?

It doesn’t have any flesh, and yet, it looks like an identical copy of the warlord Bartholomew Kuma.

Former Revolutionary, too.

Furthermore, there’s clones of that man, all around the field, engaging in combat with your allies.

How? A Devil Fruit ability? But doesn’t he already have one-?

Deciding it’s too much for your thoughts, you discard the train of thinking. Even if the concept is curious (and possibly sickening), you don’t have time to ponder what fucked up thing the Marines did this time.

All that you need to focus on, all that your attention needs, is one objective.

Assist Newgate any means possible in this war.

So, despite how much you want to figure out this fucked-up mystery, you simply, don’t have the time for it.

Something pulls at your brain.

A small prick, a tug, but it has so much force to it, tugging the thing to a far corner of your skull

Ah.

Recognizing the sensation, you turn to the source of the tugging, eyes catching onto a Marine- Lieutenant Commander, the back of your mind echoes- their gun raised, ready to bash it against your head.

Hm. 

The firearm’s way above their head, with nothing to guard them from incoming blows.

Poor tactic.

Your face scrunches up.

Do they even train their Marines, nowadays?

Crouching down, you prepare yourself to strike a palm against their neck, but before you could,  a sudden warmth overtakes you.

Fire lapping at exposed skin, always touching but never burning; a campfire in front of cold hands, meant only for preserving life. That is what the sensation is like, and it’s one you’re familiar with.

“Watch your head, yoi!”

That voice.

That infuriating voice, paired with that annoying blue talon.

Marco the Phoenix.

Long nails pinning your pathetic excuse of an attacker to the ground, compressing so hard on their chest they pass out.

Your ‘savior’ turns to you, that stupid smirk stretched out across his face. He tilts his head, calling out your name- “Didn’t expect you to be joining us, yoi!”

Atop a scalding hot stove, water starts to furiously boil. The liquid bubbles rise up, and up, the container no longer holding it as the water seeps through the lid, leaking down to touch the surface heating it.

“Piss off, Marco the Phoenix!” You bark, ignoring his offended remark as you push past him to find where you’re needed.

Where do I need to go, where do I need to go…

Left and right, your head swivels, looking this way and that for any of your comrades who may be struggling in this battle.

What’s happening, what’s happening…

In one place, there’s Newgate (Overhyped big man) exacting orders; in another, there’s Strawhat Luffy (seems like a bright kid. Knows how to make a flashy entrance) engaging with Mihawk; far up above, there’s the execution platform of Ace, with Garp and…

…Sengoku.

The lid starts to rattle.

Fleet Admiral and Vice Admiral sitting together, on the perch like birds on a branch. High up above, in a place only they can reach so effortlessly. In their position, they can be impartial to the carnage going on beneath them, the broken screams of the grieving, of the afraid, of the dying.

They are the Celestial Dragons, the self-proclaimed Gods, to the lowly humans suffering at the hands of the heaven's actions.

Like a kettle, a high-pitched whistling sound starts to come from the pot.

Nobody seems to be engaging with them, or even anywhere nearby, too busy with all the other forces attacking them.

Looks like you’re needed there.

So you go.

Your feet skidding against uneven rock, you carry yourself there, barely acknowledging the enemies who try to get to you- just so you’re able to reach your goal.

To reach Sengoku.

That good-for-nothing, scumbag of a father who’s better off dead because how dare he.

How dare he sit upon his false throne, looking at but not seeing the wails of your allies.

How dare he call for this war, but does not do anything to aid the burden of his soldiers.

How dare he be in a position of power, only to use it to destroy.

How dare he.

His eyes, apathetically crossing the scene, meet yours.

And his face turns into one of pure fury.

In an instant, his body transforms.

Pale skin starts to form a sheen, changing shades until it’s a blinding gold; body contorting to a bigger size, his shirt unable to handle this change, as it tears off; an aura of sorts forming around him, almost like a halo of the angels.

A false halo.

With such an ugly expression on him, any awe directed towards that presence of his is immediately discarded.

An ugly face, for an ugly man.

Echoing across this ring, the man bellows your name, “After twenty years, you show your face to me-” The harsh cold biting at your skin, his voice nothing short of cruel. “-and you foolishly fight on the side of pirates!”

Pirates.

Disgusting, less than human, beings; monsters, who do nothing except for prey on the week; slobs, who could be doing so much better with their lives.

Pirates.

People, who just want to see the world; people, who had no other choice than to become a pirate; people, who refuse to be a cog within a rusty machine.

Pirates.

You shout, “Yes, I do!” grabbing a sword embedded in a body, you point it at your father.. “On this battlefield, I align myself with what is true! And here-”

There’s a thrumming underneath your veins.

Within its cage, blood rushes against it, the molecules almost pushing against one another in a race to your head. The top of your body almost feels full with it, as if it’s going to burst with the amount in there.

It’s so much.

But at the same time, there’s a fire within your heart. Burning brightly, passionately, adding fuel for you to take grasp of your long-held dream.

“I shall be the one to take your head!”

Papers spread on an ivory desk.

Pads of fingers digging into the reports.

A body hunched over those fingers.

“A child.”

The words are muttered right as your office door opens.

“You placed a bounty on a child.”

The newcomer’s eyes narrow. “It’s for the protection of the common good.” It’s Sengoku.

“You placed a bounty on a child.” Your teeth clench. “I can understand annihilating an island-” can you, now? “-but placing a 900 million berry bounty on a child’s head?”

“She holds secrets that could disrupt the balance of the world-”

A firework exploding.

A rope snapping.

A fire generating.

“She is a child,” you start to yell, “You placed a bounty on a child! Nine million berries-” You grab onto the poster, holding the picture of Nico Robin up.

 “Dead or alive! You want a child to die!”

“It’s for the protection of the world!”

“YOU PLACED A DEAD OR ALIVE BOUNTY ON A CHILD!”

You awake in chains.

Heavy on your body, they weigh you down; where they encase your limbs, they offer nothing but a dull ache for comfort.

Where…

It’s hard to think, you realize, almost as if your brain is a swamp. Wading, trudging; to navigate these muddy waters, all of your energy is needed.

Knowing you won’t be able to traverse with your body, you decide to traverse with your eyes instead, focusing on discerning your surroundings.

As you do so, simple shades of grey start to become multiple tints of that color, bricks and crevices soon identifiable by your barely working eyes. After some more mapping out, your organs of sight notice multiple, thin bars in front of you.

A… cell…?

Past those bars is a discernible shade of white, soon separating into yellows, blues, reds, and blacks. Not long after, you recognize them as clothes. A rectangular sash, round coat lying on top of it, and two circles- glasses, actually- lying atop a man’s face.

“You’re awake.”

Rough and scratchy; sandpaper rubbing against a hand.

You know the voice all too well.

Leftover rage rising up your limbs, you pull against the chains. “You-!” Only for it to be a fruitless attempt. “Sanctimonious fool!” Your tone, however, makes up for that anger. “Where am I? Where did you take me?!”

Suddenly, a stab of worry embeds itself into your heart.

“Where are my crewmates?!”

All the past events are a blur, lost in the mist of your mind. All you can remember is the events before and at the declaration that you’ll take Sengoku’s head, but after that, you don’t know.

You don’t know the outcome of the war.

You don’t know if Ace’s head was taken or not.

You don’t know if your crewmates are safe or not.

Your crewmates, who have been built over long and arduous years, who were all different kinds of people, some who didn’t get along at first, all of them gone from their hometowns for one reason or another, becoming attached to you and your crew and joining with or without your permission, everybody eventually becoming a member beloved by you and if anything happened to them you don’t know what you’ll do because you love them so much-

“If any of them are hurt, I’ll-!”

“I don’t know where your teammates are,” Sengoku interrupts. “I was too occupied with our little fight to check where they are.” He’s maddeningly calm. It’s as if all the tribulations of the world are water off the duck’s back. As if they are all meaningless. “However, I do know that you are in the sixth level of Impel Down.”

Huh?

“Why-”

“I’ve deemed you too much of a threat, so you shall remain here.”

Huh?!

Your teeth grit. “Threat ‘how’? By freeing certain countries from-”

“You won’t be kept here for the rest of your life, though.”

…huh?

A few seconds of silence pass; silence filled with the cogs in your head turning, trying to make sense of his words; silence filled with Sengoku’s icy stare, gazing down upon you like he would an insect.

Eventually, he speaks again. “I’m giving you a second chance.” Your father takes a seat on the floor. “During your stay, you will reflect on your misdemeanors as a pirate, and only when you have admitted your wrongdoings, I will let you out to serve on the sides of the Marines once more, with your crimes cleared.”

Another small silence, as once again, you process what you were told.

Reflect?

Misdemeanors?

On the side of the Marines?

It’s as if you were a child caught stealing cookies past their bedtime, and as punishment, you were sent to timeout. Unable to interact with anybody, and nobody able to interact with you. To the ‘class’, you are nothing.

He’s treating you like a baby.

Nothing but a misbehaving kid, who needs to reflect on the mistake they made.

A little thing, who betrayed the Marines because they didn’t think too much about it; who committed their so-called crimes because they have poor impulse control.

How humiliating.

Festering and seething, mold from a fruit spreads to the others; starting at your heart, scattering to the rest of your limbs. It rots your bones, your muscles, barely peeking through the skin- climbing up your throat, threatening to tear apart your vocal cords as you open your mouth, the decay spilling from your lips.

“YOU BASTARD-!”

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring. 

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness. 

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation. 

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard. 

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this. 

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing. 

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road. 

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment. 

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands. 

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him. 

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers. 

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill. 

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head. 

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear. 

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left. 

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening. 

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough. 

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud. 

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him. 

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose. 

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods. 

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted. 

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke. 

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism. 

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can. 

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon. 

[starry-bite]

live episode reaction: "tara" (cme 18x08)

spoilers below the cut!

IT'S ALREADY OVER FOR ME IN THE FIRST TWO MINUTES SHE'S SO SOFT AND VULNERABLE TELLING REBECCA ABOUT HER NIGHTMARE

“THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE JUST HAD A NIGHTMARE” I LOVE YOU TARA I'M SORRY YOU'RE GONNA HAVE A HARD HOUR

“I COULD USE A CUDDLE, HON” SCREAMING

her little tshirt no pants i love

oh tara

her voiceover!! yes to this!!

“i don't need the light or whatever this is” ADDING THIS TO THE GIRLIES WHO DIED REACTION/VISION LINE-UP IS CRAZY

oh the denial

oh Honey

but her response and emotional reaction are so true to her as a character!

damn this quote

penelope better be okay

“how are you holding up?” “i'm not. i'm heading home too.” classic emily non-answer

oh please we're not framing ochoa

WHOA the trust penelope has in voit to sleep with him is Wild

oh good em gets to help pg

“let me take care of this first” pg being prioritized over the possibility of a mole is 1000% correct, my girl comes first

omggg finally getting something with tara’s mommm

okay is she in melgren in her mind or is it just sort of sloppy set reuse

“don't get much of it in real life, and then right before you die, bonus round” 😂😂😂

“you're not being honest” OOF

wait do we know the tara mom beef did i miss something?

OH NO TARA

oh shit her aorta??

bro when did they become huggers? but also fun! people usually gravitate toward garcia for comfort it's fun to see em put in that role. even if she is not immediately as good at it. maybe because of that.

paget’s voice keeps doing weird stuff the last couple episodes

i know i know this is serious just gimme a sec GLASSES ARE BACK GLASSES ARE BACK GLASSES ARE BACK

“question, who’s tired?”

oh i can feel her gearing up i love a cunty leader emily rally speech

gotta bring by my emily morality meta this monologue is feeding the worms in my brain ughhhh

god i love when jj locks in

evan you better fucking not

“you're a high-functioning overachiever who became a fixer to avoid grief” GODDAMN MAMA LEWIS PUT ME ON BLAST

wait doesn't it take face to face contact for voit to remember, do we need to worry about him remembering the lonelyheart bullets?

im so glad they're finally doing something with rebecca!!!

oh come the fuck on evan

and not to derail, this episode goes crazy after reading @blackbird-brewster’s rebecca/tara/emily/jj polycule fics

oh my tara

oooh goood one tear

BABY TARA

feel bad for saying this, but this mom-daughter chemistry isn't really working for me

aisha is so good and it could just be the left-field nature of it, but her mom just isn't holding up to me

all emily's little wrap tops

garcia outfit is SO CUTE

awww they love her

is she fuckin with them?

wait is she taking a sabbatical??

wait is this gonna be a PROPOSAL????????????????

GAY PEOPLE I LOVE GAY PEOPLE HAPPY PRIDE

THIS ACTUALLY MAKES UP FOR THE JEMILY QUEERBAITING

OH MY GOD

END THE SEASON WITH A WEDDING???

LOOK AT ALL THEIR FACES THEY LOVE HER SO MUCH

DAVE HELPING TARA KNEEL

IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY TO BE A SAPPHIC CRIMINAL MINDS ENJOYER

overall: pacing kind of insane but has the flavor of the later seasons of classic in a joyful way. loved FINALLY getting some good tara-centric material even if some of the writing was whack. did kind of feel like a different show than the rest of the season, really all of evolution tbh. particularly loved the beginning and end of this episode. fun! the finale two-parter is going to be insane, i’m sure, so i’m glad they got a little sweet reprieve.

[memberment]

GOOD MORNING EVERYONE

So the Trinitarians brain worm is back and Morning Glory is now longer and biting the dust as far as my focus goes.

But like, I genuinely want to talk to anyone who's invested in what's to come as far as part two goes. SO PLEASE. I IMPLORE THE FOUR OF YOU WHO PERPETUALLY TAKE NOTICE OF MY SCREAMS INTO THE VOID.

We're all aware that Trin is a time loop fic. That is confirmed.

BUT THE PROBLEM IS HOW I'M GOING ABOUT DOING THAT. AND I NEED INPUT FROM PEOPLE THAT ARE NOT ME AS FAR AS PLEASES AND SPARKLES GO, YES?

Because like sure I'm writing it and like fuck everything else, let me tell my story. But it's the how of it all like if I'm gonna throw another 200 give or take hours into this I would at least like one person to be having a wonderful time drinking and driving (I have since remembered this is not a common phrase, I do not mean this in a literal sense, it's an expression) with me right?

Part two is going to be 50 chapters, give or take. (Part one is about 37 for reference.)

So the plan for part 2 rn is (ROGUHLY):

(1-10) is the second timeline. There are a lot of importants and I cannot just glaze over it all more than that. But we're also working in a bit of a shorter time period than the original events of the story and introductions do not need to happen again, right?

(11-40)ish would be me running through the next timelines in a set up structure -> what changes -> the results of said changes and then inevitably what sends our looper backwards. It wouldn't be running through all the timelines but the more notable ones in kind of a four chapter structure, I am not fully sold on four, but rough estimate yk.

And then 41-50 would be the finale of part two. It's literally the last timeline in its glory and then the epilogue which kicks off part three.

COULD AT LEAST ONE OF Y'ALL SIT THROUGH THAT OR DO YOU GUYS HAVE ANY NOTES AT ALL BECAUSE LIKE

I personally kinda like it but if not a soul is reading this I am throwing myself on the curb with the rest of the garbage LMFAOOO.

I NEED THOUGHTS. OPINIONS. COMMENTS. CONCERNS. ANYTHING.

Anyways, I'm going to work. I have off tomorrow and I broke the ff investment seal for today so insanity and updates will be here tonight and homework will be tomorrow.

HOPE EVERYONE HAS A GOOD DAY <3

(9:30) I am literally falling asleep as I lazily write this angel based on Danse Macabre. Expect all of maybe one more update tonight if the tacos I am abt to receive don't wake me up LMFAO.

Also, I am almost saddened by not having something to post tm. Anyone want an early chapter of something that isn't Genesis/Desolation bc they're both on Monday?????? (I am feeling like a menace rn)

(10:19) tacos and the absolute yap session I just had did wake me up a bit. MAAAYBE might write some more. Idk I slept like three hours last night and went to work I'm kinda dead. But we're at 98.2k!!!!!!🥳

(11:06) okay we made it to 99.6k everything besides the flashback for 31 is done. I'm about to relax and watch something and figure out mechanics of some of this because god this series is A BEAST. Like, I still have six planned chapters left.

Pure insanity. I love it here. I hate it here.

Holy shit wait I just came to the realization that I started this fic exactly one month ago. I have belted out 99.6k for THIS FIC ALONE. (Moreso if we're including future shit that hasn't happened yet)

IN ONE MONTH.

THAT IS FUCKING CRAZY WHAT HTE FUCK LMFAOOOO

I may or may not be cooking we’ll find out in 6-26 business hours

(5:28) So I just had a very interesting past few business hours. I read a fic I've been waiting ever so patiently to finish. That's cool, right. I go for a walk at 4 in the morning because I'm insane. Fantastic. I get home at five and I'm like ohhhh well what do I do now it's not sleep time yet. Oh write I'm supposed to be drawing.

Nope I reread the epilogue of morning glory and realized Tweek's first address is for my morning glory and Craig's last sign off is your morning glory and now I'm ready to throw myself on the curb with the garbage as I sob. Someone call a trusted adult for me thanks.

[sirspazingtonthefourth]

People Call Me Dingo: Chapter 14

CW: Cursing maybe? (idk, man, I wanna nap so bad, I'm not going back and double checking right now) A/N: I am so tired right now, you don't even know. I am posting this chapter and the next one and then sleeping. Also! There's some mention of things going on that pertain to the fic Viridian: The Green Guide by myheadinthecloudsnotcomingdown. Cannot recommend that fic enough, please go check it out, it will alter your brain chemistry

This was not what Ito had planned. The robotic double of Hawks had done wonders in testing her quirk. Finally, they didn’t have to account for user error in her quirks. Her team of analysts had learned more in twenty minutes than they had in two months.

They now knew exactly how long she could hold onto quirks, 24 hours to the minute. They knew she had to see the quirks in person, but that an artificial quirk could be used. They even knew the biggest drawback to her quirk: She didn’t automatically adapt to whatever the quirk allowed her to do.

For a quirk like Hawk’s, it had led to severe overstimulation, both due to how sensitive his feathers were and possibly because there was no area in her brain designed to intake and interpret those signals. For a strength-based quirk, however, it might tear her muscles apart.

