#put those collarbones away sir

[babygorewhore]

Primal

Spencer needs to take out his anger on you after his traumatic experience in prison.

Warnings! Porn no plot! Pussy slapping! Mean Spencer! Dom! Spencer! Sub! Reader! Degrading! Bondage! Unprotected sex! Light fingering! Brief primal play! Sir kink! Crying kink! W.C less than 1k. Requested by my angel @xxbimbobunnyxx

“Spencer? Are you going to come to bed?” You prodded gently as you leaned on the doorway of Spencer’s office. He relentlessly typed away at his computer and only cast you a side glance.

“In a minute.” He mumbled. You looked at the clock.

“Baby…it’s almost three am.” You responded carefully and Spencer snapped his full attention to you.

“I can’t sleep. It’s better I’m here being productive.”

Ever since he got out of prison, Spencer wasn’t the same. Understandably so. You tried your best to support him. Help him cope with the aftermath of the trauma he went through. But it was growing harder and harder to sleep alone. You missed him terribly. It had been a while since you’d been intimate.

“You can’t torture yourself. Please, just try to come to bed, Spencer.” You extend your hand but he narrows his eyes.

“Come to bed or fuck you?”

Your eyes widen at his brass words and your mouth becomes dry as Spencer stands from his desk. His long fingers grasp the strap of your nightgown.

“You have no idea what I want to do to you.” He breathes and leans down. Your eyes drift shut as he nuzzles his face into your neck. Spencer’s lips brush against your collarbone. “But I don’t want to scare you.”

“You couldn’t possibly scare me.” You answer back sternly and he shakes his head. Brown curls tickling your skin.

“The nights I laid there in prison. All I could think about was that sound you make when you cum. It would replay over and over in my head as I imagined making it louder.”

Your nipples harden as Spencer cups the back of your head and stares into your eyes. “Do you think you can handle what I want? You think you can…take it?” His lust filled tone sent shivers down your spine.

“Yes, sir.” You reply and Spencer tugs off his tie. He pushes you backwards, leading you to the shared bedroom and you stumble onto the bed.

“Put your hands up.” He orders softly and you immediately obey. Spencer wraps the tie around your wrists above your head.

“Are you going to be a good girl?” You nod but you feel a harsh slap to your cunt making you squeal. “Use your words.”

“Yes, sir!”

“God, you’re dripping already. Clenching around nothing probably and I haven’t even put anything in you. That’s absolutely pathetic.” Spencer rolls his eyes as you blink away tears from your eyes. “Don’t waste those tears yet, doll.”

You weren’t used to this. Spencer was your sweet, nerd boy who spent his time studying statistics and reading nonfiction. But the dark look in his brown eyes caused your hips to buck as he landed another blow to your cunt.

“Fuck,” you whine as Spencer shoves up your nightgown and revealed your glistening pussy.

“Wet from me slapping your pussy a few times? Spread your legs wider.”

You listen to him and Spencer admires the wetness slipping down your inner thighs. He separates your pussy with his fingers, gathering it and brings it to his lips. He sucks them clean before shoving them in your mouth.

“Taste how desperate you are for me to touch you.” He barks and you gag around his fingers. Spencer yanks them out, tapping your cheek. “Bet you spent a while touching yourself while I was gone but no one can fuck you like I can.” He mounts you, disregarding his pants and boxers. Spencer’s length and girth was impressive. He gave himself a few pumps, the aching red tip making your mouth water. He wraps your legs around his shoulders and shoves into you, your cunt squeezing him tightly.

“Come on, you can do better than that.” Spencer growls and wraps his hand around your neck.

Your eyes widen from his force and drool peeks from the corners of your lips as he makes you keep eye contact. “No one can fuck me like you.” You wheeze.

He shocks you by pulling out of you, his cum leaking onto your exposed stomach. You start crying harder and Spencer reaches up. He unties you, giving your aching cunt another slap.

“Run. Run out of here now.”

You lay there for a few seconds and Spencer gestures.

“I said run. Now!” His raised tone frightens you. He never yells. You scramble up, legs shaking and you quickly move out of the bedroom.

You had no idea what you unlocked in him but as you run to the living room, you feel a strong grip wrap around your hair. You shriek as Spencer’s surprising strength manages to manhandle you onto the couch on your stomach.

“You wanted to get caught didn’t you? That’s why you ran around like a deer.” He hoists up your lower body, your ass up in the air. Spencer shoves inside your pussy for the second time. Cum drips off your stomach onto the sofa as he humps so hard into you, the balance nearly knocks you off.

His brutal pace clouds your vision. “Tell me who owns you.” Spencer wraps his arm around your throat. “Tell me right now or I won’t let you cum.”

“You own me!” You weep and your orgasm overcomes you. You cum all over his dick, giving him extra lube and you let out a pornographic moan that would normally embarrass you.

“God damn, princess. You can’t even wait for permission? I shouldn’t have been so nice to you.” Spencer hauls you off the couch, making you sprawl onto the floor.

He looked fucking insane. His eyes filled with dark desire, mouth trembling with weeks of pent up rage and hate. You were terrified and turned on.

“Crawl back to the bedroom and start thinking about all the days I was your sweet boy. Because you’re not gonna see him for a while.”

Tagging @xxbimbobunnyxx @cxrrodedcoffin @bimbotrashcan @redhead1180 @starkeysprincess @oceandriveab @oceanblvd111 @fear-is-truth @olivia-moo

[mynameismckenziemae]

Every Part of You

Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: Bob shows you how much he loves your body; curves and all. Based on this prompt (thanks @phoenix-rising-starbird-one for the idea!).

Rating: Explicit! This is intended for adults (18+) only! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: smut, dom!Bob, body worship, cum play, ass play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, spanking, uniform kink, mirror sex, body insecurity. I think that’s it.

Please note-reader is curvy and has hair long enough to pull. If that offends you, don’t read.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

"Come in," you call when the doorbell rings, knowing it's Bob, "I'm in here."

"Sorry I'm late, that last hop took longer than expected," he replies, toeing his off shoes by the door before entering the living room, "I haven't showered yet either, couldn't wait any longer to see you...”

He trails off when he sees you biting your lip, looking him up and down like he's a piece of meat.

You thought he was cute when you met him on the beach in a tee shirt and swim trunks, more so later when he had put jeans and a sweatshirt on for the bonfire. Handsome when he wore slacks and a button down on the first date, sexy when he woke you up with breakfast in bed the next morning in nothing but gray sweatpants.

The bottom line is he always looks good. But in service khakis? He's downright mouth-watering.

"I've never seen you in uniform," you murmur as you rise, fingers tracing the color ribbons on his chest, “you look good, Bobby."

"You think so?" His lip quirks before he brushes his lips over yours.

You nod as you wait for him to kiss you, but instead, he kisses the side of your mouth down to your jaw, shivering at the smell of his clean sweat and jet fuel.

"You look good too, honey," he murmurs, his big strong hands finding your legging-clad ass to squeeze, "love your ass in these."

A bashful smile tugs at your lips as he continues his assault on your neck as he walks you back towards the couch, lifting the oversized tee over your head.

Bob loves your body; even the fuller, thicker, and squishier parts you hate. But when you open your eyes and see your reflection in the large mirror in the corner beside the couch, those parts are all you can focus on.

"Let's-ah," you sigh breathlessly when he nips your collarbone, reaching around your back to unclasp your bra, but you hold it up by the cups before it can fall. "Can we take this to the bedroom?"

Where the late afternoon sun isn't steaming in through the sheer curtains, and there are blankets to cover up with.

Your back arches when he sucks a bruise there before opening his eyes, brow furrowing when he finds yours focused on your soft belly instead of him.

"Nah," he replies, continuing when your eyes flick to his in the reflection, "I want you right here. Right now."

Oh.

"Why do you want to go to the bedroom?" He asks though, sensing your hesitation.

"I don't know," you lie, looking away and focusing on the tan buttons of his shirt, "it's just... kind of bright out here."

"Which is exactly why I want to stay," he tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him, "so I can see your beautiful body."

Without thinking, you huff out a laugh of disbelief and your eyes roll before widening at your rudeness.

"Sorry, that was-"

"Disrespect of a superior officer," he interrupts with an exhale, slowly shaking his head.

His body language shifts in an instant as he straightens. Gone is your sweet, easy-going boyfriend. The man who stands before you radiates a quiet, but unyielding confidence.

Arousal races through you at the change.

“I’m sorry Bobby,” you gulp at the new, almost predatory look in his eyes, “I’m just-“

“Just digging yourself in deeper with your fake apologies?” He finishes for you while he gently pulls your hands away from your chest, letting the bra from your arms, “and it’s ‘sir’ to you.”

You choke back a whimper and your nipples tighten in response to his request-no, his order.

“Put your hands on the mirror,” he says, lightly flicking your nipple before stepping back.

You take a shaky breath in before doing as asked, looking at the floor instead of your flushed face and naked breasts.

“I’ve let this behavior go on too long,” he says, slowly pacing behind you, “it ends today.”

“Wha beha-“ you cut off with a gasp when his hand slaps your ass, the thin material of your leggings offering no protection.

“I don’t want to hear anything from your pretty lips besides ‘yes sir’, ‘no sir’, or ‘stop’ if I do anything you don’t like. Do you understand?”

Your heart is about to beat out of your chest as you nod, which earns you another spank.

“Use your words.”

“Yes sir,” face burning at the way your voice shakes.

“That’s what I like to hear”, he replies, the smile evident in his voice as he pulls your leggings over your ass. “Pretty,” he whispers as his fingers follow the lace of your thong down your cheeks, chuckling when he feels how soaked they are taking them off too, “wet too, but you won’t be needing these either.”

He pulls your hips back into his to rub his clothed erection over your ass before sliding his hand up your spine, making you arch your back. His hand slides into the back of your hair and you whimper when he grips the roots, guiding your head up.

“Eyes on me,” he says lowly. Only his erection and the faint pink staining his cheeks give away how affected he is.

“Yes sir,” you whisper.

“I love every single part of you,” he punctuates it with a roll of his hips, “your beautiful eyes that I too often get lost in. Pouty lips that get me hard just from thinking about how they stretch around my cock,” his hand releases your hair, coming around to brush his thumb over them. He sucks in a breath when your tongue darts out to lick it.

“Your neck, God. Don’t know how many times I’ve thought about how good it would look with my hand around it,” his hand trails lower, making your eyes flutter when he lightly squezes. “The way your arms wrap around me in my sleep. Never knew I’d like being the little spoon,” he smiles into your neck as his hands slide down your arms to your hands, “the soft hands that fit perfectly in mine, that feel so good on my cock, this finger” he taps your left ring finger, “will have to hold up the rock I’m gonna put on it someday.”

Your already-pounding heart skips a beat at that. You’ve only been dating for 2 months.

“These,” he grunts, cock surging against your ass when he cups your breasts, “the way these full, gorgeous tits bounce when I fuck you, God. And the little sound you make when I do this,” he pinches your nipples and makes your breath catch, “yeah, that’s the sound. Sensitive pretty nipples. Could suck on ‘em all day.”

“Please?” You whine, eyes falling closed.

He steps away and you shiver when the heat from his body is gone too.

Your body jolts and your eyes fly open when his hand comes down on your ass a second later.

“Is ‘please’ one of the words I said you could say?” He asks after spanking your right cheek twice more.

“No sir!” You shake your head.

“Didn’t think so,” he gives the left side equal treatment before straightening to growl in your ear, “Keep your eyes on me.”

“Yes sir,” you pant, feeling a little lightheaded by how turned on you are. You don’t have to look to know your arousal is leaking down your thighs.

“Love your belly,” he continues, hands resuming their gentle journey like they didn’t just take your breath away with their harsh spanks, “so feminine and soft. Can’t wait to see it round and swollen with my baby inside.”

His nostrils flare as he thinks about fucking a baby into you. You whimper but don’t say a word, keeping your eyes on his.

“And your legs? Christ,” he breathes, rutting into you harder, “strong thighs that wrap around my head when you cum and squeezing tight when I don’t stop.”

It’s a love-hate relationship when he overestimates you like that.

“Hell, I even love it when you put your freezing feet on me to warm them up,” he chuckles, and you smile. He kisses your shoulder before he straightens, “Stay put while I get a condom.”

“No sir,” you blurt, shaking your head.

He gives you a questioning look, “What is it?”

“Take me bare,” you breathe, “I want to feel you without.”

His eyes squeeze closed as his head drops back with a groan. You squirm when he opens them again, hardly any blue is visible with how blown his pupils are.

“Are you sure?” He asks, hands going to his pants button, waiting for your answer.

“Yes sir,” you bite your lip, “We’re both clean.”

“Your period is due in a few days, right?” He asks as he fumbles with his pants before guiding his cock between your legs.

“Yes sir,” you laugh breathlessly that he knows your cycle that well as he pushes in easily even though hasn’t touched you there yet.

“Oh fuck,” his voice gets higher as he feels you for the first time without a barrier, “this pussy was made for me,” he groans, heading lolling back, “You’re so wet and warm.”

Your fingers turn white as your grip tightens on the edge of the mirror, whimpering as he fucks into you with fast, rough thrusts.

“And-and these hips, baby,” he pants, giving away he’s growing close. His fingers flex against them hard enough to bruise, “thick and full and the perfect place to hold while I make a mess of you.”

“Yes!” You nod, catching yourself quickly, “Sir! Yes sir!”

Even without any stimulation to your clit, you could cum like this. If he keeps going just that…

“Ah! Sh-shit!” He gasps, pulling out suddenly.

A strangled whine leaves you as he suddenly pushes between your cheeks to release there and across your lower back. A shiver wracks your body as you feel the warm evidence of his release.

“Mmm,” he hums as he releases your hips, sliding back to cup a cheek in each hand and squeeze, “I love your ass.”

You nod along, hardly listening anymore as your body trembles from being denied release.

“The way it jiggles when I pounds into you from behind,” fingertips trail through his release, gathering it before sliding them between your cheeks. You tense with a sharp inhale when he finds your puckered hole, “How good it’s gonna feel when I fuck it.”