It made some of her trial and error make more sense, even now. She simply could not control the quirks as well as he’d initially hoped. But this could doubtlessly be ironed out with more training. After all, Hawks had suffered overstimulation like that, and Fudouyama had beaten that out of him quite nicely, over time.

No, the problem was that it had sacrificed the girl’s relationship with Hawks.

He couldn’t leverage the two against each other, now. There was one fewer way to keep Hawks in line, especially with his worry about the girl. It would only grow, now that she had demanded he leave. He’d heard the recording of that particular meeting. It was short, but enough to show how devastating a move his analysists had made.

As of now, he was on his way down to speak with her about the aftermath. The cameras had never gone back up, and he suspected from the cacophony that she had destroyed them in her fit of rage.

Such actions were not fitting for a hero, even one in training.

She was standing in front of her open door when he arrived, Fudouyama at her side. The room was cleaned, save the broken chair and the sparking wires from the cameras. The girl was sporting some new bruises on her face, and instead of her collar she was wearing unlinked cuffs around her wrists.

Despite it all, though, she didn’t even have the tact to look ashamed of her actions.

“I am very disappointed in you. Whatever your problem with Hawks was, this is not how you should have acted to resolve it.”

“Relax. The room’s clean, the chair’s cheap, and the wiring isn’t that hard to fix.”

God, this was why he hated teenagers. Their flippancy, their lack of respect for those with authority over them, it infuriated him to no end.

It was, perhaps, strange to hear it coming from the normally quiet and docile girl, but he supposed that even a worm would turn. The frustration she had with Hawks must have been building for some time before the analysis incident, if it was causing these kinds of lingering behaviors.

“That is not the problem. These types of outbursts are not fitting for a hero. Imagine what the public would think if they saw you throwing a temper tantrum like this. No hero should be acting so much like a villain.” He watched as her eyes narrowed, assessing what he had just said. Good, she was smart enough to realize that was a bad thing.

“It’s a good thing I’m not a hero, then.”

Ito’s hand was moving before he could stop it.

His hand met her cheek, the crack echoing down the empty hallway. Her head was still, facing towards the elevator he’d exited just a few minutes prior.

“Not yet, you aren’t. Now you will listen to me. If you ever want any chance of going home you will get your quirk and your temper under control, do you understand me?”

Dingo’s head hadn’t moved since he’d slapped her. She just stared off into the distance, like she was contemplating something. When she finally looked back at him her face was carefully neutral. Even her eyes, usually so expressive despite her effort to hide, were blank.

“Perfectly.” She said it so calmly, as if he hadn’t threatened the one reason she’d agreed to be here in the first place. Did she not care about making it home anymore? Or did she perhaps know it was never going to happen? He needed to know what she was thinking, needed to control her actions after this point.

“Once the cameras are fixed, put her in solitary confinement for a week. And when you get out,” he glared at the stone faced girl, “you had best behave yourself.”

He expected her eyes to widen, for her to beg and cry and plead for mercy like Hawks had done as a child. Instead, she shrugged, as if it was of no great consequence to her. This was nothing like how her predecessor had acted. Then again, he had been much more compliant by this age and hadn’t needed to be placed in isolation.

Fudouyama guided her away with a hand clenched on her shoulder. He caught her wince at the pressure before he turned and led her towards the elevator. Ito had no doubt that he would punish the girl. In the meantime he had to call someone to get the cameras fixed.

Hawks didn’t even call ahead for a meeting. Aizawa just got a call midway through his class with the first years when the hero called him, frantic and only half-intelligible due to the wind whipping past the receiver. He was able to catch the words “Six minutes out,” but not much more before he hung up.

“Sir, who was that?” one of his students asked.

“No one important. Mic will be here in a few minutes. Don’t kill each other or break anything. Please excuse me.” He stepped out of the classroom, shooting a quick text to Mic before getting a call from Nezu.

“What’s going on?” he asked. He wasn’t in the mood to beat around the bush today. He was no closer to figuring out who took Hamasaki, and his only lead was the “Symbol of Evil,” which hadn’t turned up anything.

“It seems something has gone wrong with the extraction plan. Please meet me in the normal classroom.” Great. More bad news.

By the time he got there, seven minutes after he ended his call with the winged Hero, Hawks was pacing around the empty classroom with both hands fisted in his hair. He was only slightly more intelligible than he’d been on the phone.

“I don’t know what she thinks happened! And it happened so fast, I just- I couldn’t even say anything! She wouldn’t even look at me! What should I have done, can I even do anything? God, she hates me, and I don’t even-”

“Ah, Aizawa. Thank you for joining us,” Nezu said, sat on a desk with a cup of tea in his hand. Two more were set on another desk, still steaming a little.

“Principal Nezu,” he said with a nod. “Have you been able to make sense of what he’s been saying?”

“Not in the slightest. All I’ve been able to determine is that something has complicated the rescue plan.”

Hawks had at least stopped talking, but he was still pacing, running his hands through his hair and down his face. It was the most worried he’d ever seen the Hero.

“Hawks, take a seat,” he ordered, pulling two chairs from the back of the classroom closer to Nezu’s desk. The winged hero nodded, not seeming all the way there. Once he was seated, Aizawa pushed one of the cups into his hands. The younger hero nodded in thanks, almost robotic, and took a sip.

They sat like that for a few minutes, Hawks trying to collect himself and Aizawa and Nezu waiting for him. It took several minutes for him to calm down, but eventually he met their eyes.

“I’m sorry. That outburst was… less than fitting for a Hero, especially one of my standing.”

“It is quite alright, Hawks. We all get overwhelmed at times. The important thing is that, once we are thinking clearly, we can work to fix whatever caused us to lose control of ourselves.”

He was quiet again for a moment, a look almost like shame passing over his face for the briefest of moments before he schooled himself again. He looked like the Hero Aizawa had seen on the news; confident and in control. He wondered just how much of that was a lie.

“Dingo cut contact.”

The bottom dropped out of Aizawa’s stomach. They were, at most, a few weeks from being able to get her out. Choosing to cut contact now, especially with her distrust, meant that she’d essentially decided that she was fine not getting out. Which meant that either whoever was holding her had managed to successfully brainwash her, or something had happened that made her decide that going with the Heroes would be more likely to hurt her.

“Well, that is quite the problem,” Nezu chimed after a moment. “Do you know why?” Hawks’s expression didn’t change, keeping his face neutral as if he was doing no more than briefing a superior about what happened on patrol.

“She didn’t say specifically, though she did say something about a beating. All I know for certain is she thinks I did something to betray her, and now she wants nothing to do with me.”

“So what did you do?” Aizawa regretted the question as soon as it left his lips. The few words he’d managed to make out in Hawks’s hysteria made it clear that the Hero had no idea why she was angry.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t permitted to see her for a week and a half before this. I was able to look through her files and saw there was mention of an incident during routine quirk analysis the day before, but I had an interview at that time.”

“Does this mean the operation is off?” Nezu asked calmly.

“Absolutely not,” Hawks said almost as soon as the words left Nezu’s mouth. “I am not leaving her with Ito. I don’t care what happens, I’m moving ahead with the plan. You’ve seen what they’re putting her through, and it’s only going to get worse. If you want out, fine, I’ll-”

“Ito?” he cut in. “As in Ito Gansei, Vice President of the HPSC?” Hawks was still for a minute. Then, almost ashamed, he nodded slowly.

God, he was worse than some of his students.

“Explain. Now.”

Dingo had been in worse spots.

Okay, maybe she hadn’t. The closest she had to compare this to were the few times she’d had to spend some time in police custody before getting released. But at least there had usually been other people when that happened, and she’d only been in there for a few hours before getting released.

Solitary confinement in her quarters was completely different. Sure, she had the amenities she needed to survive, and they brought her food, but she had underestimated exactly how mind numbing it was to be entirely alone.

So she talked, endlessly and incessantly. Narrating what she was doing, having imaginary conversations with some of her people, her family, Bat and Nobody. When the lights went out, she’d crawl under the bed and talk to Pneumo.

She’d mouth her silent plans into the blue cloth. Weak points she’d noted in the building as she walked around. Areas where the cameras didn’t quite cover. Biases people held. Any advantage she had, and any possible disadvantage that crossed her mind.

It only took the first night for her to disable the cuffs. She didn’t need to break out of them, just prove that she could turn them off and on again as she pleased. That would be important to her plan.

By the next day she’d taken a pencil and one of the packs of sticky notes from her desk. 100 small little pages wasn’t a lot, but she had to make it work. She worked all day, hunched over the small pad, carefully sketching out lines and trying to get the images to look at least close to what she needed. All while droning on about different drawing techniques she’d heard about from her little sister.

She tried not to think too hard about her. She needed to stay focused.

By the end of her third day, she’d managed to complete her small flip book. It was far from a masterpiece, but that wasn’t the important part. It would take two nights to test it, but she was hopeful it would yield results. Besides, it wasn’t like she was strapped for time right now.

Before going to bed, she made certain to look at each image she’d painstakingly drawn on its own. She tested the quirk once she was under the bed for the night. Nothing happened. It was expected, but for safety she wouldn’t be able to know for certain that she’d succeeded until the next night.

She started work on another flipbook on the morning of her fourth day, this time chatting to the empty air about some of her favorite books. She desperately hoped whoever was listening to her analysis of minor background details in 1984 and how they could be seen in modern day America was ripping their hair out.

Before she went to bed, she watched her first flipbook, seeing how her work translated now that it was being properly used.

Hopefully this would work. After all, still images didn’t reliably get a quirk to manifest in her, but videos usually did. And videos were just compilations of dozens of pictures played one after another, what made them so different from a flipbook?

The lights turned themselves off, and she pulled her pillow off the bed and slipped underneath it, leaving Pneumo tucked into the slit she’d scratched into the mattress. If this worked, she didn’t want to risk losing the one good thing she had.

She turned the cuffs off again, leaving any possible quirk to do as it would. Slowly, hands shaking slightly, she reached for the wall next to her bed. She was careful to place only one finger on the wall at a time. Then she tried two. Then three.

Once she had all five fingers on the wall for barely a second, she pulled her hand away. Dust coated her fingertips, and in the dark she thought she could see the smallest bit of erosion on the wall.

She’d have to double check again in the morning, but if she was right then her plan had worked. She wouldn’t be at the mercy of whatever quirks they tested on her the day she escaped. She could make her own, take them with her, use them as she needed to get out.

If she could complete the other flipbook, which would prove to be more tricky, she would be home free. If she planned it right, she might be able to get out in a little over a week.

And wasn’t that some well needed good news?

Masterlist

[thetriumphantpanda]

Cruel Summer | Javier Peña (Chapter Five)

Series Summary | Javier Peña is back in Laredo, this time for good. He hadn’t banked on you still being there, especially not with a wedding ring on your finger. A complicated shared history and plenty of unresolved feelings between the two of you should make for an interesting summer.

Pairing | Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word Count | 5.2K (oooops, I got carried away)

Warnings | Descriptions of domestic abuse (not from our boi Javi), talk of injuries, infidelity, cheating, SMUT, oral (f receiving) and unprotected PiV sex (please don't do this, be smart and safe), mentions of alcohol, cigarettes, and pregnancy.

Authors Note | Thank you all for being so patience with me whilst I got my head back into writing this. This took me ages to figure out in my mind but I'm so proud of what I've managed to produce. I really appreciate hearing what y'all think of this series, comments and reblogs really do make my day with this - so if you enjoy it, let me know!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Ethan is furious. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so angry before. He’d arrived home late last night from his business trip, falling into bed sometime past midnight. He’d tossed and turned for a while as you pretended to be asleep next to him before he turned over, pulled at your arm to turn you onto your back and then crowded on top of you. You’d let him because it was easier than denying him, but when he pushed himself inside of you all you could think about was Javier. 

What would he do in this situation? You’d like to think he’d at least take some time to make sure you were enjoying yourself. Was he the type of man who would spend hours with his head between your thighs just because he liked the way his name fell from your mouth? You think he would be. Would he whisper sweet nothing’s into your ear in Spanish whilst he was buried deep inside you? God, you hoped so. By the time Ethan was spilling himself inside of you and rolling over, leaving you, as he always did, completely unsatisfied and feeling completely used, all your brain could focus on was the animalistic need to know exactly what Javier would do to you in bed. 

Now, as Ethan stands in the kitchen, fuming after he found the wads of cash from your farmer’s market sale, all you wanted to do was run. Run from this pathetic life and into whatever it was that Javier could give you. 

“I fucking told you I would get around to sorting it out!” He shouts at you, “And you had to go and completely disobey me! How does this make me look?” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “Ethan, it’s been pushing one hundred degrees the entire time you’ve been away, I need that new AC unit because otherwise I’m going to die in that shop, and I think a little bit of embarrassment is better than admitting to the town that I’m dead because you couldn’t be bothered to fix it.” 

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” He fumes, his skin flushing red, “I bet that asshole Peña had something to do with this.” 

“Because now every time I do something you don’t like it has to involve him?” You raged, “Newsflash Ethan, I’ve been doing things you don’t like since before we got married, and that certainly had nothing to do with Javier and everything to do with the fact you can’t stand me.” 

“Did he have anything to do with it?” 

You don’t know why you don’t lie in this moment. Maybe it would have been easier, less of an argument to deal with, but you can’t help yourself, “Maybe he did.” 

“I fucking knew it!” Ethan slams his fist down on the kitchen counter, “That asshole, trying to worm his way into my family, walking around this fucking town like he’s some sort of king because he took down Escobar,” You can’t help yourself but think that you might actually be able to see steam coming out of his ears soon, “And you!” He’s pointing a finger at you as he rounds the counter, “How many times do I have to tell you to stay the hell away from him, or are you just too fucking stupid to understand me?” 

It all happens at once. You’ve slapped him hard across the face and in this moment, you can’t tell which of you is more surprised. He’s stood inches away from your face with a look in his eyes that has panic settling in your stomach. He could kill you if he wanted to. It’s the first time you’ve thought he might, with his chest heaving and his eyes like daggers. You’re scared. 

“How. Fucking. Dare. You.” He spits out into your face, he’s got wide hands placed around the tops of your arms and before you know it your back is pressed against the wall, he’s squeezing the skin so hard that you’re crying out, “Someone needs to teach you some fucking respect.” 

If you weren’t so frightened, you’d have some stupid retort about the fact that it certainly couldn’t be him, because even with a ring around your finger you could never respect this man in front of you, but you keep your mouth shut. 

“Ethan please,” You whimper, “Please let me go, you’re hurting me.” 

“Oh, I’m hurting you, am I?” He jeers into your face, squeezing his hands around your arms even harder, “You should have thought about that before you fucking slapped me, stupid girl.”  

He pulls you back from the wall slightly before slamming you backwards again, the force of it causing the back of your head to hit the wall behind you, “You better lose the attitude or I will take us so far away from this place you’ll never see your stupid friends or your precious Javier Peña again, do you understand me?” 

You nod, sniveling through your tears, then he finally lets your arms go and steps away from you, “Get out of my fucking sight.” 

You don’t waste any time in doing just that, stopping just long enough to grab a thin cardigan and your car keys before your hurtling to your car with nowhere really to go. Your immediate thought is Javier, but it’s the middle of the day and he’ll be out helping Chucho on the ranch. You don’t think you can bare the heat of the shop, or the fact that you might have to interact with a customer, so that’s out too. There’s only one person left – Gabriela. There’s an internal battle you’re having with yourself, she’s so close to having her baby that you don’t want to intrude on her, but she’s the only person you can think of who will know what to do right now. 

You’re not really sure how you manage to make it to her house unscathed with the amount of tears that are dropping from your eyes and the way your hands are shaking, but you’re pulling up in front of her house in no time. 

“Good God alive, what on earth is the matter?!” She exclaims when she opens the door, pulling you into a hug, protruding belly crushed between you. 

“Oh Gabriela everything’s gone so wrong and I don’t know what to do.” You cry, sniffing into her shoulder, you pull away and briefly apologise for getting her shirt wet, to which she gives you a look that says ‘don’t be so fucking stupid’ before she’s ushering you inside. 

She waddles in front of you, clearly uncomfortable, and sternly tells you to sit at the breakfast bar whilst she boils some water to make tea. In no time at all there’s a steaming mug placed in front of you, and she’s sat herself down on the chair next to you with her own mug. 

“So, where do we start?” She’s coaxing you, hand holding your own. 

“I’m fucking miserable Gabs,” You speak softly, “And I don’t know what to do.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” She scoffs, “What’s he done this time?” 

“He found the money,” You’re looking into the amber liquid of the green tea in front of you, “Lost his mind that I’d done it without him, got cross because it was Javi’s idea and then told me to get out and leave him alone.” 

“Did he hurt you?” She asks, “And I swear if you lie to me once more about this, I’m actually going to lose my mind.” 

You nod, it’s small, but she catches it, and you can hear the inhalation of breath, “But it was my fault, I slapped him first.” 

“Did you slap him first all the other times he’s clearly hurt you?” You shake your head this time, “Show me.” She’s asking. 

You slowly slip the cardigan off your arms. You look down and there are perfect red welts on your skin where Ethan’s fingers had been digging into your arm earlier. No doubt in time they’d bruise, “Jesus fucking Christ.” Is Gabriela’s response. 

“I’m sorry Gabs, I didn’t wanna burden you with this I promise, but I didn’t know where else to go.” 

“You think this is a burden to me?” She’s imploring, catching your eyeline when you try to look away, “Cielito, this is nothing like a burden, it’s a bloody relief, I’ve been wanting you to tell me this for years.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew, dumbass, all those times you cancelled on me last minute and disappeared for days? You had to be hiding something, and the longer you’ve been with him the longer I’ve known he’s a horrible man – doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.” 

“What do I do, Gabs?” 

“Only you can answer that question, but that,” She points to your arms, “That’s assault, so you can go to the police, and then there’s always divorce.” 

“I don’t want to be with him anymore, but I can’t do this on my own Gabriela, I’m so fucking scared, he’s got everything, he’s going to take everything, I won’t have my shop anymore, I’ll be homeless, where do I even start?” 

Gabriela bites at her lip whilst she thinks, “You won’t have to do this alone, I promise you,” She’s got your hand clutched in hers again, “Can you give me a few weeks?” She’s asking, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but let me get this gremlin out of me first, and then I promise we’ll get you out, okay?” 