“Yes sir,” you force yourself to relax, sighing at the foreign feeling of being touched there. It helps he’s kissing the sweet spot under your ear.

“I really like the recoil when I spank it,” his spent cock twitches back to life as if to emphasize his point, “which is going to happen whenever I think you need reminding of how much I love your body.”

“Yes sir,” you breathe, deflating a little when he steps away.

But he steps in front of you, “Did you really think I’d leave you wanting?” He drops to his knees with a smirk.

“No s-sir,” you stutter when he leans in to kiss your needy, swollen clit.

“Better not be,” he murmurs hotly against you, “now watch yourself. You need to see how beautiful you are when you cum.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

Hope ya liked it 🙃

Tagging my Bob girlies:

@lexixstewart

@dizzybee03

@its-the-pilot

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@atarmychick007

@littlezee80

@k-k0129

@jessicab1991

@lonelysoul50

@landpiranha-blog

@fandomology101

@writtingrose

@rascallyrascalreads

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@sorchathered ry

[uhzuku]

╰─▸ ❝ 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧? ❞ ──── 𝐟𝐭. 𝐠. 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐮.

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: star rail | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gepard landau/reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 0.63k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: jealous sex, dom gepard, degradation, unintentional voyeurism, minor exhibitionism.

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: this short of a piece wasn’t really worth a full layout and is lowkey kinda a mess but eh enjoy what i did dhdbfh

“hnn-ngh-ah — f-fuck!” you whine, putting all your weight against the dark desk that your husband had you bent over. you could feel every stroke of his cock, every slap of his balls against you, and gods above it felt good. 

“that’s right honey, suck me in more,” gepard grunts, big hands cruelly gripping your hips as he fucks into you. you could almost swear that you could feel him in your fucking throat. “gods, so fuckin’ tight — c’mon now, we gotta hurry, i’m meant to be summoned by lady cocolia in twenty minutes.”

“then maybe you should use your cock better so i’d be closer to cumming,” you tease playfully, letting out a choked cry as one of those deliciously big hands leaves one of your hips only to fly across your ass, sharp stinging overtaking one cheek. you smile a little as your eyes roll back ever so slightly from the gentle pressure. 

“watch your damn mouth,” gepard growls, replacing his grip on your hip by looping a thick arm just under your neck, the muscles in his forearm tensing against your throat and collarbone as he tried his damnedest to force himself as deep inside of you as possible. your eyes cross ever so slightly as he hits an especially sensitive spot inside, and he laughs against your back, his warm breath ouffing against the crux of your neck and shoulder. 

“that’s right, what a good fucking slut f’me — feels good, doesn’t it?” you just whine in response. 

a knock at the door has you tensing around him, but he doesn’t stop fucking you. “they’ll go away,” he mutters, grunting as he grinds deep into your heat. “and if they don’t, they aren’t coming in anyway.” the knocks pause for a moment, then continue 

“captain landau?” comes a hesitant voice from outside the door, and finally he stills. you can feel him move his head up as he no doubt stares darkly towards the heavy door, murder in his eyes; the person behind the door was part of the reason that the two of you were engaging in such a filthy fantasy right now. the soldier speaking through the door had been coming onto you heavily when you’d brought the paperwork gepard had accidentally left at home in his hurry to get to work while on the cusp of running late, and the poor fool had borderline refused to take no for an answer, pushing and pressuring you to agree to his invitation for a meal even after you’d quietly denied him dozens of times and even showed him your wedding ring. gepard had come to meet you at the gates and had found you stuck in a hallway with the soldier attempting to get into your pants, and he’d been pissed. 

a low growl squeezes its way past gepard’s lips, but he instead stands back up and returns to fucking you stupid against his desk. you tried to tell him the door was unlocked, but he wouldn’t let you get a word in. each time you opened your mouth to speak the air was knocked from you from the roughness of his thrusts. 

“captain? sir?” the doorknob turns. gepard puffs his chest out a little and wraps one hand around your throat. you stop trying to warn him, realizing his intentions ( as salacious as they may be ) and wordlessly consenting. the door creaks open; gepard grips your hip tightly enough that it will bruise later. a shocked noise comes from the door, it shuts quickly, and gepard laughs lowly behind you. 

“good fuckin’ slut,” he purrs, mouthing at the back of your neck. you moan lowly, hands tightly gripping the edge of his desk. “now, cum on my cock’nd we can have more fun when i get home.”

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[zoropookie]

If we’re doing drool worthy Scara like that, can I request him being all goopy and needy in his feels (not needed to be sexual more of like him clinging and growling that he misses u and wants attention)

— psssttt this is 17+

You expected a lot of things from your boyfriend, but none of the days that you were expectant could have prepared you for the night that he was dripping in adoration for you.

Kuni walked inside of the house silent that night, and hadn’t said a word to you. The agriculture of the area had made the atmosphere chillier, and you both found yourselves relaxed from the tolerable air.

Something still seemed off from his general moods, and you sensed it when you put your phone down to watch him head to the restroom. Your eyebrows lifted curiously, looking back down at your screen but with absent eyes this time. He usually announces what he’s doing to you.

You knew this was around the time that he took a shower, in hindsight. So instead of inquiring about it, you waited patiently, but it gnawed at you. All of the sounds that encapsulated in your ears were almost amplified— you heard the water running, the sound mingling with the reverberating hum of the crickets outside. The house was dimly lit too, so it didn’t aid to the ominous feeling.

The water ceased along with your roaming thoughts, and with the few minutes of silence after that, you can hear him rustling in his closet for something to wear. He emerged from the room after that, his hair damp, clung to his forehead, and dressed in loose clothing.

“Too…many mosquitoes out, right?” You called out softly, your lips twitching. “I know they were ruthless earlier. I’m still kind of itching.”

His figure looked down on you, his eyes meeting yours with a linger of tension knitted between his brows. A vulnerability and raw openness that made your heart kind of twinge in anxiousness. He was different today— it was apparent in the way he drew closer to you, despite your prattles of ongoing talking.

“Fuck, like, the market was really busy! I don’t know how you negotiate to lower prices, but I’m pretty sure I’m on the older auntie’s hit list now. She’s never selling to me again—!”

The distance closed closer and closer to each other, not giving you the opportunity to focus much on your thoughts. “Uh…margarita time?”

“Fuck,” Kuni interrupted quietly, his voice a mere whisper. “You smell good.”

“Uh oh, I don’t think I want to have one of those nights, bucko.” You let out a soft laugh, giving him a nudge. “This isn’t some AO3 type of stuff.”

“Holy shit, can you manage to shut your mouth for ten minutes, fucking—” He couldn’t finish what he was about to say because his sharp eyes were already lingering on your skin before feathering you with soft kisses that made you tingle. “Smell really good..” He murmured in between your flesh.

“…It’s literally nothing but my shoulder,” Your voice presented lighter. “Pretty sure I sweated off any scent today.”

His lips pressed against your shoulder as he went further down your body, fervent gentleness crashing hard on him as his warm breath hitched against you. “Yeah. That’s the whole point,” He pulled back slightly, looking at you with just as much darkness and intensity as he came to the main room with. “Take your shirt off.”

“WOOOOOAAAHHH.” You peeled yourself away slightly before standing up, cheeks flushed instantly. “Goodnight, sir!”

“Your collarbones, I wanted to see your collarbones!” He defended, but by the time he finished, you already rushed to go shower and change into your pajamas.

[xioterep-art]

HEHE guess what? a new P - O - V!

Pardon me if I ever mess up the grammar or some, cuz a matter of fact I don't English good, it is what it is! hahahahaha!

This time it's inspired by this following playlist:

I, Pirate Kaeya x Dancer listener : playlist (reverbed) by sylvia.

Pirate King Kaeya x Dancer Reader AU

Trigger warning: Alcohol? Otherwise everything is good (based on my opinion?)

Disclaimer: The art is not mine, but all the work is completely mine.

This night's mood was exceptional on the ship, with screams of joy echoing all over the place. One could see from afar silhouettes dancing with each other, fire lamps flickering as if they wanted to cheer them for their successful raid.

On the surface of this ship where the banquet was held, he was sitting leisurely with a smirk painting his breathtaking face as he watched his underlings dancing and wasting themselves on alcohol. As his dark blueish hair danced with the soft breeze, he slowly took a sip of the bottle that was in his hand waiting patiently as he talked to one of his men.

"Sir, the dancer is done. Shall I call for her?" An underlying appeared before his captain, bowing respectfully as he waited for his superior's response. The sitting man paused momentarily, narrowing his eye, and then smirked again, "Only a foul would wait, man! Bring the dancer!" The pirate said as he waved his hand, manly roars were heard all over the ship.

Being surrendered by the smell of man, alcohol, and sweat, you appeared, smiling seductively as you walked confidently to the center to the point where those smelly pirates had to step back, you swayed your hips back and forth as your hair waved along the cool wind.

Keeping eye contact with the eye-patched captain, you signaled for the musicians to start to play. One, two, three moves from that damned body of yours had already left those filthy young men around you speechless. Your attire, clinging sensuously to your mesmerizing figure, followed every sway and twist, creating an ethereal aura that enveloped you.

You were dancing alluringly like a flame, moving your body like water as if there was no bone in it, jumping as if no force could bring you down, walking as if you were floating. Oh, and that captivating look of yours, would throw anyone even the King of Pirates into a never-ending bottomless pit of lust and greed.

Approaching the captain of this ship, you move your waist slowly following the melody, so slow that the man in front of you has to put aside his enormous love for alcohol for a moment and just stare at how your bewitching form was melting along the musical notes.

As if he was in a dream, he didn't realize how near you were until he felt your soft and tiny hands running across his chest, he didn't think that you were real, and just for the sake of his sanity he raised his hand subconsciously to your cheek yet as he was about to touch you, you slip away like a floating dream only your scent was proving how of a breathing being you were.

You were already behind his back, hugging his neck, your soft flesh was pressed against his back as you kept moving your hips moving one hand of yours was caressing his well-defined chin while the other was tracing his exposed collarbone.

Snapping back to reality, the man again showed his signature smirk, his eye now lit up with an undistinguishable flame, a flame that could not be tamed and that not even the ocean was to be poured on that would stop it from eating away this man's sanity until he got what he wants.

Slipping away for the second time, you appeared in front of him again, cheers all around you both as you smiled innocently at the dark-skinned man contradicting how your body was moving sinfully. And as you kept moving your waist skillfully while your chest matched the movement, you slid your hand down his arm till you reached the bottle of alcohol and took it away from his feverish hold, his eye following the movement of your torso as it goes up and down slowly as you poured the liquid on your collarbone.

The red liquid flowed along your curves, painting your soft-looking flesh while you arched your back softly, stretching out every inch of your skin to its limit, head held high as you kept a daring eye contact with this renowned and fearful pirate king, Kaeya Alberich.

In a trance, as this ethereal scene happens in front of all these hungry men, they all go silent staring at the dripping reddish wine on the floor, only the sound of the music can be heard on every surface of the ship.

Straightening your back again, you felt your hand being grabbed, looking down you met his beautiful eye with his diamond-shaped pupil slightly dilated, looking at you intensely as he pulled you down, making you sit on his lap. Unfazed, you stare back calmly even when his lips are but an inch apart, "Sir, is there anything that this frail woman has to do?" You asked in a whisper.

Still smiling, he lowered his head to where the liquid was and sniffed the mixed scent of both yours and the wine, "You are so delicious right now, that I can't help but want to devour you in this instant, my lady," he said after some time with a charming smile, "what do you think?" He adds.

Pausing for a moment, you stared silently and for a moment he felt as if you would eat his soul at any second, sneaking a hand around your waist.

"How can I, a feeble woman, decide my fate in front of you, the king of pirates?" You said as you put your arm around his neck with a soft look in your eyes, "Ho? You have such a smart mouth, playing with your words so perfectly," he chuckled softly as he took your hand and kissed it softly, "be mine and I..." He paused as he leaned towards your collarbone again, his warm breath caressing your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine, "and I will offer you all the treasure I find on this ocean," his wet tongue testing the half-dry wine.

Seeing the atmosphere around you, his underlings choose to dance with each other again as if nothing is happening in your direction, bringing the initial mood back.

"I dare not accept such an offer," you said softly to his ear, sliding your hand to his open shirt, "That is a dangerous request, Sir," You added, "this maiden will be in constant worry, what if you find a more beautiful dancer?" You chuckle, "My heart will be in deep agony..."

Hearing this, he looked back at you and then started laughing, "I may sware on all my fortune that you are the most beautiful flower I ever seen in the vast field, Milady!" You smiled slightly, "Even the most beautiful flower withers with time, My lord."

Putting his hand on your cheeks, "If you take care of the flower diligently, it will bloom until the end," he says playfully, enjoying this discussion, "Yet-" As you were about to talk back again, a finger was put on your lips, stopping you from talking nonsense again, "why worry about the future when even I, the king of pirate, fight against foes without worrying about the waiting reaper?"

Hearing this made you stop to a halt, thinking for a while, you looked down with a bright smile, "You are right, Sir," you nodded, "Kaeya. Call me Kaeya, love." He cuts you again with a genuine grin, "Kaeya..." You said with a soft voice that tickled his brain for a moment and made him malfunction for a fraction of a second.

Standing up in a hurry with you in his arms, swaying back and forth, your hair following the smooth movement. He was in pure euphoria, he just found a new treasure that he judged to be priceless as he swore he would make sure to cherish and protect it till the end.

[italicized-oh]

AHHHH HI HI WELCOME BACK!!! Sorry about academia hell, I am sending my well wishes and condolences for the sanity lost there…. BUT!!! YOU MADE IT THROUGH CONGRATS!!!! Glad to see you around again!!!!

In terms of prompts hmmm…. Starbreaker doing some shopping maybe? Unsure if it’s for The Plan or just normal groceries. Small moment of domesticity that I’m not sure either of them realize and/or like?

here you go!!!! hope it soothes the aches and pains of today <3

“I won’t do it.”