You nod in agreement because it’s more than you thought you’d get. The idea of freedom could surely see you through the next couple of weeks, “If it gets too bad then you let me know and we’ll sort something out, I promise, okay?” 

She’s hugging you then, the kind of bone crushing hug that only she would be capable of, and you can feel yourself crying again. What on earth had you done to deserve her? 

“I’ll get out of your hair soon, but can I borrow your phone really quickly?” You ask. 

“Of course, I need to use the bathroom again anyway, so I’ll give you some space.” 

Once she’s out of earshot, you’re dialing the number that you’d had memorized since high school, even with his years of absence. After a few rings someone picks up on the other end. 

“Hi, Chucho, it’s me.” 

“Ahhh Mija, how are you today?” 

“I’m well thank you, how about you?” 

“Not too bad thank you, just come inside to beat the midday heat for a while.” 

“Ah yes,” You smile, you’ve always loved the sound of Chucho’s voice, calm and stoic, reminding you of your own father, which is probably why you like it so much, “I hope you’ve got plenty of ice-cold lemonade,” You bite at the side of your thumbnail, “Is Javi there?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t sound like you’re trying to get rid of him too soon. 

“He is, let me just pass you over.” 

There’s the sound of shuffling on the other end of the phone and you can hear Chucho telling Javi it’s you on the other end, then there’s silence before he’s speaking. 

“Hola querida,” God his voice is like butter, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” You reply quietly, “I just wanted to hear your voice, I hope you don’t mind me calling in the middle of the day.” 

“I wouldn’t mind you calling in the middle of the night, querida, don’t worry,” You can hear him drinking someone on the other end of the phone, “You sure you’re okay?” He asks again. 

“I was wondering if I could see you tonight?” You ask meekly, not wanting to make yourself a burden to another person today. 

“You can,” He’s replying, “Where?” 

“Can I come to you?” 

You can hear him shuffling a little on the other end of the phone, you can hear the shifting of paper, he must be looking at the calendar that’s hanging near the phone – his mother had insisted on it when she was still alive, and Chucho makes sure there’s a new one there every January 1st. 

“Yes,” He replies softly, “Pops has a poker game in town tonight according to the calendar, he should be gone by seven, is that okay?” 

“Yeah, of course, I’m happy with whatever is best for you, I’ll see you then.” 

“Alright, querida, take care and I’ll see you later.” 

“See you later, Javi.” You whisper softly before you’re hanging up the phone. 

You put the phone back on the receiver and rub your hands over your face, trying to ignore the pooling of nerves in your tummy. If Gabriela could sense all these years that something was off, then there’s no doubt that Javi will know as well. He’s the most perceptive man you’ve ever met. The dull ache of Ethan’s fingerprints on your arms were ever-present now, there was no way you’d be able to hide them from him. 

“You can stay here for a while if you want,” Gabriela’s voice calls from the living room, “I would only be folding baby clothes on my own.” 

You spend the rest of the afternoon helping Gabriela like she suggested, folding baby clothes, setting out diapers and toiletries in the bathroom and eating her famous enchiladas for dinner. Diego comes home sometime after five, giving you a hug, before he’s pulling out two beers which you enjoy with your friends in their back garden. The sun is setting and it’s nearing six in the evening when you bid them both farewell. 

“Please let me know if you need us, okay?” Gabriela whispers into your hair as she hugs you goodbye, “There’s isn’t a thing in this world that would stop us from helping you.” 

You bite back tears before you nod your head, giving Diego a similar hug, before you’re hopping in your car and driving out of town towards the Peña ranch. 

It doesn’t take as long as you’d anticipated but when you drive up you can see there’s only one truck parked outside which means Chucho must have already left for the evening. Javier is stood on the porch before you’ve stepped down from the truck. You make sure the cardigan you’d worn was buttoned up before you head over to him. 

“Evening, querida.” He speaks softly, dipping his head to kiss you on the cheek. 

Before he can fully pull away, you’ve got a hand on the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours. His hands weave around your waist and you wrap your other arm around his neck to press your body more firmly to his own before you’re pulling away from him, breathless. 

“Evening to you too.” You smile, and it’s genuine. This man has done nothing but make you happy since he came back. 

“You want a drink?” He asks, giving your waist a squeeze, “I bought that wine you used to like drinking, although thinking about it now we were young so your tastebuds have probably matured.” 

You giggle and follow him inside, “They definitely haven’t, is it the white one that we used to drink out of the bottle against the tree?” 

He nods as he leads you to the kitchen, dipping into the fridge to pull it out. It is indeed the exact same brand of wine you’d get drunk on together when he was still around, “You want a glass, or shall we drink it like old times?” 

“Old times,” You reply with a smile as he undoes the screw top, “Can we sit outside?” 

He’s taking the first swig from the wine, pulling the same face he used to all those years ago, as he motions for you to head out to the back porch. You always loved this ranch at dusk. The way the sun set and bathed everything in gentle orange light, the fact there was no noise from the town to distract you, the sound of the crickets chirping. It was peaceful. 

Javi settles onto the bench, and you sit across from him, he leans his arm across the back of the bench and moves his head to tell you he wants you closer, so you shift your body to lean against his chest, head placed on his shoulder. You hope he doesn’t catch the discomfort when you lean too hard onto your arm and shift slightly, but if he does, he’s not mentioned it, instead, he’s passing you the wine which you take a drink from. 

“You sounded upset on the phone, querida, are you sure you’re okay?” 

You take another drink before you pass it back to him, “Ethan came home last night,” You’re speaking as you look into the distance, “Guess I just realized how much I enjoy it when he’s away.” 

“I’m sorry,” He says softly, bringing his hand to your arm to squeeze him into his side, it’s stings as he grips to the sore skin from earlier, but you think you manage to play it off, “What can I do to help?” 

He takes a long drink of the wine and then hands it back to you, watching intently as you do the same before you place the half-empty bottle on the floor, “Just kiss me Javi,” You speak, “Make me forget about it for a while.”  

“You want me to just kiss you, querida?” He asks, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “Or do you want more?” 

You shift to look him in the eye, “I want it all Javi,” You lean up to press a chaste kiss to his lips pulling away before he can take more, “I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” 

He untangles himself from you and stands up before he stretches out his hand for you take, he must see the confusion on your face because he’s talking again, “If you’ve been waiting then I’m not going to fuck you on the porch, querida, come on.” 

You slip your hand into his and then he’s dragging you through the house and up the stairs. He opens the door to his room, which you don’t really take in, he’s motioning his hand for you to sit on the bed, which you do. 

He walks over to you and pushes your chin up with one of his fingers. He’s looming over you and if this was anyone else it would make you feel uncomfortable, but he’s looking at you like you were about to give him the world, before he’s leaning down and pressing his lips softly to your own. In the back of your mind you can feel him unbuttoning the front of your cardigan, it’s a relief because it’s so fucking warm in here, he’s pulling back from your mouth to push it off and then he stops. He’s not pulled it all the way off, the material bunching in the crook of your elbow because he’s seen. He’s seen the marks on your arms. Perfect red indentations of fingertips. 

He's kneeling in front of you now, between your thighs, as he takes one arm in his hand, “Did he do this to you?”  

“Javi please…” You beg him. 

“Did he do this to you?” He asks again, slower and with a register that tells you he isn’t messing around, you nod at him, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” 

He’s standing like he’s going to get in his car and do it. You grab at his wrist, “Javi please, don’t,” You pull him back to you, “It was my fault.” You say softly, just like you had to Gabriela. 

“This?!” He’s back on his knees again, clutching at your arm, “This is never your fault, do you understand me?” He’s looking into your eyes again, then he softens, “It doesn’t matter what you did, you don’t deserve this.” 

“Please, will you just come back to me,” You plead, taking his face in your hands, “I need to forget him, just for tonight.” 

In the back of his mind he knows it’s not right, it’s just a distraction, and all he really wants is to know what’s going on, but the way your eyes are pleading with him, he can’t say no, “Only if you promise to talk to me after?” 

“I promise.” You reply almost immediately, and then he’s crowding you, he’s settling between your thighs but this time his lips are on yours and it’s overwhelming. 

You widen your legs as your mouth opens to him, tongues mixing together. You can taste the cheap wine and the cigarettes he swears he’s trying to give up on. He can taste a sweetness he’s never felt before when he’s kissed a woman. It fast and it’s messy, and you don’t understand why you’re moaning into his mouth when he’s not really touched you. Without breaking the kiss, he’s moving, you’re pushed back onto the bed and he’s settled between your thighs, and then he’s pulling his mouth from yours to trail hot, wet kisses over your throat. 

God, he wants to sink his teeth into your skin. Wants to mark you so that when you go home, he knows, knows that there’s someone out there who’s going to cherish you until his dying breath, going to protect you from men like him. He knows better, knows that you’ll be going home alone and any mark on your body would mean more marks from him, and Javi doesn’t think he can bare the fact that it’ll be his fault, so he sticks to kisses. He can feel your hands on his shoulders, sinking in through the material of his shirt and he wants more. 

He's pushing himself back from you, taking a moment to take his shirt off before his attention is back at you. You’re spread out on his bed, hair splayed out underneath you and the look in your eyes almost makes him cry. It’s admiration, that he’s sure of, but there’s something else in your eyes too, maybe it’s lust, maybe it’s happiness, he doesn’t know, but he isn’t sure a woman has ever looked at him like that. 

“God you’re beautiful, Javi.” You whisper as he leans back down to you. 

The feeling of your cool hands on his hot skin electrifies him, and he can feel his hands working your tank top up to expose the skin of your tummy. You lift yourself up a little so he can take it all the way off before he continues the trail of his lips over your collarbone and down between the dip in your breasts. He’s gently moving the straps of your bra down and takes the opportunity to undo the clasp at the back when you arch up into him. It’s discarded to the floor without a second thought and then his mouth is on you again. 

He uses the flat of his tongue to run hot stripes over your peaked nipple, whilst his fingers take the other peaked bud and starts rolling it between them. A whine drops from your lips, and you can feel him smiling into your skin and you arch up into him. He’s taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking and then using the tip of his tongue to run circle around it and all your head can think is how much you want his mouth doing just this further down your body. 

“You tell me what you like, querida,” He mumbles into your skin, “Wanna make you feel good.” 

“Your mouth,” You breathe out, head thrown back as he’s sucking your nipple into his mouth, “I need… fuck… I need it lower, Javi.” 

He’s lifted his lips from your tits and you’re moving your head to meet his eyes and he genuinely looks hungry. Like a man starved, with a smirk splayed across his lips, “You want me to eat your pussy, hmm?” 

He’s pushed himself back on his knees and for a split second before he’s pulling at your shorts to take them off, you can see he’s half-hard under his own denim. You’ve barely touched him, and this is how he is? It’s got pride swelling in your chest. 

He makes quick work of your shorts, throwing them to the ground along with your underwear. He takes a second to look at you, spread out and bare for him, and he thinks that if he died right now, he would die a happy man having seen you like this. He takes his thumb and runs it gently along the seam of your pussy, watching as your eyes close and you let out a breath. 

Javi stands briefly before he’s dropping to his knees on his floor. His hands are on either side of your hips, dragging you forward. He pulls you with such force that you bump your thigh into his face, but he’s not complaining. You expect him to tease you, but it turns out that he’s been waiting just as long as you have for this. He wastes no time in using the entire flat of his tongue to lick a hot, wet stripe from the bottom of your pussy to the top, which has an obscene moan dropping from your lips. He could listen to you make those noises for him all fucking day. 

One of his hands moves from your hips, he uses it to spread your pussy before he makes the same motion with his tongue as before but focusing its entirety on your clit. You think you might see stars. Once he’d started, he doesn’t stop. Spurred on by the obscenity dropping from your lips like, fuckjavi that’s so fucking good, and please don’t stop, he’s eating your pussy like it’s his death row meal. He’s lapping at the slick that gathers at your entrance, he’s suckling on your clit, or flicking it with the tip of his tongue, but it’s when he pushes two of his thick fingers inside you that you’re truly coming undone. 

You’re bucking your hips up into his mouth, grinding down on his fingers and then it’s all coming undone with that bright burst of pleasure you hadn’t felt in years. You can feel your pussy clenching around his fingers, and you can hear him suckling your clit through the aftershocks as your legs shake around his head. He slips his fingers out of you and finishes with one chaste kiss to your clit before he’s pulling at your arm to sit you up. 

You’re jelly until he kisses you. You can taste yourself on his mouth, sweet and sour with the mix of his cigarettes and it’s intoxicating. You can feel his slick fingers on your thigh as he uses it as a crutch to push himself off the floor. When he stands, his groin is right in your eyeline and now he’s not half-hard. Fuck, he’s bulging. You watch as his hands undo his belt and tear it through the loops of his jeans before he’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans right in front of your face. He steps back a little to let the remainder of his clothes pool on the floor, but then he’s stepping out of them and back towards you and you can’t help but reach out and take his cock in your hand. 

You look up at him, head thrown back with his eyes closed in pleasure. Your name drops from his lips as you continue working him with your hand, you’re just about to take him into your mouth when he speaks, “How do you want me?” 

It’s a crime that he’s making you choose because fuck, you want him in every way. You want him to fold you in half and pound into you, you want him to take you from behind whilst he uses his fingers on your clit, you want him to wake you up in the morning with kisses to your neck whilst he buries himself inside you from the side. 

“Can I ride you?” You ask quietly. 

“Querida, there’s a gun downstairs,” He speaks, settling himself down on his bed on his back, before he’s guiding you to straddle his hips, “If I ever say no to that, I want you to use it on me, okay?” 

You’re laughing, because it’s dramatic, but it cuts the tension with a knife. You’re both still laughing to each other when you’re shifting your hips and using your hand to line him up with your tight heat. He’s big, there’s no beating around the bush here, and as you sink down slowly onto him, his hands on your hips to guide you, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so full. 

You’re throwing your head back and breathing out his name as he bottoms out, hearing a similar moan from him as you start grinding your hips. He’s using his hands on your hips to guide you and the friction inside of you in addictive. You think if you could spend the rest of your days like this then you would give up everything to do so. 

“Fuck, hermosa, you look fucking incredible like this.” Javi purrs from underneath you, it makes your heart swell because no-one ever said things like this to you before. 

You continue to grind against him until he’s holding your hips still and bringing his knees up, settling them against your backside. He lifts you up a little off his cock, with a strength you’d never witnessed before, and then he’s fucking up into you, cock punching as deep into you as you think you can take it, his balls slapping against your ass. 

“Ohmygod, fuck Javi,” You’re squealing, putting your hands on top of his knees to keep you steady, “I think you’re… oh god… I think you’re gonna make me cum again.” 

You look down and he’s looking up at you, grinning like a devil, because he’s got you so close to the edge, cock hitting a spot within you that feels like heaven and hell mixed into one, “Go on, querida, come for me.” 

His husky voice is what does it. You’re clenching down on him as you call out his name. His hands on your hips keeping you upright as dark spots cloud your vision, “God, what I wouldn’t give to hear that every second of the day.” He groans as he flips you onto your back in one smooth move. 

He’s still buried deep inside you, one hand brushing sweat-soaked hair from you face, the other gripping to your ass as he lifts your hips to meet him. He’s slowed but you can tell from the way his hips stutter into your own that he’s close. 

“Where do you want me?” He whispers into your ear. 

Everywhere, is what you want to say. Paint me, cover me, mark me as yours, is all you can think. What you say is, “Wherever you want.” 

You think you see his mouth open to answer you, but it’s too late. He’s pulling out of you, fisting his cock two, three times, and then he’s painting your skin with his spend. Thick ropes of cum cover your tummy as he's growling into your ear, collapsing next to you when he’s given you everything he’s got. 

When you lie there next to him, his cum drying on your abdomen, his mouth still kissing at the skin of your neck, you think you should feel guilty. Guilty that you broke your vows, guilty that you’ve let a man other than your husband touch you. Guilty that you did so without a second thought. Guilty that he didn't once cross your mind. There isn’t an ounce of guilt within you. You lean into his kisses and thank the Lord for bringing him back, for bringing him back to you, because you know this right here? This is happiness. 

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[madds-is-ace-trash]

Ok hear me out!

So um I had a fic idea and the brain worms took over ima be posting it here and if all goes well to ao3 Chapter 1 of the fic is below

Summary: After an accident kills everyone the boy has ever known and injured the god of time, clockwork rushes to the only place he’s knows will take the now boy king. Gotham takes the now 6 year old Danny in to her arms, her child of the stars. And she’s going to ensure he gets the life he always deserved.

Mother of the storm and her star child

Chapter 1: In which a ward is gained

Clockwork clutches his side, the toxic green substance that makes up his being spilling on to his purple robes. As he flies over a city with a sky set dark over the horizon. Despite his very core feeling like it's about to split at the seams, he dare not falter. For in his arms is a bundle of blankets he holds his king. Much smaller than he was just an hour ago as his body rebuilds itself.

All he can do is pray that his old friend cand lend him a hand. That she’ll take in the only thing he has left to live for. The young boy has nowhere else to go and clock work has his own wounds to address. As he lands at last falling to his knees, wincing as his wound lets out another puff of its toxic excision. He sets the boy down in the alley and knows that she'll find him soon.

As thunder roles over the dark city, from the shadows a figure steps out into the dim light. Her skin is a dark purple, her hair seems to be made of the very storm that follows her wherever she gose. Her eyes a yellow like lighting breaking from the dark sky, dressed in black dress with a shawl made of stars. “ Gotham, you look well old friend,” CW manages to spit out threw pain with a weak smile on his face.

——————————————————

“Clockwork?” her voice booms as the thunder rolls, her eyes narrow at the bundle in his arms.

“Let me explain, Pleas old friend I need your help,” he begs weakly, his form shifting yet shaking. He takes his hand off his side to move the blanket, in his arms a child no older than six(6). He's skin and bones, he's so small, smaller than he has any right to be. His raven hair is messy and his clothes 5 sizes too big. “ Please old friend, he has nowhere left to go, no kin to return to,” clock work says as his form shifts to that of an old man sending another green stain against the pavement. “ I am all that remains yet i'm afraid I must lick my own wounds if I wish to live to see him threw”

Gothem eyes her old acquaintance barely holding himself together, then her eyes drift to the small boy that lay in his arms. Her expression softens, she leans down and takes the wad from the ghost. And then like a wave of ice that chills her to the bone she realizes what she is holding. “ The boy king? Who? WHY!” her eyes slit and the thunder grows stronger. The wind begins to wip as she eyes the small bae that lay in her arms.