“Oh, really? You’ve agreed to everything else. What’s special this time?”

“I just…” Jace rubs his forehead. “I just need you to be normal about this, for once, please.”

Porter laughs, leans in closer to Jace, enveloping him in shadow. “Sweetheart, you know nothing about me is normal. Keep dreaming.” Jace rolls his eyes, the brat. It’s like he thinks Porter will somehow be different now that they’re– whatever they are.

Jace shoves ineffectively at Porter’s chest. “Come on, please, can we just leave it? Just this once? Call it a favor,” Jace gulps audibly, “I’ll owe you one.”

Porter grins sharper, puts two fingers under Jace’s chin and feels Jace press down into them, probably despite himself. “That’s not necessary, and you know it. Just gotta ask me real nice. You know how.”

Jace shivers and glares at the same time. It’s fucking adorable. Like a cat who turns away but checks over its shoulder to be sure you’re still paying attention.

“Um, excuse me?” 

Porter sighs deeply, not bothering to disguise his annoyance. Sees an aproned teen looking up at him with the apathy of those who have accepted they’re going to die. Raises his eyebrow. Ignores Jace squirming against the shelf.

“You’re, um, blocking the aisle, sir. Other customers need to be able to access–” they flick their eyes over to Jace “–the produce.”

Porter briefly contemplates having a staring contest with this kid, decides he is – marginally – better than that, and nods. Doesn’t move.

The kid, clearly aware of having done their job to the letter and no further, shrugs and walks away. 

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Jace hisses, finally ducking out from under Porter’s arm. “Fine. As long as you don’t pull this shit again, in public, for fuck’s sake–” 

“You love it, sweetheart, can’t fool me.”

Jace continues as if Porter hasn’t spoken. “–as long as this never happens again, I will eat vegetables with dinner tonight.”

Porter puts on his most angelic beam, letting his hand drift down from Jace’s chin and tucking his fingers under Jace’s scarf (cashmere, to the grocery store, bloody hell) to pet at Jace’s collarbone. “See? I knew you could do it.” Moves his hand down to palm Jace’s left pec, leans into Jace’s ear and whispers, “You’ll live. Promise.”

Jace has turned a fetching shade of maroon and the vein in his forehead is jumping. “Stop that, you brute. Gods, keep it in your pants.” But Jace doesn’t bat his hands away, Porter notes, and Jace only grumbles slightly louder than normal for the rest of their errands. 

What a cunt, Porter thinks, fondly. Can't fuckin' believe I'm gonna marry him.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕍: 𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

Summary: As promised, Chidi helps Vincent get out of his fencing clothes.

TW: smut (anal), lack of aftercare, jealousy, bickering, violent thoughts

Author's Note: I accidentally stole the line "I didn't say you could leave" from Evren in this Vincent x Chidi fic that you should definitely go read!

A golden lock clicking into place. Salt. Vanilla. Roses. Sweat and too-sweet cologne, gathered in the hollows under Vincent’s collarbones. Unspeakable scent of something at once princely and animal. Glowing skin, haloed in heat that touches the lips even before they make contact. Smooth hardwood slamming into his back, a weak but insistent hand pinning him against the door by the throat, a velvet tongue forcing its way between his teeth. Chidi felt these sensations hurled at him, like diamonds thrown into his lap. A hardness that physically struck him, so sudden and powerful it ached.

And then it pulled away just as suddenly. “Déshabillez-vous. [Strip.]”

Of course, Chidi obeyed. He was naked in front of the Comte now, and anything could happen to him. Vincent could humiliate him, mock him, even report him for indecency just for a laugh. And he didn’t care. It was only in his own eagerness that he realized how badly he had wanted this, that he had pined for it not just in these strange few days, but for years. Probably from the first moment he laid eyes on Vincent and felt something devastatingly vulnerable stirring beneath those glassy green irises.

That same vulnerability was stirring there even now as the Comte surveyed him, a hunger for soul-deep contact, a demand to be seen and to be worshipped. What was it, exactly? How was it conveyed? Was it in that half-lidded, unfocused sort of drooping? The way those pupils seemed to fix on no particular point and then to fix on him for just a fraction of a second, not daring to look for any longer? Whatever it was, it made him ravenous, it hardened his muscles to the point of trembling as his whole body tried to become Vincent’s rock, Vincent’s safe place to rest.

Was this really happening? He pulled away the fencing jacket with pure reverence, slid the puckered fabric of white slacks down over endless thighs until a pretty, glistening, rosy thing exposed itself to him, stealing his breath. He was really seeing his master’s cock, after trying not to picture it, trying to respect it, trying not to even look there... And now he could stay there, kneeling, to slip Vincent’s shockingly delicate feet out of now-scuffed white shoes, with that gorgeous length (proportionate to the Comte’s height) at the level of his lips.

All he wanted was to put it down his throat.

“Que dois-je faire pour vous, monsieur ? [What should I do for you, sir?]”

Vincent saw him looking, but only laughed. “Montez sur le lit. Face cachée. [Get on the bed. Face down.]”

Oh.

The heavy, embroidered comforter that he had hesitated even to touch a few days ago pressed up against his chest, his navel, his cock. Every thread stood out in urgent vividness, an anticipation of pleasure and pain. How long had it been since he’d been with another man? Not since he had joined the Myrmadons, that much was certain. Their lifestyle left little room for leisure, and even less for privacy. “Monsieur, je suis… hors entraînement. S'il vous plaît, soyez doux avec moi. [Sir, I am…out practice. Please be gentle with me.]”

There were hands sweeping over his ass, as if studying its shape. Vincent’s voice was casual, conversational. “Tu sais, tu es le seul à pouvoir me parler de cette façon et à avoir un espoir d'être entendu. Je crois que je t'aime bien. Tu m'as intrigué, l'autre jour, avec ce pétale de rose. Assez pour que je pense que j’aimerais faire ça de temps en temps. [You know, you are the only one who can speak to me that way and have any hope of being heard. I think I like you. You intrigued me, the other day, with that rose petal. Enough that I think I’d like to do this from time to time.]” The hands pulled away and he could hear the movement of a drawer. There was no warning before the first finger plunged into him, but it was slick with lube, and tenderly, teasingly slow. Vincent leaned forward across his back to take him by throat and continued whispering, now right into his ear. “Et si tu exploites ça, si jamais tu agis comme si je te dois ça ou si tu me prends pour acquis… [And if you exploit that, if you ever act like I owe you for this or take me for granted…]” A second finger plunged into him, no longer so gentle. He bit back a gasp. “Je vais vous expliquer. Est-ce que tu comprends? [I’ll run you through. Do you understand?]”

“O-Oui. Oui, monsieur.”

“Bien!” It was almost bubbly, the way he said it. Chidi could hear his smile. Vincent nipped affectionately at his ear before bouncing back up to a sitting position on top of his thighs. His fingers shifted angle as he did and Chidi couldn’t contain a moan. The soft, slow fucking resumed. He struggled to relax, to loosen up…It was a gift to be treated so gently and he didn’t want to make his master impatient in the midst of such kindness. But he wasn’t waiting anyway. A third finger, and Chidi almost screamed. Whether it was the pain or the stimulation, he did not know. Vincent felt the way he tensed and started rubbing his back, far more concerned for his comfort than he could ever have anticipated. “Êtes-vous d'accord? [Are you okay?]”

Chidi realized there were tears pricking his eyes. “Oui. Je vous suis tellement reconnaissant, monsieur… d'avoir pensé à moi. [Yes. I’m so grateful to you, sir…for thinking of me.]” He forced out the words through the haze of pain and the heat building below his stomach.

Vincent leaned down and kissed the center of his back. So uncharacteristically delicate. But that kindness only extended so far. “Ne jouis pas sur ma literie, Chidi. Je ne veux pas de désordre. [Don’t cum on my bedding, Chidi. I don’t want a mess.]”

“D’accord.”

Then everything drew back, leaving him momentarily empty. His cock throbbed in protest. “Es-tu prêt? [Are you ready?]”

“Oui.”

And then all pretense of delicacy was gone, and Vincent plunged inside him, and all the way out, and in again. He was not remotely ready. Every thrust was a stab, a knife echoing all the way through to the length of his shaft, pleasure chasing every twist of pain like poison on the blade. It stole his breath and threatened at every moment to send him over the edge but he held on as promised. Don’t think about the way Vincent’s hips drove his cock deep into the comforter, hugged at all sides by soft silk and gold threads.  He tried to focus on the pain instead but it only turned him on even more. Vincent was unleashing on him, using him, his rhythm thoughtless and frantic, nails digging into his hips. Don’t cum. Don’t cum.

But neither of them could last long at this rate. He felt Vincent change pace to something totally self-serving, no longer focused on anything except rubbing himself against Chidi’s tightness as fast as possible. The sheer desperation of it nearly overwhelmed him after all. His hands were already clenching fistfuls of silk in a bid to contain himself when he heard Vincent whine, “Chidi… putain…” and felt that delectable rush of heat inside him.

And then it was over. He was empty, face down and still achingly hard while Vincent wiped himself off and ordered him to dress and quit the room. Chidi could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. There was something horrible about it…and something beautiful in knowing that every bit of humiliation he felt was pride fed directly into Vincent.

Trembling, he collected his clothes while the Comte did the same. He had already finished buttoning his own suitcoat when he moved to collect Vincent’s from the back of the plush chair in front of his desk. The desk was strewn with personal effects – clearly the Comte had not expected to have guests in his room. There was, for instance, a letter in clumsy French, signed with love by Santino D’Antonio.

“Qu'est ce que tu regardes? [What are you looking at?]” Vincent demanded, his voice suddenly sharp. But it was too late.

“Je m'excuse d'avoir vu quoi que ce soit. Ce n'était pas mon intention. [I apologize for seeing anything. It was not my intention.]”

“Et qu'as-tu vu ? [And what did you see?]”

Chidi just turned his head to the side, staring out the window. Of course, he suspected Vincent had many lovers. But this seemed like something more. Someone who exchanged letters, who expected him back a certain time. Anger flared up in his chest. How dare this Santino expect anything at all of Vincent? “Vous traite-t-il bien, monsieur ? [Does he treat you well, sir?]”

Vincent snatched the letter from the desk and the jacket from his arm. “Quel genre de question est ce? Vous n'avez pas le droit de connaître mes affaires. [What kind of question is that? You have no right to know about my affairs.]” No, then. Not as well as I’d treat you, Chidi thought. He gave a forced nod and turned to leave the room. The ache between his thighs was quickly turning from delicious to sickening, and spreading up to his heart.

“Je n'ai pas dit que tu pouvais partir ! [I didn’t say you could leave!]”

Chidi froze in place, facing his master. His lips were clamped together in silent obedience, but his nostrils flared with every breath.

The Comte couldn’t look at him. “… Ne le dis pas à mon père. Ne parlez à personne de Santino ou de… ça. Si vous le faites, je veillerai personnellement à ce que votre service chez nous prenne fin. […Don’t tell my father. Don’t tell anyone about Santino or about…this. If you do, I’ll ensure personally that your service with us comes to an end.]” That you die, and so does the person you’re protecting.

“Bien sûr que non. Je suis discret. [Of course not. I am discrete.]” I would not make you carry gushing love letters into a hostile place.

Vincent continued staring off into the corner for a long moment, weighing whether that was good enough. He tongued at the corner of his mouth in irritation. Then, “Bien. Aller. [Fine. Go.]”

And he went, to be reprimanded for not being at his post. To jerk off in the bathroom on a 5 minute break, rage and lust mixing into real bloodlust as he imagined this damned Santino D’Antonio with a polished shoe compressing his windpipe and a bullet hole through each hand that had touched Vincent. Touched Vincent without being worthy.

He barely heard Fritz prattling on next to him about how Mrs. Harkan had been spotted alive in Paris. Those five Myrmadons had died in vain, and their replacements wouldn’t be here for another…however long. He just nodded along, daydreaming about catching a train to Italy in the night, and trying to picture what kind of face he might pistol whip when he got there.

Only one sentence reached his brain. “Clever of you to let the Comte win earlier.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Really? And what did you do afterwards? Because – “

“Keep your voice down or better yet, shut the fuck up. You have no idea what you’re talking about. He’d never consider me anyway. His type is crime bosses, models, honest-to-god princesses. Maybe he toys with me but I know my place. Now drop it.”

Fritz looked at his friend with something approaching pity and said nothing more. Good, then. He had no more suspicions. Chidi’s chest felt very heavy, but if this was what it cost to be by Vincent’s side, protecting him, he’d do it. He’d live in secret, untrusted, thankless, for as long as it took. Yes, he knew his place. His place was right below his master…and above everyone else in the world.

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Image Sources: 1 2

[crepe-of-wrath]

Shouta Scarf-ish Saturday

notes/warnings: no smut; this is sort of a Courtly Love-ish/neo-medieval Romantic AU setting; not meant to be historically accurate in any way; Author liked Sleeping Beauty as a child and apologizes in advance; Reader is the Young Queen and Aizawa is the Old King's Young Knight; this will be at least a couple of parts Very loosely inspired by THIS ART from My Hero: Ultra Impact

The sun's light and warmth woke you up, but not in the way you were used to. Instead of being mediated through glass panes and curtains, the light was immediate and unfiltered, and the warmth had a sort of intensity that was rather delicious against your collarbone and calves.

You were outside. Animals and insects chirped and buzzed. The wind whistled through branches that were dotted with the buds of early spring. There was the faintest smell of flowers, though you couldn't tell what kind.

You were in a hammock made of some dingy grey webbing in what appeared to be an ancient, forgotten bower. You smiled fondly. How kind of your husband to see to you like this. What sort of surprise outing had he planned? Even though he was so much older than you, he took such good care of you, just like your own father had. You wondered where he was...

You gently sat up, laughing at how the hammock shook. The smile and laughter died on your lips when you saw the man who was sitting under the tree. It was Sir Shouta, a man who made you feel very different things than what you felt for your kindly, kingly husband. The two of you locked eyes for a moment before you looked away.