“His parents they…… they found him,” he snarls, “ They Hurt him….. The lab is no more it…. It took everyone, all I could do was save him but” he takes a heaving breath,” I could only do so much.”

Gotham seemed to understand what he ment, she looked at the boy still asleep with sorrow in her eyes, “ Please dear friend” clockwork begged once more, “ give him the life he always deserved, I cant keep him, not like this.” His throat felt tight as his eye stung, he can't cry not now.

“With everything I am, the boy will be safe,” The thunder low and distant like a spring storm, “ go now heal and so you may return to him once more” She smiles as she sees a peak of the boy's eyes as he dreams, blue, a beautiful vibrant blue. “ I know someone who will love him as his own'' Clock work fades his form relaxing as he disappears into the night.

The sky begins to cry but not in sorrow but joy, the prince has a new home and Gotham will insure he’ll grow, to be the king that the realm deserves. As she turns him to shield him from the rain a ring of light washes over the boy, his hair is white as snow, freckles make the stars, and a crown rest upon his brow. “ Rest now, my child of the stars, here you'll find you belong.” With that they boy renters to his human state. Now she just has to figure out how to induce him to her other children.

If y’all like it I’ll keep going also thinking about sketching what I envision my version of Gotham looks like. I like the idea of her being a storm spirit and that’s why Gotham always rains.

I did it [part 2]

[xocasper]

Sleepless Nights

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader Summary: Kinktober Day Six - Praise Kink Warnings: NSFW content Tags: fingering, praise kink, mild angst, riding Word Count: 4716 A/N: shoutout to cocoa dyno-bites and anything i wrote in august. also if you’re a real xocasper fan, you know who stephen is. if you don’t, please send an ask so i can talk about stephen. enjoy xo

Four words. Four fucking words and Frank was already sure he’d screw this up.

See, when your cute coworker knocks on your door at eleven o’clock at night, you have no choice but to throw some pants on and chat for a while. It’s like, the law or something. He figured he could do that, getting as far as the pants part before turning into a total dunce. The blame wasn’t on him though–or at least he’d managed to convince himself that–but instead on your shitty landlord who still hadn’t fixed your heating. He knew it had been out for a while, foolishly offering his place in case yours grew too cold, not expecting you to take him up on the offer. October was similar to Frank, coming far too quick, and before he knew it, the city turned into an icebox. Which, unfortunately for you, meant freezing half to death in your apartment.

At first, he wasn’t sure who would be at his door so late, hauling himself out of bed and having half a mind to throw on some sweatpants before trudging down the hall. You hadn’t exactly woken him; not really anyway, but he still had to rub his eyes for good measure, stretching as he opened the door. The sight of you definitely did the job though, and Frank was suddenly wide awake as you shivered in his doorway.

“Can I come in?”

There it was, his only weakness–his hot coworker in thin pajamas, undoubtedly fresh out of bed, asking to stay the night in his apartment. Except you hadn’t really asked him yet, still working up the courage, as you were already embarrassed for waking him up at this hour.

Giving you a once-over, he nodded, “Stephen still being an asshole?”

You smiled bitterly, following him inside. “I’m tempted to start looking for another place to live, honestly.”

He bit his tongue just in time, preventing an enthusiastic yes. Instead, he laughed quietly, closing the door behind you. “I think the guy downstairs is gonna croak soon,” was all he could think of, cringing at his inability to talk to you. “You could come live here.”

“Mhm, and put up with you outside of work, too?” you joked. “I’m thinking of quitting anyway, so I’ll consider it.”

This time, he had to prevent a loud, reflexive no. He could get a real job anywhere, but he chose to stick around a dingy convenience store for your sake. Some of his fondest memories were spent there, the two of you on night shift, laughing until you were sure you’d split a seam, and Frank’s face turning red for reasons other than asphyxiation.

“We’ll miss you if you go,” he shrugged, laying a stack of blankets on the couch.

You shook your head, “You’ll miss me, Frank. You’re the only person I talk to.”

Did his name sound that nice when other people said it or was it just you? And he was the only one you talked to? It would sound pathetic if he said it, but it felt special coming from you. You were special and–god, he needed to get a grip.

“Oh,” he mumbled, motioning for you to sit on the couch. “Well, they’re missing out.”

And then you smiled at him. This pure, golden fucking smile, and he was sure he’d melt into the floorboards. He had to worm his way out somehow, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Do you want a glass of water or anything?”

“I’ll be alright, thank you,” you assured him, tucking yourself under the generous pile of blankets, Frank unsure of whether to leave or not.

Finally, his brain turned back on, gracious enough to form words. “‘Night then,” he nodded, shooting you a small smile. “Sleep well and… yeah.”

“Goodnight,” you laughed lightly, watching him stumble back to his bedroom.

He was typically cool and collected, but tonight he was off, awkward and clumsy and you knew exactly why. You almost hadn’t come here tonight, and now you were wishing that you had gone with your gut, wanting more than anything to escape the suffocating tension, weighing down the apartment despite closed doors and empty halls. It had started the other day, when you had made arguably the biggest mistake of your life, cringing at the thought of it. You were exhausted, you tried to tell yourself, completely braindead after your shift, giggling at nearly everything Frank was saying. It felt good, totally tripped out on serotonin, and as Frank walked you to your car, you turned around and kissed him.

And he didn’t kiss back.

Across the hall, Frank replayed the same memory in his head, the laughter that filled the air, the way you smiled at him when you turned, and how the whole world seemed to pause as your lips met his. Then came the humiliation that followed, remembering how he had stiffened up, floundering as you pulled away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss you. In fact, he couldn’t come up with a good reason why he hadn’t. Nerves, or something, the same thing that had happened when he had his first kiss back in middle school. By the time his brain had caught up though, it was too late, his heart sinking at the despair on your face. Finally, a quiet goodnight and you were gone, fighting tears on the way home, certain that the unrequited kiss would haunt you forever.

The two of you felt ill at the memory, tossing and turning in separate rooms as you tried to ignore the other’s presence. Squeezing your eyes shut and desperately trying to clear your head was no help, only seeing the look of shock on Frank’s face. Bundling up in the blankets made things worse as well, the smell of his cheap cologne sticking to the fleece like an Elvis song. Everything seemed to remind you of that godforsaken kiss, leaving you to beg the universe for a minute of peace.

Eventually, Frank also grew sick of trying to sleep, wandering into the kitchen for something to drink. All the water in the world couldn’t save him, acting as nothing more than a weak disguise to check if you were as restless as him. Sure enough, you perked up as he padded through the hall, a trace of concern in your eyes as you watched him.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked quietly, tracing his figure as he reached for the cabinet.

He shook his head, “You sure you don’t want water or something?”

“I’m alright.”

Frank knew he shouldn’t have been frustrated, that he should’ve drank his nasty tap water and gone off to bed, but he couldn’t help but beat himself up for letting you slip away like that. Besides, you had come to his apartment, so that had to count for something, right?

“Do you wanna…” he started, the words never mind on the tip of his tongue.

You squinted at him, “Do I wanna…”

Gulping, he tried again. “Do you wanna come lie with me for a bit?”

No.

“Sure,” you nodded.

Fuck. You were really good at making mistakes, weren’t you?

This was an awful idea, sirens going off in your head as Frank downed the rest of his glass, watching as you climbed out from your cocoon. You should’ve stayed put, told him you were fine where you were, anything that didn’t result in following him to bed. Sleeping next to him meant one of two things: more awkward tension or confrontation, and you were dreading both of them. A week ago you would’ve been thrilled; you still were to an extent, filled with an inapposite swarm of butterflies, but they were quickly burned to a crisp by regret and shame.

It was difficult to see in the dark, unsure of where you were going and trying your best not to trip, but Frank’s hand slipped into yours as he walked across his bedroom. He couldn’t have been more grateful for the darkness that swallowed the two of you, disguising the blush that coated his cheeks. It was odd to want each other so badly, only to prefer being hit by an eighteen-wheeler than sleeping side-by-side.

Silence settled between the two of you, an invisible barrier as you laid back to back, having even more trouble sleeping than before. There was a constant theme of overanalysis, listening closely to his breathing, short and labored as he tried not to disturb you. Occasionally, he’d shift, not closer, nor farther, simply in place as if readjustment could save him from insomnia’s clutches. At some point, he had turned over completely, now facing you, who remained staring at his bedroom wall.

“I should’ve kissed back.”

It was sudden and sharp, cutting you open once more, and you would’ve rolled over if you had the strength, desperate to see the sincerity in his eyes. The room was pitch black though, and you were weak, so you stayed put.

“And I shouldn’t have kissed you,” you mumbled back, hardly loud enough for him to hear.

That hurt and Frank could only hope it was a lie. He shifted again, closer this time, before speaking.

“That’s not true,” he said, more to convince himself than you.

You knew he was right, but you still shook your head. “No, Frank, I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Are you thinking now?”

There was a pause, earsplitting and ugly.

“Stop doing that,” you told him.

He stilled for a moment, “Stop doing what?”

You sighed, exasperated. “What you’re doing!”

“You know, you really have a way with words.”

God, you wanted to laugh. It was funny, and on any other day you probably would’ve, but it was more than untimely. You should’ve left, grabbed your shoes, and scrambled back to your frigid apartment, safe from… whatever this was.

You swallowed hard, “Stop trying to justify that kiss, and stop making me consider doing it again.”

“Look at me,” he said softly.

“I can’t see in the dark, dumbass.”

He said your name, his voice tied between frustration and amusement, and you finally rolled over. As expected, you couldn’t see a damn thing, stubbornly crossing your arms as you waited for him to speak.

It didn’t occur to him until then that he had no plan, barely able to make out your features from a few inches away. Briefly, he shut his eyes, taking a deep breath before leaning in, and gave you a fleeting kiss.

Frank pulled away just as quickly, and the room fell silent. There was a slight difference between the silence before and after, thousands of words suppressed by nerves, and now all of them had flown away. In a single kiss, he had managed to make your heart stop, both of you stuck in your heads as you dwelled on it. It was contradictory, guilty and pure, feather-light, but crushing you with the weight of insecurity.

Carefully, you reached for him, fingertips grazing his cheek, almost to prove he was real–that this was real. He didn’t speak, frozen in place as your palm met faint stubble, the two of you anxiously waiting for the other to pull away. The ice should’ve broken when he kissed you; you shouldn’t have been nervous, your stomach churning and lungs forgetting how to breathe as you weighed your options.

Ultimately, you leaned in, much slower than he had, as if you were giving him the chance to pull away, kick you out or reprimand you for your insistence. Frank remained still at first, worried that if he moved an inch you would flinch away, deciding that maybe he wasn’t worth your time after all.

This time was different; you were no longer glistening under streetlights, eyes lit with infatuation as Frank told some stupid joke, his hand on your lower back as you tripped towards your car. You hadn’t thrown caution to the wind, shooting him a smile that could melt just about anyone, kissing him with a passion that should’ve made him weak in the knees. Instead, it was cautious, calculated with a hint of sorrow, waiting for bitter rejection that never came.

Because this time, Frank kissed back.

He kissed you until your worry melted away, soft and easy, his hand slipping back to your waist as he pulled you closer. It was real this time, not a trace of pity or regret as he broke away, and radiating nothing but sincerity as he leaned back in. By the second one, you were leaning in too, never having received sweeter kisses than his, the kind that bordered on medicinal, mending a broken heart.

Frank was right there with you, swooning like a schoolgirl as your lips moved against his, plush and pretty, being savored as if it meant something more–more than friends, coworkers, and the awkward stage in between.

Like honey, your tongue slipped past his lips, parting them so naturally, as if you’d done it before. Everything was slow, much slower than it had been the other night, echoing laughter substituted with hitching breath, impulsive kisses replaced by meaningful ones, though the passion remained the same. Frank touched you as if you were made of china, delicately laying his other hand upon your waist, shifting you over until your palms pressed against his chest.

It was almost uncharacteristic, his caution and reserve paling in comparison to his common ardor, yet to draw a line in the sand. Despite the incessant flirting and stolen glances, everything felt fragile once turned into a reality. Frank wanted this, wanted you. It was a tough pill to swallow, no matter how long you had yearned for it, trying to let your guard down once more. Cautiously, his fingers tugged at the hem of your shirt, a barely-there action that nearly went unnoticed. You were in your head, too caught up in insecurities and endless possibilities, finally letting them fade as his warm touch slid across your waist.

It was apprehensive but didn’t lack affirmation, bringing you back down to earth as he rubbed slow circles on your skin. His lips were barely ghosting over yours, giving you an occasional kiss. It was intimate, light and dizzying, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes, reveling in a moment of sheer serenity. One of your hands slid up a little further, languidly smoothing over his shoulder until you reached the nape of his neck, shaking up his pattern of light kisses.

This one wasn’t quite like the first and full of energy, nor was it like the second, riddled with trepidation. It was deeper, smooth and sure, your free hand finding its way to his, gradually sliding it up your torso, waiting for a signal to stop. He let you control his hand, taking charge of the kiss instead, hopelessly addicted to you and the mind-numbing taste of satisfaction and greed. To your surprise, he never pulled back, only briefly breaking away to breathe, his eyes fluttering shut as he traced over your sternum. Your hand stayed on his, waiting for his worries to fade, but he hardly seemed to move.

“We don’t have to do anything,” you promised, anxious and embarrassed once more. “I’m sorry.”

Frank didn’t speak for a moment, his free hand cupping your cheek as he kissed you with sincerity. He hushed you at first, followed by a soft, “Let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” you breathed, running your hand through his hair as he nestled his head into your neck.

His kisses weren’t pitiful, and hardly apologetic at that. There was a sense of appreciation, longing and gratitude as his lips graced your neck, peppering it in sweet admiration. He worked diligently, sucking kisses into your skin; it wasn’t enough to leave a mark, but enough for you to remember, certain that a single glance in the mirror could turn you into a puddle. It was intimate and pure, Frank’s breath on your skin making you shiver and shift closer, held in place by his hold on your hips.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear as he nipped below it.

He couldn’t see your eye roll, but he could hear the suspicion in your tone. “You can’t even see me.”

“Don’t need to,” he said, quickly pecking your cheek.

Rebuttals formed on your lips, but they were barely spoken into existence before Frank was kissing them away. You had learned months ago that arguing with him was futile, so you easily gave in to his touch. Proud of his effortless victory, he had to resist the urge to grin, instead humming a satisfied note as your lips parted for him.

He had grown confident and comfortable since you had knocked on his door, regaining his charming disposition. Easily, his tongue slipped against yours, rivaling his kisses from earlier. They were now equipped with a need—one to make you feel loved, to prove that this wasn’t out of sympathy. He glided his tongue in sure strokes, rubbing circles on your hips as he broke away. After one more tender kiss, a smile tugged at his lips.

“See?” he murmured, letting his fingertips dance along the waistband of your pajamas. “My pretty baby.”

Belief didn’t come easy, but you gave in nonetheless, too transfixed by his touch. Many nights, you had started absentmindedly at his hands, tracing his tattoos as an excuse to hold them, lacing your fingers together while he stood oblivious. God, they were so pretty, decorated in colorful ink and so fucking skilled. He’d invited you to a handful of shows, always pulling you to the front and showing off, and you had discovered that he was a wonderful guitarist–and that he had wonderful hands, ones that were finally on you.

“Is this—“ he asked, fingers creeping from your waist to the elastic of your pajamas. “Is that okay?”

You nodded, taking his hand again and sliding it lower, under the fabric, and further still.

He gave a small grin, slotting his lips against yours for a moment. “You’re so needy,” he purred, sucking gently on your jawline. “It’s okay, I’ll make you feel good.”

It was easier to believe him this time, and you whispered a quiet, “Please, Frank.”

He could never deny you, pressing his hand against your thigh. Sitting up for a moment, he caressed you tentatively, another “Can I...?” breaking the brief silence.

You nodded again, lifting your hips as he tugged down your pajama pants, and frowning as he pulled away. It didn’t last long though, Frank only letting you kick off your clothes before settling next to you. Again, he mumbled a request to touch you, and you grew warm as his hands ghosted your waist. Gently, he pulled you closer, settling you between his legs before tilting your chin to face him.

If you could see the way he looked at you, speechless and entranced despite the lack of light, you would’ve melted into the floor. He didn’t need to see you though, not when he knew how he felt, pressing his lips to yours as his free hand trailed up your thigh. A faint longing stirred in your stomach, and you burned up as the pads of his fingers met the hem of your panties.

“I’ve wanted this for a while, you know that?” he said quietly, stroking your clothed slit. “I thought I fucked it up for good.”

You let out a soft breath and shook your head. “You could never fuck up that bad.”

He gave a soft laugh, tracing shapes onto your thighs. “You’d be surprised.”

“Don’t make a habit of it,” you smiled, shifting closer to him.

Gradually, his hand slid further up, and he kept his head tucked into the crook of your neck, pressing spontaneous kisses below your ear. He cupped you gently, only seeming to worsen the dull ache, and he grinned as you pressed against his palm.

“Someone’s impatient,” he teased, rubbing slow circles on your clit.

He shushed you lightly as you began to apologize, planting another kiss on your neck. “I’m kidding,” he said, giving another laugh. “You’re always so sweet. I bet you taste sweet too.”

The last bit caught you off guard, drawing a soft moan from your lips. It urged Frank to continue, and he finally tugged off your panties. The sudden chill made you shiver but his hands warmed you up quick, splayed across your thighs as he spread them apart. Regardless, you pressed closer to him, receiving a sweet, “I’ve got you,” in response.

With delicate precision, his fingers swept across your folds, wet and needy as you waited for him to touch you. You were fixated on his every move, tilting your head back against his headboard as he brushed against your clit.

“You’re so wet,” he commented, his voice holding wonder rather than mockery. “So good to me.”

Frank was far more patient, carefully collecting arousal on his fingertips before lifting them to his lips, coating his tongue in bliss. You wished you could see it, watch as his fingers glistened in the moonlight, swiftly sucked clean with an erotic eagerness. Instead, you had to settle for his muffled moan and the praise that came with it.