Your eyes darted back to the hammock and you shook your head, as though that would clear your head and help your grasp your situation. Your brain started to fit the pieces together. The hammock--it was *the scarf* that was usually looped around his neck.

You looked back up and Sir Shouta now had his eyes cast down.

"Please," he said to you in his deep voice. "At your feet, my lady. Please."

You realized one of your simple robes was crumpled at the foot of the hammock. As your body struggled to put it on as quickly as possible, your mind struggled to try and remember how you had gotten here. To your horror, all you could remember were unconnected scenes and sounds: swords clashing, screams of panic, your husband weighed down by his armor, but still issuing battle cries.

Your breathing got shakier.

With tremulous voice, you tried to be polite and courtly, as you asked, "Sir Shouta, g-good morning. What's happened?"

"May I approach, Your Highness?"

"Of course." You tightened your robe around you.

He knelt--he was so tall, after all--next to your hammock. You wondered how he wasn't sweating under all his black leather. His face was calm, unmarred save for the crescent scar under his eye, but his eyes betrayed his worry.

"As a precaution, Your Highness, the King instructed me to take you into the woods to keep you safe while he and my companions deal with the traitors who attacked the castle."

He stopped and swallowed as though he feared your reaction to what was to come.

"You were given a sleeping draught, which is why you may not remember everything. Please forgive me, Your Highness, in the heat of the battle it did not occur to any of us that doing so would leave you unable to dress yourself for bed. I-I am sorry, Your Highness. I swear to you on my honor as a knight, I took no liberties."

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and not because of the sun, and your lips almost curved upward before you schooled them into neutrality. Sir Shouta had stripped you down to your chemise! You could not stop your eyes from looking at his big, strong hands. More than once, you had watched how those hands grasped the sword at his waist, treating the hilt with both firm command and great sensitivity, and it made you feel lightheaded to think that he might have grasped you in the same way too. Had he cradled you against his chest as he tended you? Had his dark hair grazed your skin? Why were you cursed not to remember?

You focused on his face again and realized he was still waiting for you to respond, waiting for you to confirm you weren't angry with him. Gently, you touched one of his vambraces and said, "We do what necessity dictates, Sir Shouta."

"You are gracious, Your Highness," he replied. You thought you saw the faintest bit of color in his cheeks, but then it was gone and you realized your mind was playing tricks on you.

"I will be back very soon," said Shouta. "I must get you something to eat and drink."

[sabraeal]

Tenderness Like a Bruise, Chapter 2

[Read on AO3]

Took a small break from frantic bingo writing to make this for @puffdragongirl‘s birthday! Robin asked for MORE OD ANA, and since I had always meant to continue with this fic...I was happy to tack another chapter on!

The petal and wings of Wisteria may burst across this man’s throat, but he’s no royal messenger Od Ana’s ever seen. Too young, for one; his pale hair fluffs out from his scalp like a chick’s feathers, kind that shouldn’t be wandering so far out from under their mother’s nethers. His daemon’s been ridden hard too, her flanks heaving the way an experienced rider would never allow. 

Still, she’s got enough spirit in her to give Od Ana one of those wall-eyed stares, the kind that shows white all around. That’s what they get, having their reputation precede them like it does. The prince’s messenger and his witch daemon. Sometimes he’s got her so far away you can’t even see her. Can’t trust a man like that. 

They’re lucky that daemon doesn’t take more after a horse and balk for the shock of it.

Ah, but whatever she thinks of its bearer, the bad news is stamped with the royal seal all the same. “There’s the message. From the prince himself!”

There’s a certain amount of pomp to these things; the messenger holds it out, a little square that can’t have much more than a handful of lines scrawled on it, and bows like it’s some lordly edict. And for all that, Obi sits back in his hips and takes it, opening it with little more than a flick of his wrist.

There’s a trick to it, of course: apply the correct amount of force at the right angle and wax sheers from the sheet without even clipping the Wisteria wings. But messenger boy doesn’t know it; he just stands there gawping like he just fell off the wagon, impressed by nothing more than a party trick. Od Ana hopes for his sake he learns to hide it better. There’s plenty of thorns in Wistal’s garden that would enjoy having a bumpkin in their pocket. The king, for starters.

“Ah, but also...Sir Obi...on my way here...”

Od Ana glances up, claws flexing over collarbone, and, ah, she’s seen that wide-eyed gaze before, that starry shine. She may have no name to put to a face for him, but it looks like whatever reputation has wended its way back to Wistal has more in common with Hiro’s hero worship than city folk superstition.

The messenger’s reedy voice drops to a whisper. “I heard news about the string of attacks on noblemen.”

Obi glances up, the bristle of his hair brushing her feathers. “Oh yeah? A new development?”

“Well...” Under Obi’s direct attention, the boy shies the way young men do at a pretty girl’s doorstep. “They say that the lead suspect is, ah...”

Hisame Lugis. The name springs to her beak on reflex, instinct. She’s only seen the man once, malingering at the edges of a ballroom, but she’s heard enough about that little ladder-climber to know he’s the sort that wouldn’t be shy sharing a few knives to the back among friends. Especially if those lucky pals were thinking about putting their grubby paws on the same heiress of Seiran.

“...Sir Mitsuhide Lowen.”

The papers flutter to the cobbles, Obi’s hands boneless above them. “What?”

Obi might have a memory like a steel trap, but between the two of them, it’s Od Ana who reads faster. She hunches over his shoulder, skimming the prince’s sloping script, and still, she can’t put it all together, can’t make it make sense. The lords, the murders, Sereg, Mitsuhide. Maybe from a distance the edges blur into a big picture, like one of those fancy paintings in Wistal’s galleries, but from here, on the ground, she can’t see it. Can’t see how anyone would think a man like Mitsuhide Lowen would send another man to do his dirty work. Dust, that he’d have dirty work to begin with.

She’s got a hundred thoughts buzzing in her head, each more nasty than the last, but Obi doesn’t say a word, doesn’t do anything but lean over the stone and stare out over the plaza. Shirayuki’s down there right now, with Ryuu too, and neither of them know, neither of them could even suspect...

Her beak clicks, annoyance biting at her like mites. “You aren’t actually thinking of going.”

It’s not a question, it’s a hope. A blind one, flung out into the wind as an attempt to slow their descent. Because she already knows the answer: he is. And the longer he says silent, the more sure she becomes.

“Don’t.” It’s not in her to plead. Birds don’t have knees, she’d always say-- not where Shirayuki hear-- but, oh, Obi has enough for them both. What’d be nice is if he could stop getting on them. “Zen hasn’t even asked for you.”

“He has.” The words roll off his lips just like that first step he took in the forest. Playful, testing the edge of his limits, flirting with the promise of pain. The next one will be worse, she knows, and the next, all the way up to when it suddenly isn’t. To when it’s all gone. “There’s no other reason for Master to send another guard up here.”

Not unless he’s already expecting Obi to come sit at his heel. That’s how these Wisterias work, of course: everything written between the lines. Obi wouldn’t be sagging underneath his sir if he wasn’t fluent in it. If they both weren’t.