“Fuck, you taste so pretty,” he breathed, his lips pressed against your ear again. “You want me to eat your pussy, baby?”

As much as you wanted it, you wanted his cock more, compromising more with yourself than Frank. “Tomorrow,” you requested, reaching for his hand and leading it between your legs.

“Yeah? What do you want right now?”

His fingers worked carefully, spreading you open before dipping inside. You had begun to respond, but simple words turned too complex, becoming a swift inhale and a shaky moan instead.

“I want you to fuck me,” you admitted, grinding down against his hand in hopes of finding friction. “Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he teased, continuing to curl his fingers inside of you. “You can wait a minute, right?”

You bit back a no, making a half-hearted decision that you could be patient for him. “Mhm,” you hummed quietly, shifting against him.

He was hard, pressing against you through his sweatpants, but he was patient just like you. Truthfully, he wanted this to last as long as possible, just in case you walked away tomorrow. You didn’t mind too much, his fingers pulling pretty moans from you while your muscles grew tighter.

“You’re being so good, so patient,” he told you, his thumb ghosting your clit.

You whined softly at the praise, catching your bottom lip between your teeth as he spoke. “You sound so pretty, baby.”

Frank knew the effect he had on you, relishing in every gasp and moan as sweet affirmations rolled off his tongue. Typically, you’d be embarrassed that Frank knew what you were into, but now you were in his bed, and he was urging you to come.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, slowly speeding up as you writhed against him.

Again, you nodded, the hitch in your breath preventing a real answer. Frank didn’t seem to mind, only egging you on more. “You’re doing so well,” he said, toying with your clit as your breathing grew erratic.

“Shit, Frank,” you cursed, suddenly reaching for his hand. “I want to come with you inside me.”

Relief washed over him, and he swallowed the apologies that had already started forming. Instead, he swore against your skin and pulled his hand away, smiling softly at your ironic whine.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed, gasping lightly as your lips closed around his fingers, quickly cleaning up the mess.

Pulling his hand away, he held your jaw, turning your head towards him and giving you a slow kiss. It was messy and sensual, and Frank reluctantly broke apart to turn you around. Slipping his hands beneath your shirt, he ran them up your sides, his thumbs caressing your waist while you tugged off his sweatpants.

Frank was sure he’d been hard since you climbed into his bed, and now he was fucking aching to be touched. Thankfully, you didn’t waste as much time as him, hooking your arm around his neck and pressing heated kisses to his lips while you stroked him through his boxers. With as much coordination as he could manage, he reached towards his nightstand, giggling through kisses as he rifled through the drawer.

“Frank, take your pants off,” you grinned, shaking your head in bewilderment as you got off of his lap.

He giggled again, sliding off his boxers and kicking his pants to the floor, laying down anxiously as you grabbed a condom from his nightstand.

“See?” he said, humming softly as you wrapped your hand around his cock, pumping him slowly before rolling the condom on. “You’re so good to me.”

Your stomach fluttered at the praise, and you were impatient once more. After giving you a brief kiss, he lifted your hips, guiding you over his cock. You took him slowly, sinking your teeth into your lip while he eased you down. As much as you wanted to complain about the darkness of his bedroom, the sudden jerk of his hips drew your attention away. He was thick, fitting snug inside of you, and Frank moaned as you settled on his cock.

“You feel so fucking good,” he said, rocking his hips to meet yours as you sunk down on him again. “Squeezing my cock so well.”

He helped you build a steady pace, gripping your hips as they rolled against his. Even if you hadn’t fully adjusted to his size, the pain had faded, climbing towards your thighs instead. They’d inevitably burn from exertion when you were finished, but it didn’t seem like you had long to go, anyway. Not when Frank was moaning like that, hot and breathy, and gradually growing whinier.

“Fuck, just like that,” he said, sliding his hands under your thighs to keep pace.

After getting painfully close to coming earlier, the sensation had already begun building again. The thrust of his hips was no help to your longevity, whiny curses pouring from your lips as he fucked into you. He was a mess beneath you, hair clinging to his forehead and eyes drawn shut, intent on making you finish this time.

“You take me so well,” Frank praised, listening to you fall apart on his cock. “That’s it, baby.”

Satisfaction shot through him, grinning with pride as you came, still bouncing in his lap as you rode it out. Despite his confidence, he was far needier, holding you still as he ground against you. The tables turned for a moment, and you cupped his cheek delicately, gyrating your hips before murmuring a soft, “Good boy.”

There was an obvious shake in your voice, weak from an orgasm, but it made no difference to Frank. He didn’t think twice as he came, moaning brokenly before shooting into the rubber. With the little strength he had left, he helped you off his lap, letting you flop down beside him.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, growing shy as his muscles went lax.

It was your turn to pepper kisses across his skin, catching your breath between sporadic pecks. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, breathing heavily as he pulled you into his chest.

“I’m really sorry for the other day,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I was serious when I said I should’ve kissed you. And if you were serious about not kissing me, then that’s cool too. I mean, it’s a little inconvenient because we just had sex, and now I’m totally on your track record but—“

You wheezed, “Track record? Jesus, Frank, I don’t do this every day.”

“Well you could start,” he said slyly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Unless, you know, you’re not into me like that—“

“Frank.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I am into you like that.”

His eyebrows drew together, confused. “You lied to me? Rough way to start a relationship, babe.”

You swatted him playfully. “Let’s have this conversation after we clean up. Deal?”

Even if you couldn’t see him in the dark, you could tell that he was smiling. “Deal.”

kinktober taglist: @clichedlovers  @halloweenbitch2764  @lubbockshusband @cigarettesandalcohol  @couldbegayer1234  @doc-martens-enthusiast @yachiiko @becausethedrugsneverwork @house-of-wh0res @dangerouslittlefairy @chronicallythicc​ @zggystrdst​

[neonlights92]

Night Changes: PART ONE

Jeon Jungkook has spent the last twenty years alone.  Single.  Solo. 

And that’s just the way he likes it.  That is, until he meets the supposed love of his life.  Suddenly he’s falling over himself at the chance of a real relationship with someone.

The only thing getting in his way? You.

genre: fuckboy!jungkookie, college!jungkookie, romcom, e2l (kinda)

A/N: my attempt at a college kookie story? enjooooy

--

Perhaps it is the universe telling him to stop drinking. 

Jeon Jungkook really needs to start listening to the universe, and stop listening to - well to put it bluntly - his penis. 

When he wakes up in another stranger’s bed, with a splitting headache, and lipstick marks scattered across his chest, he reckons he should start making better life choices. 

The young woman sharing his bed - a girl from the party last night, with legs that go on for miles - rolls over and blinks her eyes open sleepily.  She smiles at him.

“Hi Jungkook.” 

He racks his brain for her name.  Jisoo… Jennie… Lisa… Rose? 

He feels bad - he really really does - but what can he do?  He was seven tequilas in, when Taehyung convinced him that taking her home would be a good idea. 

“Hi…. You.”  He finishes lamely, smiling sheepishly. 

She blinks again, this time a little more furious.  Her eyes narrow after a moment. 

“You don’t remember my name, do you?”  She purses her stained lips, and Jungkook really does feel awful.

Or maybe that’s just the hangover. 

“I uh - maybe.  It’s.. Last night’s a little bit grainy for me, to be honest.”

She seems unimpressed, arching a well-groomed brow, “You’re in most of my classes at college, Jeon Jungkook.”

And really that’s when he feels like a complete asshole. 

“Shit.  I’m sorry,” He tries to place her - he tries so fucking hard - but he knows he doesn’t recognise her, and a worm of guilt starts niggling in the pit of his stomach.

She rolls her eyes and sits up, pressing a hand against her forehead and clicking her tongue, “Whatever.  Just get out.  Jerk.” 

Jungkook feels bad.  Seriously, he does. 

But he can’t help but share her sentiment.  

He scrambles out of bed, fishing around her bedroom floor for the jeans he so carelessly threw off, and the white shirt he’s sure is stained with something he’ll never be able to get rid of.  He stumbles into the clothing and turns back towards the nameless woman glaring at him from underneath the covers.

“Do you hate me?”

She rolls her eyes, “Get out of my house, asshole.” He winces.  He knows he deserves that.

“See you soon?” She shakes her head, and tugs a hand through her unruly hair, “Hopefully not.” Jungkook bolts out of there like his life depends on it but just as he pulls the front door open, somebody else blocks his way.  And suddenly everything in the world shifts, and he feels as though his heart has just split open right down the middle. 

Because standing in front of him, holding two bags of groceries, is an absolute angel.  

Jungkook thinks - no he’s certain - she’s the most beautiful woman he’s seen in his entire life, and now he understands the songs, and the sonnets and the plays.  This is what love at first sight is.

It has to be.

“Oh.”  She laughs a little, “Hi.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen, “Hi.”

“You must be Y/N’s guest.” 

Y/N.  So that’s her name.

“Uh… Yeah.”

Her cheeks flush brightly, “I’m Soomi, Y/N’s roommate.” 

“Nice to meet you Y/N’s roommate.  I’m Jungkook.”

When she giggles, Jungkook feels like he’s ascended into another plane of existence.  

“Well it’s nice to meet you too.”  Her eyes lower to his haphazardly buttoned shirt, “Under the circumstances.” Jungkook feels stupid and wonderful all at the same time, and just as he’s about to do something crazy - like ask for her number, or ask her to marry him, even - somebody clears their throat from behind him.

In a moment, Jungkook remembers exactly where he is.  His heart drops.

Shit.

Y/N.

“I see you’ve met the asshole I slept with last night,” Y/N raises a brow and clicks her tongue, “You were just on your way out, Jungkook, weren’t you?”

“I… Uh…  Yeah.  On my way out.” Jungkook knows he has no right to feel dejected - after all he was the one who couldn’t remember Y/N’s name in the first place.  But he’s sure Soomi might very well be the love of his life, and he can’t possibly just walk out like this, can he? But when he turns to face Soomi he notices she’s already stepped out of the way for him… And there’s really nothing more he can do.  

“Well uh… It was nice to meet you Soomi,” He moves into the hallway and turns to give Y/N a half smile, “See you in class.”

“Like I said.”  Y/N pulls a face, “Hopefully not.”

Soomi giggles again and he feels like he’s been shot straight through the heart, “Bye Jungkook!”

The door slams shut in his face, and the moment Jungkook is alone he notices how quickly his heart is racing.  Oh god.

He’s in love. 

He has to be.

//

“Jungkook.  You’re being ridiculous.”  Jungkook’s roommate Namjoon rolls his dark eyes, “She is not the “love of your life.”  Stop being so dramatic, you sound like Jin.” Jungkook feels like his heart is about to burst.  It’s been less than three hours since he met Soomi and all he can think about is the curve of her smile.

“No.  I’m serious, Namjoon.  C’mon, when have you ever known me to feel this way about a girl?”

Namjoon sets his mug of coffee to one side and clicks his tongue, “Never.  I’ve never known you to feel this way about a girl.  Which only further proves my point - you’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re just made of ice,” He comments bitterly, “I’m serious Namjoon.  I’m in love.”

“Listen Jungkook you know I usually love to disagree with Namjoon,” This comes from Jungkook’s other roommate Taehyung who is slung across the couch lazily, “But I’ve got to say… This time he’s got a point.  You sound like a crazy person.”

“If you saw her you’d know exactly what I mean.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes so hard Jungkook is surprised he doesn’t lose one to the back of his skull.

“It’s a girl Jungkook.  A girl you met for all of twenty seconds.” “She was an angel.”

Taehyung giggles, “You’ve really got it bad huh?” “My heart hasn’t stopped pounding since I left her.”  Jungkook feels himself deflate slightly, “I need to see her again.” “And how are you going to do that?”  Taehyung raises a dark brow, “Surely you don’t have any classes with her, or you would’ve seen her by now.”

“No but… I have classes with Y/N.”  Jungkook knows it’s a dumb suggestion.  

But he can’t help it.  He needs to see Soomi again. 

“Y/N as in the girl who you slept with and who’s name you couldn’t remember?”  Namjoon scoffs, “Even you can’t be dumb enough to think she’d help you out of the goodness of her heart.”

“No… Maybe not out of the goodness of her heart.”  Jungkook agrees, carding a hand through his cherry red locks, “But I can figure out something she wants.  Y’know… Mutually beneficial.”

“I hope you’re not talking about your penis,” Taehyung pulls a face. 

“Have you not been listening for the past hour Taehyung?  I am in love with Soomi - I’m not about to sleep with her roommate...Again.  I’m a one woman man.”

Namjoon pushes himself to his feet, “Your only hope is that she’s in love with somebody else.  Somebody you could potentially help her seduce.”

Jungkook stands too, “That’s brilliant.” “What about Hoseok?” Taehyung cocks his head to the side, “Everybody’s in love with Hoseok.”

“Do not drag Hoseok into this Jungkook.”  Namjoon gives his friend a pointed look, “I’m serious.  He’s still heartbroken over Alexa.”

“Alexis,” Taehyung corrects, “Why can’t you ever bother to get the names of our girlfriends right?”

As Namjoon and Taehyung argue over Namjoon’s inability to remember names correctly, Jungkook starts thinking of all the ways he can convince Y/N to help him with Soomi.

It’ll be a piece of cake.

Or so he hopes.

//

Monday morning rolls around and Jungkook spends practically every minute from the moment he leaves his dorm scouring the campus for Y/N.  She isn’t in his first class of the day - or even the second.  By his third class of the day he starts to wonder if maybe she’d confused him with someone else.

Maybe there’s another Jeon Jungkook on campus who sleeps with attractive women and forgets their name in the morning.  Somebody else is stealing his game.

But then - like a vision from heaven - she walks into his political science class as if she isn’t the key to all his happiness. Her eyes flit across the lecture room and when they land on Jungkook she glares.  He wants to sink back against himself but he refuses - instead he smiles widely and gestures for her to sit in the empty seat beside him.

She shakes her head as if he’s crazy (and to be honest, he might be) and instead moves towards the very back, sliding into a seat all on her own. 

Jungkook grunts.  He can’t really blame her. 

Still.  Does she really have to make things so difficult?

He grabs his books and shuffles over to where Y/N is sat, engrossed by something on her phone.  When he looks closer he realises it's one of those pimple popping compilations on Youtube.

Gross.

Jungkook clears his throat and when she looks up her expression morphs from surprise into annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting beside my new friend,” He grins wider, “Y/N.”

Her eyes narrow into slits, “What do you want?”

“To make amends,” Jungkook answers immediately, “I kind of feel like an asshole.” “You should.”  She gives him another look of annoyance, “But I’m also not stupid.  You’ve got the hots for Soomi, haven’t you?”

Jungkook feels his stomach drop.  Is he that obvious?

“Everyone has the hots for Soomi,” Y/N waves her hand noncommittally and gives him a once over, “Though not everyone has slept with her roommate.”

Jungkook winces.  It’s clear Y/N despises him.

“Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

“For forgetting my name or for giving me the worst head of my life?” The insult sears him.  Jungkook may be a little bit of a lady’s man but he’s always been determined to please his lovers.  He wishes he could remember any part of their tryst (to prove her wrong, more than anything) but once again he draws a blank.

“I can make it up to you.” She raises a brow, “I highly doubt that.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to argue with her - before Y/N’s attention is stolen by the figure that has just walked through the double doors of their lecture room.  Jungkook follows her gaze and smirks when he realises who she’s staring at.

“So you have the hots for Park Jimin then?”

Y/N’s eyes snap up to meet his and she seems flustered, “What?”

“You just looked at him like he rearranged the stars to spell your name,” Jungkook’s smirk widens, “You like him.”

Y/N looks ready to smack him across the face.  

“Shut up.”

“I’m not wrong though, am I?” When her eyebrows dip into a scowl, Jungkook knows he’s won this battle.  He leans towards her, conspiratorially. 

“I know Jimin well.”

That’s kind of a bold statement (and kind of a lie.)  Jungkook knows of Jimin.  He’s on the same dance team as Taehyung and Hoseok - two of Jungkook’s closest friends.  That’s enough of an in, isn’t it?

“No you don’t.”  She mutters with a roll of her eyes, “I can see where you’re going with this.”

“No seriously.  He’s best friends with Kim Taehyung,” Again a slight overstatement, but Jungkook doesn’t correct himself, “And Taehyung is like my brother.  We grew up together.”

“So what?  You help me out with Jimin and I have to do the same for Soomi?”  She scoffs, “Soomi and I are best friends.  I don’t want to lie to her.” “It wouldn’t be lying.”  Jungkook’s voice pinches a little, “It’s just helping fate along.” “Fate?”  Y/N’s expression morphs into one of disbelief, “Oh my god.  You really do have the hots for her.” “If cupid himself descended to earth and shot me in the ass with an arrow, I’d feel exactly the same for her.  Seriously.”

Y/N seems to contemplate the suggestion.  Her eyes move to meet the back of Jimin’s head - where he’s sat in the front row - and she sighs heavily.  Jungkook tries to read her face. 

Is she softening up to the idea?

“Let’s say I agreed to help you.”  Her voice is flat, “How can I be sure Soomi won’t just be another notch on your bedpost?”

Jungkook feels his chest constrict, “I resent that.  Just because I have more experience than others doesn’t mean I’m an asshole.  I don’t pursue women with the intentions of fucking them over.”

He won’t admit it but that assumption kind of pisses him off.  

When Y/N is quiet a moment longer, Jungkook sighs and tugs a hand through his hair. 

“If I do fuck her over…. Which I won’t.  I give you full permission to start a rumour that my penis is the size of a cocktail sausage.  I won’t even deny it.”

Y/N’s eyes widen and Jungkook notices (but doesn’t comment on) a red flush to her neck.

“Alright.  Fine.  I’ll help you out with Soomi, if you help me out with Jimin.”

Jungkook has to force himself not to punch the air in triumph.  Instead he grins - nice and wide - and nudges Y/N playfully, “I think this is the start of a very beautiful friendship.”

She groans.

“I’m already regretting this.”

//

Jungkook sends Y/N a text message the next morning, bright and early.  He doesn’t expect a response from her - he assumes she’s more of a night owl than an early bird - but then his phone pings in response and he has to say he’s a little surprised.

Jungkook: good mornin’ y/n… this is cupid calling 

Y/N: y’know..  I knew giving you my number was a bad idea 

Jungkook: oh c’mon don’t be like that, now that we’re friends you should definitely start warming up to me

Her reply takes a little longer but Jungkook isn’t worried.  Despite what she feels towards him, Y/N thinks her only way to Jimin’s heart is through Jungkook.  So she’ll just have to put up with it.

Y/N: I just puked in my mouth at the thought of warming up anywhere close to you.  Gross

Jungkook smiles at her response.

Jungkook: I think you like me more than you're willing to admit.  Anyway we need to get on with our…. Agreement.  Want to come round this evening to discuss arrangements?  I’ll even throw in some pizza and beer.

Y/N: I only like hawaiian.

Jungkook: Disgusting.  You and Namjoon will get on fantastically then.  Alright hawaiian it is. 

He sends her his address and when she replies with the puking emoji he laughs despite himself.

Maybe she’s not all that bad.

//

“Pineapple on pizza is a cardinal sin.” Y/N glares at Jungkook as she tucks into her third slice, “Why are you hating?”

“I just - I don’t get it.”

Y/N had arrived at his apartment earlier that evening with a six pack of beer in what Jungkook had assumed was a begrudging olive branch.  The two of them had spent the last hour discussing the delicate intricacies of mario kart, and Jungkook had found himself enjoying her company more and more.

He hated to admit it but she was kind of cool.

Only kind of, though.

“You don’t get it because your taste buds are subpar,” She moves her mouth into a small smile and Jungkook almost gasps at the gesture, “Hawaiian is the only acceptable way to eat pizza.  Period.”

“Y’know you look much cuter when you smile,” He quips, watching as she chokes on the last piece of crust, “You should do it more often.” Her eyes narrow into a glare, “I smile at people who bother to remember my name.”

“I thought you’d forgiven me for that.  I’m helping you out with Jimin aren’t I?”

Y/N laughs - and Jungkook is surprised at the warmth in her tone, “At a price.  Or are you forgetting I’m setting you up with Soomi?”

“Which reminds me,” He scoots closer towards her, pushing the pizza box out of the way, “What’s our plan of action?” Y/N seems to pause for a moment, her eyes flicking nervously across his face as she tucks some of her hair behind her ear.  Jungkook doesn’t comment on her sudden shift in behaviour, but he notices it. 

Man.  Girls are weird.

“I thought maybe… You could come over one night, to watch a movie or whatever.  And you could ask Taehyung and Jimin to join, too.”

Jungkook nods emphatically, “That’s a good plan.  Something intimate to really plant those seeds of love.”

Y/N laughs again and he notices the crinkles at the sides of her eyes when she does so.  Weird.  Why hasn’t he seen those before?  Admittedly… It’s kind of adorable.

“Plant those seeds of love,” She pulls a face, “You really are a wordsmith, Jeon Jungkook.” 

“Is it any wonder when my major is English lit?”

“Me too,” She cocks her head to one side, hair falling out from behind her ears, “Makes sense why you’re in most of my classes.”

Jungkook feels kind of (very) guilty as memories of their morning together are brought back.

“I really do feel like shit for not remembering you.”  He rubs the back of his neck in that universal boy sign for awkwardness, and clicks his tongue, “I wish I had.”

She shrugs, her eyes darkening a moment as she looks away, “It’s alright.  I’m kind of used to it to be honest.  Always been more of a... Background kind of person.” 

Jungkook clucks, like a mother hen disappointed at her chicks, “Hey don’t say that about yourself.”

When Y/N moves her eyes to meet with his own again, Jungkook notices she doesn’t seem angry or bitter.   Just resigned.

“But it’s true,” She licks her bottom lip and smiles almost sadly, “Soomi’s always been the centre of attention everywhere we go.  And I’ve known her… Forever, really.  So it makes sense.  Someone always has to take the back seat.  I don’t mind it.  Suits me just fine.”

Now Jungkook really feels like an asshole.  When she was prickly, it was easy to shove everything under the carpet, and pretend that not knowing her name wasn’t sort of horrible.

But now she was being nice, it made everything a hundred times worse.

“I’m sorry Y/N.  Really.”  

She meets his gaze again and smiles - this time a little lighter, “Don’t worry about it.  Now you know who I am… And you’ll never forget it.  Not least because I’m the love of your life’s best friend.”

Jungkook feels kind of awful right now, but he knows that apologising again will probably only annoy her.  He tucks his guilt somewhere into the back of his mind and smiles widely, trying to ease the mood.

“Right.  And I’m the person who is going to help you snag the man of your dreams!” 

She laughs at that, taking a final chug of her beer before setting the empty bottle to one side.

“Park Jimin here I come!”

“You’ve got a one way ticket to Bonetown and Jimin is flying first class!”

She laughs louder, this time snorting, “That makes no sense, but I’ll take it.”

They spend the rest of the evening hanging out in a way that feels strangely familiar, and it’s only when Y/N’s head begins to lull to one side that Jungkook realises it’s past three am.  And as he orders her an uber home, and insists she takes the final slice of pizza for the journey home, Jungkook realises that Y/N is more than just kind of cute.

She’s kind of great.

//

Later on that week, as Jungkook fills Namjoon and Taehyung in on his progress with Y/N, the former seems less than impressed.

“This is only going to end badly.”  Namjoon shakes his head, “Haven’t you ever seen a romantic comedy?  Shit like this only ends in tears.”

Jungkook takes a swig from his beer and rolls his eyes, “Have you ever tried to be positive a single day in your life Namjoon?  Y/N agreed to help me.  It’s progress.”

“But you dragged me into it,” Taehyung seems unimpressed, “And I told you me and Jimin aren’t even that close.”

“Okay so I might have embellished slightly….”

“Slightly?  You called us the best of friends,” Taehyung groans at his friend’s stupidity, “I’m not sure Jimin even knows what major I’m taking.”

“This is the most Jungkook problem of all time,” Namjoon guffaws at the situation, “How the hell are you going to sort this out.” “Tae - I just need you to convince Jimin to come on one date.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “I don’t know him that well, Kook.  What exactly am I supposed to say?” 

“I don’t know but you once convinced your mom those nudes of you that got leaked senior year of high school were actually for an art project,” Jungkook pleads with his friend, “I know  you can do this.” Taehyung laughs at the memory and pulls a face, “If he says no though, there’s not much else I can do.” “Fine.  But at least try.”

Jungkook knows that the universe is working in his favour.  It has to be.  The moment he laid eyes on Soomi he knew he’d never be happy again without her.

“Alright Kook I’ll try.  But I’m not making any promises.” Jungkook grins, “You’re the best.”

“I know I am,” He leans further back into the couch and grabs a slice of the pizza Namjoon ordered, surreptitiously picking off the pineapple, “Now what are you going to do about Y/N?” Jungkook raises a brow, “What do you mean?” “Well you described her as a she-demon,” Namjoon snorts, choking on some of his beer, “How exactly is that going to seduce Jimin?” “Remember everyone loves him,” Taehyung tacks on - less than helpfully - his smirk growing, “She’s going to have to get in line.” “Everyone does not love Jimin.”

Taehyung scoffs, “You’re kidding right?  I once watched him turn down three girls in one night.”

“Yeah.  This girl from my psych class says he’s still heart broken from his ex,” Namjoon seems to be enjoying Jungkook’s predicament a little too much, “Says he won’t even give anyone a chance.”

Jungkook refuses to let his friends’ pessimism get in the way of his elation.  He’s one step closer to Soomi, and if Jimin thinks he can be the one to stand in his way he’s got another thing coming.

“I’ll make it work.”  He answers with more confidence than he necessarily feels, “Besides, Y/N’s not that bad.  In certain lights she might even be considered kind of… Cute.  She’s just a little...brash.”

“Could her brashness towards you be due to the fact you forgot her name after an evening of vigorous love making?”  Taehyung gives his friend a knowing look, “I mean that would probably even hurt you Jungkook.  And you’re the master of not giving a fuck.”

“I apologised.”  He says it like that should fix everything, but in the depths of his heart Jungkook knows forgetting her name was kind of (really) shitty, “Besides.  If I really do set her up with Jimin and this all works out perfectly she’ll have a lot to thank me for.  Might even forgive me.”

Taehyung laughs and Namjoon pulls a face.

“We live in hope.” “That we do Joon.” Jungkook grins, “That we do.”

//

[hornime]

one day... if you ever have the time,,,,,,, pretty pls write about saeko demanding overstimulation 🥴🥵 it’s real horny hours over here LOL

ALL HERS | SAEKO TANAKA X F!READER

holyFUCK okay my brain is kinda,,, brrrrrr with just saeko saeko saeko so here is a little something thank you for the brain worm, anon!111!1!1 also im sorry for answering this like a month late please dont hate me

warnings: 18+, harddom!saeko, f!reader, overstimulation, use of a vibrator, saeko owns you

saeko likes to make you squirm. she likes to see the effect she has on you with the slightest touches and the flirtiest words. so its no surprise that she loves to see you twitching with pleasure and barely able to string together coherent sentences with her chest against your back and your neck lolled onto her shoulder.

“i fucking love playing with this pussy.”

you moaned as saeko circled the vibrator around your clit, helplessly kicking your legs out, which were spread wide by her thighs, her forearms nestled around your torso. the hand that wasn’t occupied with the toy trailed up your stomach to pinch at your nipples, making you shudder, before sneaking back down between your legs to dip into your pussy. “hngh,” you moaned as she teased your hole with a finger. “just put it in.”

“what was that? ‘put it in’? you’re not forgetting who’s in charge here, are you?” fuck, you thought. i’m fucked now.

“no, no, saeko, i just—ah!” your vain apology was cut off as she plunged two fingers into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

“you know who this cunt belongs to, right?” you nodded weakly, small whimpers falling from your lips. “that’s right, baby. it belongs to me. this is my cunt, my pretty pussy, and i’m going to do whatever i fucking want to it. got it?”

you let out a moan that sounded like a slurred version of a yes, i’m sorry and she chuckled. pushing a button on the vibrator that turned up the intensity, making your body jolt.

“h-holy fuck, ohmygod.” your nails dug into the flesh of her arms as your muscles tightened erratically. “fuck, saeko, m’gonna cum. m’gonna cum.”

“give it to me, baby. fucking give it to me.” the thrusts of her fingers got harder and faster, and you swore you could see stars as her curled them to prod at a spongy spot. “this is my pussy. give me what’s mine.”

you jerked your head back almost painfully as she angled the tip of the vibrator directly onto your clit, making your vision go blurry. another push of a button had you writhing and sent you headfirst into a blinding orgasm that turned your brain to mush. “fuck! oh my god, oh m’god.”

“that’s right, good girl. cumming all over my fingers—fuck, you look so good like this. all spread out for me to use.” she continued playing with you, her fingers not slowing their movement as your slick made them even more slippery.

“s-saeko, wait, it’s sensitive! i can’t—”

“baby, baby baby baby, don’t tell me you forgot already,” she whispered into your ear. “this pussy’s mine. it’s done cumming when i say it is.”

your body, already on edge from your first orgasm, flailed futilely as saeko manipulated you at will. a cruel flick of her wrist had the vibrator pushing right against your clit, and you gasped, eyes wide as saucers, your fists clenching together at your sides. “wait, fuck, i’m gonna... i can’t...”

“yeah you can,” she muttered between gritted teeth, eyes focused on the shaking of your thighs, soaked with sweat and arousal. “you can and you will. you know why? ‘cus this cunt’s gonna do whatever i want it to. and i want it to cum.”

“i can’t!” you pleaded, chanting it like a mantra that neither of you believed. “i can’t i can’t i can’t ican’ti—ohmygod!” you practically screamed, shaking in her grasp as she pulled yet another orgasm from your trembling body. you could barely breathe as you clenched firmly around saeko’s fingers, tears streaming down the apples of your cheeks. 

your nerves were on fire, and as your consciousness returned to your mind, you practically sobbed at the realization that the sensations of the toy and of her hand were not stopping.

“i knew you could do it, baby.” saeko turned her head towards yours, licking the salty droplets trailing down your face. “how ‘bout one more?” 

you both knew that it wasn’t a question, it was an order.

your watery eyes met her amused ones, and you whined into the side of her neck. “please i can’t do it anymore, s’too much—fuck—s’too fucking much. saeko, please!”

she scoffed, turning the toy up again. your brain barely registered the action before your body did, your abdomen flexing in a pointless attempt to escape the vibrations. “when will you learn,” she purred, “that we’re not done ‘til i say we are?”

languid moans poured out of you as your pleas mixed with your pleasure, juxtaposing your desire for less and your need for more. you vaguely felt a third finger being slipped into your tight hole as saeko giggled at your condition.

“and you know by now, the only time i say we’re done is when you’re fucked so hard you can’t speak. so try to breathe, baby, and let me have some more fun with my pussy.”

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[fruitcoops]

could you possibly write something about Sirius & remus dating and remus feeling bad that Sirius keeps paying (since obviously he's big deal NHLer v trainer)

Oof, yes. This was combined with asks for some Coops hurt/comfort where one doesn't want to talk, as well as an argument. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for wealth insecurity, small argument (not a blowout)

Grocery shopping had never been Remus’ favorite thing in the world, but he had to admit it was a lot more fun when everything came with the thrilling reminder that he was living with the love of his life. He got to learn Sirius’ preferences on everything from candles (softer scents, or something woodsy) to towels (as fluffy as humanly possible) and filed every detail away in the little pocket of his brain entirely dedicated to the beautiful man that could reach the top shelves.

“What’s next?” he asked an hour into their latest Target excursion.

Sirius tilted his phone to show the screen. “Sheets.”

“I still can’t believe you had a hole in those and didn’t notice,” Remus said with a shake of his head.

“How do you know it wasn’t your fault?” Sirius countered with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

“I’m not the one that runs marathons in my sleep,” Remus laughed, standing on his toes to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Oof. Prickly.”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “You like it.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he mimicked, bumping Remus’ hip with his own. “What kind do you want?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder as they turned down the next aisle, scanning the shelves of plastic-wrapped packages in a million different patterns. “I like the look of the white ones, but grey or blue could be nice. You?”

“As long as they’re soft and have you in them, I don’t care.”

“Sap,” he teased, though he was unable to fight the blush racing hot up his neck. Sirius didn’t protest; his small, smug smile needed no explanation. Remus pushed the cart slowly down the aisle, making note of the price tags as he went. Sheets were always an expense—not as bad as blankets or, god forbid, a new mattress, but an expense all the same. He had managed to keep his last ones in good condition for almost ten years before they wore out.

The $30 set doesn’t look too bad, but that’s a weird color…Sirius hates microfiber…I’d rather not sleep on puppy print…getting laid on a 1970s paisley pattern would kill me instantly… “How about these?”

He startled and glanced down the aisle, where Sirius was holding a set in faint gray. An unbidden grin pulled at the side of his mouth. “The softest of the bunch, huh?”

“Of course,” Sirius laughed. “Come feel, it’s like heaven.”

Remus pushed off and hopped up on the undercarriage, riding the cart all the way until he reached Sirius’ side; his hand was halfway to the exposed block of fabric when he froze. $186.99, read the price tag below the stack of sheets in varying colors. Almost $200, and the only difference was the softness. “I…” he faltered slightly, looking between Sirius and the sheets for a moment.

“Do you not like them?”

“No, I do,” Remus said as his mind whirred. He had never spent more than a hundred dollars on sheets before. It wasn’t wildly out his budget, especially once he started working with the Lions, but he had always been careful with money. Sirius…Sirius had never had to do that. Never in his life.

“Is it the color? Because they have white ones—”

“It’s 200 dollars,” he almost laughed. Sirius fell quiet in obvious confusion as Remus turned to look at him. “Sirius, those sheets are 200 dollars.”

“Yes?”

“There’s—” Remus broke off again; something a little too much like shame for his liking crawled up his throat. “I—sure, yeah, if you like them.”

“It’s not about what Ilike,” Sirius continued, as if he couldn’t see the discomfort tensing every one of Remus’ muscles. “It’s our bed. I don’t want to get sheets you hate.”

“No, no, they’re nice.” Too nice. Remus forced a smile. “I like them.”

Sirius looked at him for a moment. “Which ones do you prefer?”

The ones that don’t cost the same as my monthly food budget. “Uh, the color threw me off at first,” he said. “The blue ones are better.”

The crease between Sirius’ brows eased by a degree and he kissed Remus’ jaw gently, then switched the sets. “D’accord, mon loup. Whatever makes you happy.”

Remus was as quiet as he could be without arousing suspicion for the rest of the trip. Sirius paid for their things—like always, Remus realized with a turn of his stomach—and helped him carry the bags to the car without another word about the sheets.

He stayed quiet the whole way home.

The shame mounted as they drove. It seemed everything was a sudden, unwelcome reminder of just how different he and Sirius were. Sirius’ family had a chef during his childhood—Remus made himself PB&Js every morning for the entirety of middle school. Sirius had a brand-new car—Remus had never had cause to justify that over public transportation and Uber. It was embarrassing, and Sirius’ unintentional thoughtlessness was more frustrating than he thought it would be.

He didn’t say anything as they pulled up to the house and unloaded their shopping bags; his shirt and jeans itched his skin like sandpaper. Judging from the look on Sirius’ face, he had picked up on Remus’ frustration, but there was no way Remus was going to get into the root of it while he still felt so twitchy.

Damn you and your emotional intelligence, he thought as he slipped past Sirius’ worried glances and up the stairs to their bedroom. Be oblivious for once and let me get through this.

The bed was stripped bare—their duvet and pillows sat in a heap on top of the mattress. Remus thought back to the first night he had slept there, marveling at the cloudlike support on his achy lower back. He had chalked it up to the pure bliss that came with finally having what he really wanted, but his traitorous brain was starting to convince him it wasn’t the joy that made it seem so nice.

He had never gone without food. His parents always made sure he had clothes that mostly fit and the school supplies he needed. They paid for his hockey gear and the team dues until he was old enough to work part-time and start saving his own money; scholarships had always been of a quiet importance in their house. Things got tighter when Jules was born, but they made it work. Remus would always be grateful for that.

Sirius had never had to think about money in that way. Not once.

Remus sighed through his nose as he pulled his battered Wisconsin hoodie over his head and tightened the drawstring of his sweats, letting the comfort envelop him. “It’s not his fault,” he murmured into the mirror. “Don’t get into your head about this.”

Sirius was in the living room when Remus made his way down the stairs with his hands curled into the worn sleeves of the hoodie. He said nothing while Remus began absently cleaning up the scattered items around their junk bowl, though his gaze prickled the back of his neck.

“Mon loup?” came the soft question after two minutes of tense silence.

“Yeah?” he managed around the tightness in his lungs.

He could practically taste Sirius’ hesitation. “Did I—nevermind. Sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said again, though he seemed to be folding in on himself. Remus hated seeing him try and take up less space, and hated the idea that he was the one that caused it.

$200. On sheets.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked, leaning back against the countertop.

“No, I just—” Sirius pasted on a smile and cross the room, dropping a tentative kiss to the top of his head as he passed despite the wary look in his eyes. “Just a thought. It’s nothing.”

“You’re upset.”

“No, no, I’m good.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” It came out harsher than intended and Remus winced. “I mean—Sirius, something is obviously bothering you.”

He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, rubbing his thumbs in small circles over the marble countertop before making brief eye contact. “You’re angry,” he said at last, cautiously. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Remus said, then paused. Sirius’ face fell. “Well, I’m a little irritated, but—but it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t be.”

“It’s not stupid.”

Remus swallowed hard at the kicked-puppy look on Sirius’ face. “It is.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said.

And that was…honestly, kind of the worst thing he could say. “You don’t get it,” Remus said, staring at the floor. “Sirius, you just spent 200 dollars on sheets.”

If anything, that seemed to upset him more. “You said you liked them.”

“I—” Remus flailed his hand around. “I do! But Jesus, honey, that’s kind of a lot!”

“We both liked the sheets.”

“I don’t know how to tell you that that’s expensive!” he blurted as the words wormed their way out and hung in the air. “Two hundred dollars might be peanuts to you, but that used to be my food budget for the month!”

“Remus—”

“You have never had to budget a day in your life,” he said, quieter. “Your watch probably cost more than a month’s rent for my apartment, you’ve never taken public transportation—”

“Remus—”

“—and you make millions of dollars every year!” He paused, out of breath, and ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. “Millions, Sirius. And—and now that we’re together, that we’re living together, it’s just really apparent in a way that it wasn’t before.”

Sirius’ throat bobbed. “I wish you had told me at the store.”

“It’s not about the sheets,” Remus laughed, because there was nothing else he could do other than cry. “We have entirely different views of how much money is worth. You can pay for things for me and I can’t do the same for you, and that feels like shit.”

An unsettling quiet blanketed the whole first floor as Sirius stayed very, very still, like a small animal caught in a trap. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he confessed, barely above a whisper. “You’re right. Money is…it’s not something I’ve had to think about, but I like spending it on you.”

“I don’t like being cared for,” Remus forced out around the grate that had been keeping it down. “I don’t like feeling like I can’t support myself, or that I’m a burden on you and especially that I can’t repay that.”

Sirius finally met his eyes, and he looked appalled. “Remus, you’re never a burden.”

“It feels like it.” He was horrified to feel the burn of tears in his eyes. “Sometimes. When—when you buy nice things for me, or we go on nice vacations, or even when you buy groceries for us for the fifth time in a row, it feels like I’m using you for your money.”

“But you’re not.”

“No!” Remus said immediately. “God, no, never. That’s the last thing I want. But I don’t want you to have to change your lifestyle to make it revolve around me, either. I feel like I’m caught in the middle and there’s no good answer.”

Sirius watched him for a moment, the way that always made Remus feel a little bit like a particularly intricate play he was trying to work out. “What did you want to say at the store?”

“I—what?”

“What did you want to say while we were getting the sheets?”

Remus bit his lip in thought. “Those are too expensive, and I think we should get different ones,” he said eventually. “I like the color and the fabric, but I don’t want to spend that much money on sheets when we could do something else with it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner.” The earnest look on Sirius’ face eased some of the bubbling feelings in his chest. “And I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“…why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing to look at your multi-millionaire boyfriend and say, ‘I can’t afford $200 sheets’, Sirius. It sucks. I feel like I can’t measure up.”

Sirius nodded. “I’ve never judged you for your money, not once. Just for the record. There’s nothing I would rather spend it on than making you happy.”

“I don’t want to be sheltered and provided for.” Remus blinked back the last of the tears and closed his eyes. “I want us to be equals. That’s important to me.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t know how to fix this right away.”

“I don’t, either.” Warm fingers brushed the back of his hand and he leaned into Sirius without looking. “Can we try and figure it out, though? As a team?”

“Yes, captain,” he snorted, feeling Sirius’ soft huff on the top of his head. They stood silently for a few seconds before Remus let go of his tension with a slow exhale. “I don’t think a joint bank account is a good idea yet, but maybe we can start by alternating who buys groceries? Or something small like that. I don’t want to feel like this anymore, not with you. I love you too much.”

Sirius nuzzled into his hair for a moment before lips pressed against his temple. “How about we start by making the bed?”

The pressure on Remus’ chest eased. Making the bed was easy. They had the exact same method for it, a function of Sirius growing up with a militant mother and Remus’ aunts lovingly terrorizing him into learning how to do hospital corners. It was an olive branch that he could happily accept with a light squeeze around Sirius’ waist. Baby steps, he thought. We’ll deal with the big stuff when we’re better settled. He offered a half-smile to Sirius. “What are we waiting for?”

[iguessweallcrazyithinktho]

Baby Nolan - goldfish

Summary: It's here, nolan arrives!

Genre: fluff

Warnings: child birth but not explicit, crying, Nora meeting her little brother

Word count: 1.6 k

Blog appropriate for all ages

Please don't post any of my content anywhere else without my permission!

--

Chris hands were laced with yours as you both sat in the hospital. You were in labor and have been for about 2 hours. As excited as you were to meet your little boy, you were very nervous. It's been a while since you've had a baby of course, and it terrified you.

But with Chris by your side you were perfect.

He was the best husband ever. Getting you ice chips, getting you cold and hot rags when needed, said the sweetest things to you when you needed it, he was definitely a great help, you definitely wouldn't be able to do this without him.

"do you need some more ice baby?" Chris asked as he ran his thumb over your hand. You shook your head, weakly smiling, "no, I'm okay now."

Chris mumbled out 'ok' before sitting back in his chair. You let a very loud groan fall from your lips as a contraction took over your body. Chris quickly sat up and coached you through it.

Just like you, he was terrified as well. He was ready for his bub to get here but seeing you in pain was very hard for him.

Dispite being scared, he knew he needed to be tough for you. When this was all over he knew he would be a sobbing mess and frankly he was ready for it.

-

"okay, it passed." You said as your chest rose and fell. Chris looked up at you with a smile, "you're doing a great job honey, keep it."

You smiled at him, "thanks."

Right after you said that the doctor Walked in. He checked everything out to see if you were doing okay. When he noticed everything was, he walked out of the room and back on to his business.

"god, I want this to be over." You said feeling yourself ready to cry. Chris quickly got up and calmed you.

"hey, hey it's okay. It'll be over soon, I promise baby."

You sniffed, "can we call Nora and see how she's doing? I miss my crazy monkey."

Chris chuckled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Of course."

Chris dialed his mom's number, watched it ring a couple of times before she picked up. "Hi ma."

Lisa said hi back and asked you how you were doing. "I'm doing okay."

Chris sighed softly, "we just want to check on Nora, how she?"

Lisa brought the camera to Nora who was beside her. She was confused at first but quickly recognize her daddy and mommy.

"daddy, mommy!"

Her little voice made you so happy. "Hi Nora, how are you pumpkin?"

Nora giggle, "I great. Is brother here?"

Chris shook his head, "no, not yet. He'll be here soon though." Nora nodded, "oh okay."

You and Chris smiled At your daughter, "well, we're going to go now. You be good for grandma okay?"

Nora snickered, "yeah, okay." You and Chris said goodbye to Nora and Lisa before hanging up the phone. "Uhh, I miss her already."

Chris smiled, "me too."

--

You and Chris held off for another hour or so before the contractions grew closer to each other. In other words, it was time for Nolan to arrive.

Chris held onto your hand ready for this moment so pass. Your heart was thumping in your chest as you watched the doctor position herself in between your legs.

"okay mama, I'm going to need you to push as hard as you can on 3." You nodded, "alright.

The doctor started the count down as you exhaled. "1,2,3, push."

You pushed with all your might. It was extremely painful and judging by the way Chris whined, you were gripping his hand extremely hard.

After a count to 10 you took a deep breath and wiped away your tears. "You're doing amazing honey." Chris said as he looked down at you. You couldn't respond because your brain wasn't couldn't make words in the moment.

You soon returned back to pushing all. You were sweating, exhaled, and out of breath. You soon released your breath and relaxed a little.

"he's almost out. Just one more big push okay." You nodded, "alright."

She counted to three and you pushed really hard, as hard as you could. You felt a very sharp pain before you heard a lot wail.

You opened your eyes and saw your baby boy. You let out a cry as the nurse brought him to your chest. You let go of chris' hand and placed it on his little back.

"here's here." You said softly. You looked up at at Chris. He had tears in his eyes as he looked at you both. "Our little boy."

You chuckled and placed a kiss on the now calm babies head.

--

After your long labor, Nolan Leo Evans was here. Chris was of course instantly attached to him. He went with him to get a eye sight and hearing check which he passed and he also changed his first diaper.

Now here you three were sitting in the hospital room. While you feed nolan Chris informed the family on nolans arrival.

He had a smile on his face that couldn't disappear. You were sure his cheeks hurt. He told Nora lastly and judging by the babbling And squealing on the other end of the phone, she was ecstatic.

He promised her she'll be able to meet him the next day; that was enough for her to go straight to bed which she never wants to do.

After saying goodbye Chris hung up the phone and walked over to the hospital bed. "Ah gosh, I can't believe he's here."

Chris ran his hands over Nolan small batch of curls, he cooed.

"I can't either. He looks just like Nora." You said with a chuckle looking down at the sleeping baby.

"he does. Nora is very excited to meet him tomorrow. She went straight to bed while we were still on the phone."

"that's a first." Chris nodded, "oh yeah."

You smiled, "we should get some sleep. I can't wait to see my princess tomorrow and for her to meet her baby brother." You placed a gentle kiss on nolans head before Chris took him from your chest and placed him in his bassinet.

You fell asleep to his low voice talking to Nolan, telling him about the full life he has ahead of him.

--

The next day you woke up early and took a shower. You got yourself in some proper clothes and spent some time with nolan.

Chris made a run to go get Nora and some real food for you. The whole ride over Nora was talking like crazy. She kept asking Chris when they would be at the hospital and how excited she was. Chris was smiling like crazy as he listened to her.

After grabbing the food, Chris made his way back to the hospital. He took Nora's hand and guided her to the room where you were staying.

He opened the door quietly letting Nora walk in first. Nora instantly smiled when she saw you. "Mommy."

She walked over to you and climbed onto the bed. You laughed and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She looked down at her brother and smiled. "Brother?"

You nodded, "yeah, it is your brother. His name is Nolan, can you say Nolan."

"nowan." She tried to say. You and Chris Chuckled at her attempt.

"how about we get a picture of you 3 together." Chris said as he took his phone out of his pocket. You and Nora got situated for the picture. Nora of course being the wiggle worm she is couldn't resist giving her little brother a kiss. Chris snapped the picture just as she did that and it came out perfectly.

He slid his phone back into his pocket deciding to share it later. Right now all he wanted was to enjoy time as a family of 4.

Family of 4 had a really nice ring to it, lucky he'll be using that for a while.

--

Ahh okay. I'm so happy with this. Tell me what you think

@chris-butt @patzammit @bval-1 @@raveviolet @mrsbbarnesrogers-reading @enn-j @london-dreamer71 @harrysthiccthighss @captainamerica-is-bae @la-cey @weirdowithnobeardo @lovepeacefood @baby-i-am-fireproof @denisemarieangelina @evans713 @smyfmj @thereisa8ella @rororo06 @keiva1000 @ughitsnic @adriannajackson123 @marvelnaturalock @notyourtypicalrose @dummiesshort @onetwo3000 @hhiggs @katiew1973 @andreasworlsboring101 @skepticnovak @funfickgirl22 @hxnesthxneybee @henrythickcavill @melchills-j @franchesca-791 @moonlacebeam @hagarsays

[wizkiddx]

hiiiii i love your stuff - could u do one where the readers ill but they have stuff to do and tom has to look after her. maybe if they were just friends before too but both pining? thankuuuuuuuuu

should I be writing this instead of revising? clearly fucking not. Did I make this little blurb req ridiculously long purely to procrastinate? Of fucking course.

but also this was v cute! I assumed u meant famous!reader, sorry if that's not what u were after at all anon x

summary: Tom Holland turns into the readers knight in shining armour when they get ill during promo

warnings: fainting / feeling ill

///////////////////

It couldn’t be today. Of all days, why today? You’d been at home for two weeks doing absolutely nothing, before this trip. And yet it’s when your itinerary is packed to the brim, people moving heaven and earth just speak to you. Two weeks of unrelenting press for Marvels next big ensemble movie. 

Your manager was speaking to you, reeling off a run down of todays activities but instead of listening you nodded along blankly - head rather cloudy with this heavy mist that was not shaking off, no matter how hard you tried. 

“You got that Y/n/n?” Lucy pointedly spoke, eyes almost physically knocking you backwards as if her eyeliner was battery rams. Fumbling with your thoughts, your answer wasn’t particularly cohesive earning you just a disappointed head shake. 

“I um… yeh I think. Who-who did you say I was paired up with?” 

“Y/n please for the love of god. Tom, like I said the past fifty times.” And to be fair to Lucy she wasn’t wrong. It was the first major major promo tour for the both of you and after just two days so far - you were both exhausted. She was more than allowed to be a bit short tempered. 

“But we-we hardly know each other? The chemistry won’t be there and-“

“As I said, I tried to re-jig it but Kevin is of the mind that acting is your job.” Her tone was sharp but as she glared across the opposing seats, in the little mini van Marvel had hired for you as transportation, her eyes softened. Lucy had been so wrapped up in her own stress she may have overlooked quite how gingerly you were sitting. By the time she had arrived at the hotel, your stylist had already managed to half save your ghoulish looking face, with sunken under eyes and tired skin, so it wasn’t so blatantly obvious how crap you were feeling.  “Is everything okay with you?” 

It felt pretty puny to say that the jet lag from flying to Tokyo had been weighing you down further than you wanted, or that the local cuisine top chefs had kindly prepared for you last night wasn’t siting well in your stomach. To be honest, even you thought it was just your body being a bit overdramatic. So in response, you put on your best happy-go-lucky face feigning a smile.

“No no I’m fine, just want to give the best interviews I can and you know…. I’m awkward as hell as it is, then pair me with the most talented actor that I share about two minutes of screen time with…it’ll be interesting.” 

The way Lucy reacted with a weird slow nod, eyebrows furrowed, meant it was quite apparent you had perhaps overplayed that one. Had you not been so over the day before it even began, you would’ve tried again to give a more believable act. But as you were, you turned your attention back out to the bustling streets of Tokyo and the high rise buildings bordering each pavement. 

You didnt have a problem with Tom, far from it in fact. Tom was hilarious and the times you had met him, you’d both built up this weird and sarcastic competitiveness with each other. It was a game of who could get the last laugh, each of you pushing each other with the Mickey taking just a little further. Of course, not in a malicious way, just the way you’d both lived pretty similar but parallel careers - when everyone drew comparisons between the both of you, it was nice to make it a joke. 

Like Tom you’d also started out on stage, had a ‘big break’ movie as a kid and then spent your teenage years on and off film sets - till marvel happened. Then everything blew up to epic proportions, changing your life forever. Actually, it was so similar to Tom’s story, plus the fact you were also from the south west of the UK. It was bizarre your paths hadn’t crossed more - He probably could’ve been a useful ally in the the whole ‘becoming famous’ thing. 

And yet, you could probably count on two hands the amount of conversations you’d had with him. 

Now that, that was the issue. Right from the beginning you learn what the press want and when you are publicising a movie you cater into it too. They’d all be asking for the insider scoop on set; what pranks you’d pulled on each other; what was the most annoying thing about each other. Which is hard if you’d only had 5 or 6 days actually on set together. 

By the time the cab had wormed its way through the Tokyo traffic and you arrived at the PR hotel, it was already 9:30 - making you 15 minutes late (blame it on the traffic). Instantly then you were ushered straight to the interview room for the evening, no chance of green room chat or grabbing a drink before. The place was stuffy, everything was draped with black curtains except the poster board that Tom was already sitting infront of. 

He’d scrubbed up well, no doubt about it. He was wearing statement-ish burgundy suit trousers, teamed with a black knitted but collared shirt thing - that was clearly tailor made for the man. As soon as he noticed you scurry into the room, his face broke out into a warm smile, jumping up to greet you in a friendly hug. It was brief, and as you pulled back you accidentally bumped your head on one of the overhanging lights. No doubt someone had spent a ridiculous amount of time configuring them so they were positioned perfectly, which you had just ruined with your big head. 

“Oh shit!” Tom just laughed in response, shaking his head slightly as he lead you the two steps across to your pre-positioned seats. 

“Making an entrance as always I see!”

“Yeh, you know me, a bit of chaos just to keep everyone on their toes.”

“Oh is that why you’re ‘fashionably late’” With a playful wiggle of his eyebrows, you just rolled your eyes, fidgeting on the chair to find a position that didnt aggravate  your stomach so much.

“I’m ready now though! What did I miss? Just having to pretend to be your friend for 15 minutes?” You stressed the words as though the thought of conversation with Tom was the absolute worst thing in the world - which you definetly didnt think. Scowling like you’d insulted his dog Tessa, it was almost visible how the cogs were turning in his head looking for a comeback. Unfortunately for him though, he was quickly shut up but the organiser bringing the first interviewer in . 

For what would, no doubt, be a long day. 

////

Everything had started off so well, the banter was flowing between you and Tom, no major spoilers revealed that meant Marvel would have to make the journalist disappear. It was once you hit an hour of back-to-back interviews that everything started to crack bit. Because yes, it had only been an hour but that was enough to exhaust you on this particular day. When Tom joked around you got slower and slower, similarly the  energy was zapped from your own answers. It’s not very compelling when someone says ‘you have to watch this movie’ in a monotonous voice with sullen eyes. 

As the interviewers were swapping in and out, Tom actually lightly nudged your shoulder.

“Everything alright? We’re trying to sell tickets and you’ve got a face like thunder.”

“Oh no-no sorry I just, I-um.”

“You want some water?” Now looking at your with more concerned eyes, as if he was just nervous he’d actually offended you for calling you a boring bastard. And you would’ve picked up on it and alleviated his concerns, if it weren’t for the fact your eyes were glued on the water bottle he was holding out to you. You were thirsty. You knew that, that wasn’t the conundrum. What you weren’t so sure about was whether your stomach would accept it, or more violently reject it. In a very non ‘we’re-trying-to-sell-a-movie’ style. 

But the lightheaded fogginess in your brain won out, as you nodded jerkily, taking the bottle and taking a little swig - too cautious to take anymore. 

Now concerned with how Tom thought you were being a Debby-downer too, you managed to perk yourself up for the next four interviews. They were easy, asking questions without any activity and though you did rely on Tom beefing out and adding to your answers, it was okay. Then the next interviewer came in, who you recognised as being from the BBC, Ali Plumb, that had interviewed you a number of times. From the way Tom jumped up to give him afirendly bro-hug, you guessed he also was familiar with him. As soon as he took a seat the cameras were already flashing with the red light, demonstrating his 7 minutes had already started. 

“Guys! It’s been a while.” 

“How are you Ali?” You started it off with the pleasantries, Tom echoing, before the speccy dirty-blonde asked his first question. 

“So the last time I spoke to you guys the universe was in chaos, Peter Parkers on the run and Aurora Blake was trying to strip her own powers, so I guess my first question is how are you both doing? We can use this as a therapy session if you guys need.” His very typical nerdy joke made Tom laugh, nodding as he leaned forward and repositioned a bit. 

You didn’t share the same humour though, more focused on this invisible blanket of stuffiness that seemed to have been thrown on top of you. It made you feel groggy, incredibly hot and so unbelievable nauseous. The lights weren’t helping either, it felt like you were pouring with sweat from your forehead. You thought Tom was answering Ali, even if you couldn’t really hear  - everything had merged into a deafening roar. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, unconsciously making you fumble yourself to standing, desperate to get somewhere with fresh air. The last thing you saw before your vision tunnelled into darkness was Tom, reaching out to try and catch you. 

Because next thing you knew, you were on the floor, wires from all the cameras and lights digging into your back as you looked up to see Tom on one side and Lucy on the other - both wearing a similarly panicked expression. You knew you hadn’t been out long, seconds if that, going by the fact everyone else was in the ‘oh my god’ phase of panic. It was a bit weird how calm you where, but then again all your life you’d been the ‘class fainter’. Waking up on the floor was something you were long since used to. 

“Y/n? You awake?” Rather stating the obvious Tom asked the question as you bent your head up - allowing you sight of all the concerned facing oggling you. With a defeated sigh, you flopped your head back. 

“If this is a dream then it’s a real bloody nightmare.” This time Tom didnt seem to appreciate your joke, looking at you without almost dumbfounded eyes, as you blinked repetitively and groaned. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Lucy appeared to want to lecture you, which to be honest wasn’t the most time appropriate. You were still on the floor, legs crumpled up under you, so ignored her. Instead you pulled yourself up into a sitting position, taking a moment to blink away the blotchy haze that threatened to takeover your vision once again, whilst the pair above you both cautiously rested their palms on each of your shoulders -trying to be useful. The room still felt cramped and stifling, as everyone around were no doubt looking at you. 

It took a few minutes but your body seemed to get over itself, sitting up normally and trying to make small talk with Ali - who, by the way, was still sat awkwardly in the chair. Still nestled on the floor, your back up against the chair you had been siting on as you raved with Ali of the Harry Potter theatre show. In a natural lull in conversation, Tom perked up - from the door where he’d been muttering with the organiser as Lucy bit her nails nervously. 

“Y/n you need to go home.” 

All of you knew what Tom said was impossible. Not being egotistical, but you were too important. Although you hadn’t been paying masses of attention for Lucy’s run down of your itinerary - you knew it was packed. 

So you just looked up and rolled your eyes at Tom, earning yourself a strong glare, before locking the organiser in eye contact.

“How many have we got till lunch?” 

“Um this gent here” He gesturned toward Ali, who was almost squirming in his seat now “then two more.”  

“And then lunch?” 

“Yes, then you have a personal appearance at a dinner, so transport will be coming to pick you both up.” This poor guy seemed obsessed with the clock and his timetable, looking at your with a mixture of panic and frustration. You should know this stuff, you should’ve listened to Lucy. 

“How fars the drive?” 

“At this time probably an hour and a half.” 

The plan was clear in your head, you’d sort yourself out in the car and be fully fine by the afternoon and evening engagements. Plus you felt almost fine now. So with a sigh, you hauled yourself up onto the chair, patting for Tom to sit back down. 

“It’s half an hour and then I’ll sort myself out at lunch - come on their waiting.” The way Lucy pouted showed she disagreed somewhat, except a stern look kept her from protesting, as Tom walked toward you. 

“Are you sure you don’t loo-“

“Let me stop you before you insult my appearance.” Snickering slightly at his worried face, you laughed it off , knocking his side with a gentle murmur of ‘don’t worry about me’. 

In fact after that little episode you did feel a little recovered, which meant you were properly noticing the change in the boy sat next to you. Throughout the remaining three interviews he’d done a complete 360 from earlier. Rather than trying to get little digs at you, he had become fiercely protective - jumping in if a questions wasn’t particularly appropriate or relevant to the movie ( meaning when an awfully crap man asked what underwear you’d been able to wear in your suit) ; taking the heat of the conversation as well as just watching you like a hawk. Each time you answered his beady brown eyes were watching you from the side, you got the impression it wasn’t only just because of the risk of spoilers. 

Quite remarkably, you survived the rest of the day pretty well, after a power nap in the car on the way over - even if it was a bit difficult when you had your manager watching you like a hawk from the seat across. It was as if Lucy had never seen anyone ill before, she seemed concerned that you were going to spontaneously stop breathing and die at any point. 

Though by the time all the official business at the dinner was done, your body and willpower had reached the end of their tether. You and Tom were both on a round table, surrounded by 6 CEOs and execs of what seemed to be a multimillion pound business enterprise. With the language barrier meaning you had to speak through the two people on the table who were fluent in both japanese and English, the conversation was already pretty jilted. Though to be fair, the six did seem to be enjoying the evening - something you werent able to reciprocate. Thankfully, five minutes after the main course dishes had been collected, Tom spoke up from his position opposite you.

“This has been lovely and we really appreciate your time and generosity but me and Y/n have a really early start tomorrow so I think we should probably get back to the hotel.” You swore in that moment you could’ve kissed him, and it looked like Tom could tell - by the way your shoulders sagged and you let out an exhale of pure relief. Apparently even if you’d managed to convince the hosts you were enjoying the evening, Tom easily saw through the performance. After some hurried goodbyes, Tom led you out of the hall with his hand hovering over your lowerback, trying to make sure your exit was as discreet as possible. 

Away from the bubble of chatter and activity, in the deserted hallway, Tom stopped you - lightly holding both hands on each of your arms. 

“Wheres your team?” 

“Um Luce is back at the hotel, she was trying to see if she could reschedule any of my stuff tomorrow.” You winced at the way he sighed, realising you were all on your own in some random business event hall in Tokyo.

“Harry -my brother- is waiting in the car at the front - is that okay?”

“No Tom, don’t worry abo-“

“Yeh well I am and I think you feel ten times worse than you’re letting on.” He spoke harshly, like a school teacher telling you off - except the hint of a kind smile at the end was a dead giveaway. 

“You sure?” 

With a relieved nod (Tom had thought you might be a bit more stubborn - you obviously were really really ill) he wordlessly shrugged his suit jacket off, wrapping it round your shoulders. He muttered something about not wanting you to catch a chill but to be quite honest you were a bit distracted by the woody cedar smell of Toms aftershave that enveloped your senses. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being fussed on by him? To be fair he wasn’t wrong either, you were in a strapless evening dress - you would’ve preferred to be in joggers, but Marvels press team had other ideas. 

After a quick pit stop at the toilets, the two of you managed to make an unnoticed escape out the building - into a big SUV which had seconds prior pulled up onto the steps. You literally melted into the nearest window seat, body hunching over as you probably crumpled Tom’s jacket beyond belief. 2 seats along from you, a frizzy haired boy gave you a sympathetic smile, which you returned weakly whilst muttering a ‘hi’. Meanwhile, Tom pulled the sliding door shut, sitting across from you. 

“Oh Y/n this is Harry and Harry this is Y/n.” In unison both of you replied with an ‘I know’ eye roll. Your response was somewhat more shocking to both Holland boys, you could tell from the way they had this whole nonverbal conversation with their eyes - they were very clearly brothers. Needing to explain you continued. “I like to keep tabs on my castmates, I’ve seen you on Toms instagram.” That had both boys smirking, Harry presumably just because you knew who he was; Tom more smugly, you’d just given away you slightly stalked him on instagram. 

Silence reigned for a moment, as the driver put his foot down slightly. 

“How you doing?” Tom asked. 

“Mhm…” you thought for a second, how to eloquently describe the sensation. 

“shit.” 

Both boys chuckled a little and even though you had closed your eyes in an attempt to dull the throbbing behind your temples, you could feel the eyes on you. 

“You want the music off?” Harry asked, referring to the indie-rock coming quietly out the speakers of his laptop, which was resting on his lap. With a shake of your head you refused, even if really silence probably would help your head, you were already causing the two Hollands enough trouble - no need to bore them during the journey back into central Tokyo, especially when you weren’t the most enthusiastic company ever. 

Thankfully the music stayed on a low volume, whilst the car seemed to settle into a comfortable silence. With a long exhale you fluttered your eyes open, seeing Tom focused on his phone, before you rested the side of your head against the black-out glass. Taking some relief from the cool glass, you huddled further into the corner of the car against the door.

Floating in the space between sleep and wakefulness, you were kind of aware of your head occasionally bobbing and jerking about - but really didn’t have the energy or willpower to do anything about it. Instead, the thing that perked your attention was hearing some supposed-whispering from inside the body of the car.

“I know she said she didn’t care but she was clearly lying-“ 

“Like you know! You’ve been desperate to try and spend some time with Y/n- maybe you poisoned her just so you could be all knight-in-shini-“

“Turn. The. Music. Off.” Tom sounded scathing now, and with a grumble from your other-side the cheery drum beats ceased.

“Happy now?” …and Harry was sarcastic. 

“Swap places with me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“Why?”

“So she can lie down.” 

“Well no because you would still be in the way if we swapped.”

“Yeh but she can lie on my lap idiot.”

“She can lie on me.”

“She doesn’t know you!”

“Well for 1, barely ten minutes ago she said she did know me. And 2, she doesn’t know you any better!”

If this was their version of whispering, you would love to hear what volume ‘shouting’ was. There was no reply for a short while, you imagined the two brunettes locked in some intense staring match.The next time Tom spoke he sounded more defeated - almost begging. 

“If I admit you beat me at the driving range the other day will you-” 

“I KNEW IT!” Harry yelped, the volume making you jerk, eyes flying open before reflexively closing because the light was too bright. There was a little mutter of an apology, then silence again. 

Once agin you must’ve drifted off because it felt like absolutely no time had passed when a firm but gently hand on your shoulder nudged you awake. 

Sure enough the boys had swapped position, Tom now sitting along the seat from you, Harry looked a little sulky from across the way. It was Tom who was reaching over, a gentle and peaceful smile on his face.

“You wanna lie down? Don’t want you to strain your neck.” He wasn’t wrong, adding to the throbbing headache, the cloudiness in your brain and the unsettled feeling in your stomach… now your neck hurt. Just bloody great. 

Had you been your normal witty and perceptive self, you might’ve teased Tom as to why him and his brother had done a switch - but everything hurt and all you wanted to do was sleep for a hundered years. So with squinting eyes you jerkily nodded, missing how Tom chuckled to himself. The guy undid your seatbelt, then sat back to let you balance the back of your head on his thigh, looking up at the roof of the SUV. Already your eyes were closed again, you kicked off your slip-on heels and bent your legs up to lean against the backrest - occupying the position you had been sat in before hand. You felt his hands reposition the jacket, pulling it round so it was now like a blanket tucked under your chin. 

To be fair it was much more comfortable than sitting up and you weren’t even aware of how quickly you dropped back into sleep. 

Though it wasn’t quick enough to miss Harry’s very sulky sounding comment, presumably meant only for Tom’s ears. 

“Still think you’re being fucking creepy bro.” 

<33 lemme know what u think! (would make me feel less guilty for not doing all the work I rlly should be doing aha)

tagging : @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter @hollandfanficlove

[marvelingstardust]

Stolen Jacket - Peter Maximoff (Wandavision) x reader

Request - Hi!! I reallyyy love your writing, you write Peter so well!!!💕 I was just wondering if I could request something where reader steals Peter's leather jacket and then he teases reader about it and gets them flustered😏 please and thank you, babe💕

A/N - ahhhh 🥺💞 thank you so much! I really loved this request so so so much!! I hope you enjoy the fic!

TW: one swear word 🌝

————————————

Picking up the third bag of gummy worms you had found on the floor, you sighed as you threw it into the big garbage bag that already almost filled to the brim with junk wrappers and pizza boxes that had been tossed around the room.

How much food could we had possibly gone through last night?

You had currently been cleaning up Peter’s room for him, as the night before he had invited you over to binge watch some movies together and the both of you created quite a mess.

The stomping from upstairs that shook the ceiling made you chuckled, knowing Peter upstairs with the twins, probably planning some sort of scheme with them.

Closing up the garbage bag and putting it to the side, you picked up the last blanket from the floor, surprised to find what was underneath it.

Peter’s leather jacket.

A light blush spread across your face as you pictured him in it, looking handsome as always, with his hair just the right amount of messy. God, you were so in love with that man.

You bent down and picked up the jacket, pulling it toward your face, taking in his scent. Just the smell of him made you feel safe and calm, like everything was going to be okay.

I’m sure he wouldn’t notice if I borrowed it for a day or two...

Quickly, you took the jacket and placed it into your bag and zipped it up. Then, folded the last blanket and placed it on his bed, then proceeded to take your bag and head upstairs to see what the three boys had been up to all this time.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you saw Peter zipping around chasing the twins as they laughed, running away from him. The scene brought a smile to your face, making your heart flutter seeing how good he was with the twins. Maybe one day in the future he would be doing the same but it would be your kids...

Shaking the thought out of your head, you yelled out to him, “Pete! I’m heading back to my house now!” Hoping to gain his attention.

In a flash he was standing directly in front of you, a small pout on his face.

“Awww but babe, can’t you stay just a while longeeer”

You shook your head, softly giggling at how cute he looked.

“Noooooo because I have work to get doneeee” You said mocking his whiny tone and placed a quick kiss on his nose.

Peter sighed and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Can I atleast come over to see you tonight?” He asked as he placed a few soft kisses along your neck.

“Well I would never deny having your lovely presence in my home.” You said teasingly and he chuckled.

————————————

Once you made it back to your house, you went straight into your living room and unzipped the bag that contained Peter’s jacket. You put the jacket on, it having the most perfect oversized fit, with the smell of him filling the air around you.

Walking over towards the couch, you grabbed your laptop and sat down comfortably. You opened up the laptop, and started working on the paper that your job needed you to finish. You were halfway through getting the paper done, when your eyelids started to become heavy, and you subconsciously snuggled yourself closer into Peter’s jacket. Eventually sleep overcame you, the warmth of the jacket keeping you nice and toasty.

——————————————

Peter arrived on your doorstep at about 7 pm, filled with excitement to see you again. Even though he had only seen you just hours earlier, he could never get enough of you, wanting to be by your side every minute he got the chance to. He rang the door bell, waiting for you to swing the door open and greet him like you always would, but after a minute of waiting, he was still facing a closed door.

He rang the doorbell for a second time, becoming more impatient as the seconds ticked by. Had you forgotten about him? No, that didn’t seem like something you would do. Maybe the doorbell was broken? How do doorbells even brake? He shook his head and sighed, thinking of what to do next.

In seconds, he ran back to Wanda’s house and into his room, grabbing a spare key to your house that he had snatched from you when you hadn’t been looking a while back. He ran back to your doorstep, and opened the door with the stolen key, and let himself inside.

“Ahem Miss L/N~” He called out in a sing-songy voice. “Have you gone deaf or do you need-“ He stopped his sentence when he reached the living room where he found you curled up in his leather jacket, sleeping peacefully.

His heart fluttered, his face warming at the sight before him. It was a wonderful feeling, seeing that you needed him just as much as he needed you. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, wondering how he had become so lucky to have you in his life. He started to doubt that he would ever be good enough for you...you were smart, beautiful, caring-

His thoughts came to a hault when you slowly had started to stirred awake, letting out a small yawn, before glancing across the room to see Peter standing there. You let out a yelp, as he scared the shit out of you.

“Wha- When did you get here? How did you even get in?” Your groaned out tiredly. You were so caught up in trying to figure out what was going on that you had completely forgotten that you were currently wearing his jacket you taken from him.

“I took a spare key I found lying around your house. You know, you should really keep better track of your stuff.” Peter said raising his pointer finger, the spare key dangling around it.

“Mph, Peter you can’t just take peoples things without asking.” You said getting up as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, your brain slowly starting to register what was going on.

“Uh, I don’t think you should be the one talking” Peter snickered, and you furrowed your brow, confused by what he meant. Finally, you came to the realization that you had been wearing his jacket. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him, already knowing that he would never let you live this down.

“Peter I can explain-“

“So you just can’t get enough of me huh?”

“Well I was gonna bring it back eventually-“

“Tsk tsk, Y/N you shouldn’t take things without asking, I’m so disappointed in you” He said teasingly, waving his finger in a disapproving manner. You rolled your eyes and huffed, your face reddening from all the teasing.

He smiled, thinking you looked adorable in such a flustered state. He moved towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I will admit if I knew you would look so exquisite in my jacket I would have let you steal it a looooong time ago.” Peter muttered to you, looking into your eyes lovingly. He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, and you smiled.

“I love you Peter.”

Peter’s eyes lit up with delight at the sentence, his grin widening. All his worries and doubts disappeared, and his heart filled with joy.

“I love you too sweetheart.”