Doesn’t mean she has to like it.

“We have something good here.” And she’s not ready for that sting again, for the burning in her chest as another bond breaks, left to die somewhere out in snow. “Something real. There’s no reason to give that up to--”

“They need us.” One corner of his mouth lifts, helpless. “And if we turn our back on them now, on Mister...”

His shoulder lifts, and oh, she knows that hopeless look all too well. If we don’t go, his smile says, then we aren’t who she thinks we are.

The worst part is: he’s right.

“Shirayuki,” Suzu observes, far too mild. “Your flask is going to boil over.”

“What? Oh!” With a blink, the apparatus comes into focus, and ah, yes, that is too rigorous a roil when she’s looking for something just a hair above a simmer. “Ah, thank you.”

His shoulders shrug the way a hanger might, all wires and sharp edges, coat surviving through sheer hardiness of the fur. “Don’t mention it.”

And just like that, he walks away. No, ‘gee, Shirayuki, what’s got you so distracted?‘ or ‘is there something on your mind?’ Hermia gives a sympathetic blink,  but she doesn’t so much as croak to slow him down either, just sits on his shoulder like a moss does on a log while he wends around the lab, aimless.

Shirayuki sighs, turning the valve on her burner until the flame flickers at a much cheerier orange. Fiddles with the legs on her alembic’s stands for good measure too; anything to keep her mind from drifting back out to the market, to the stairs she’d watched for nearly half an hour before Suzu came to distract her with work. His work, specifically, but it had been better than sitting on cold stone and wondering.

“Worrying,” Perkunas hums, paws catching her around the ankle. “You’d been worrying. Like you are now.”

“I’m not,” she snips, because she isn’t, not at all. It’s just that Obi and Od Ana exchanged one of those glances of theirs before they left, the kind that came just before a blizzard blew down from the mountains, or before adopted brothers climbed up a balcony to steal her away to the mountains. The kind that said trouble was coming, and they’d have to put themselves right in its path.

Not that she’s been turning that over in her head all afternoon. She hasn’t. It’s just been there, tugging at her thoughts the same way Perkunas tugs at her patience, siphoning off gulps of her attention until--

Well, until things boil over. Which she’s half tempted to do as well, if Perkunas can’t leave her hem alone. “Oh, honestly,” she huffs, ducking down to glower at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be the wise one?”

He only stares back, all glossy eyes and innocence, as if one of his claws weren’t already caught around a stitch. If only she were Od Ana, she could click her beak right at him and let him know just how close he’s coming to her limit, and--

The lab door clanks against the shelves, her only warning before an all-too familiar voice calls out, “My Lady!”

It’s impossible to tell who cries “Obi!” first, but it’s Perkunas who trundles down the stairs so quick it yanks at their tether, hard enough that she hits a hip against the table trying to follow. She hobbles over to the top of the staircase just in time for his head to butt into Obi’s shin, and oh, she feels that all the way back in her mouth, molars jittering together with every descending step.

The hand that scritches behind Perkunas’s round little ears is thoughtless, a habit, but when Obi stops in front of her, smile stitched poorly into place, the space he leaves is purposeful. For a moment, she wishes he might reach for her, might catch her elbow in a palm, but instead he turns to a spooked Suzu and lilts, “Sorry about that. Mind if I whisk her away for a minute?”

“Uh?” Suzu glances between them, wide-eyed. “Go ahead.”

Hermia ruffles her feathers, all mouth when she adds, “Doubt we could stop you.”

It’s Od Ana’s place to click her beak, to drawl a clear, you got that right, but--

But she’s not here. And that, more than anything, makes her breath catch, makes her practically gasp out, “Lead the way.”

It’s strange to see Obi how the guards must, his back to the pillar and arms folded, all his usual warmth filed away for professionalism. Perkunas scampers after him, parking his round bottom right over one of his boots, and-- and it’s the sort of thing that might make her laugh, if he could meet her eyes.

“According to the messenger--” Obi’s voice echoes in the empty hall, a low, rasping thing made for grim conversations and even grimmer secrets “--the royal guard is sending a messenger to Sereg to basically put Mitsuhide under arrest.”

“That’s...” Her tongue plumbs the cavern of her mouth, suddenly strange with unfamiliar words. “That’s absurd. H-how? Why?”

One of his shoulders shrugs, the lazy sort he used to do back when he spent more time hanging down from trees than with his feet on the ground. From when she used to wonder if he had a daemon at all. “The decision is based on the testimony of this knight, Taws.”

And who is he? she wants to ask. How is his word worth so much more than a man like Mitsuhide’s?

All she manages is a strangled, “Mm.” Partially from the anger constricting her throat, and partially--

Ah, well, it’s distracting for Perkunas to paw at him like that, hopping around and bapping at his waist, enough that the wool scratches at her own hands. And when Obi bends down, scooping him up...

“Master didn’t mention any of it in his letter,” he grunts, arranging the chubby body over his shoulder. Perkunas trills, the round dome of his head bonking into Obi’s jaw once, twice, before he figures out how to fit beneath it, like a child who had long outgrown a lap but is loath to admit it. “So I guess he probably hasn’t heard. Yet.”

Shirayuki smooths a palm over her waist; it does nothing for the phantom press there, nor the one just behind her thigh, but, well, it’s hardly unpleasant. “Ah...”

His gaze meets hers over Perkunas’ head, and oh, it would be nice if she could fit as neatly, if only so she might be held when he says, “I’d better look into it.”

Perkunas grunts, annoyed. “Why?”

Obi’s mouth pulls thin. “Because I know for a fact what kind of person Mitsuhide is.”

That steadies her, makes her knees feel more solid than commissary jelly. “Yeah,” she breathes, giving her head a stiff nod. “So do I.”

“What about us?” Perkunas whines, wiggling in his arms. “Do you think they might come after us?”

Obi’s grip stiffens, eyes pulsing wide.

“I won’t let that happen,” he promises, pulling Perkunas closer. He gets another head butt for his troubles. “You just stay here in Lilias, the both of you.”

“But--”

“Okay.” It’s a betrayed look her daemon turns to her, his clownish face rumpled in a grimace, but she just stares at him, serious. “We’ll stay put, if that’s what will help.”

Obi lets out a sigh, his whole body slumping down the pillar in relief, Perkunas cradled tight against his chest. “Yeah, it sure will.”

His head lifts, and Perkunas wiggles again, squirming until his back half plops on the the ground, front paws still clinging to Obi’s shoulders. “Anyway, you little sausage,” he laughs, scrubbing him behind the ears. “If they were gonna threaten Master through you, it wouldn’t make sense to go round about it like this. No--” his brows tilt, thoughtful “--they’re after him and the aides. I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t like it.” It’s so easy for Perkunas to say those things, to play the petulant child when he’s all clumsy cuddles and funny faces. If she tried-- well, there’s a reason she doesn’t. “Couldn’t you just tell them...?”

“Nah, they’ve got enough on their plate. This is my job.” Obi presses his head to his, serious as he says, “So I gotta do it.”

Perkunas sits back, arms hanging sulkily over his belly. “All right,” he whuffs, put out. “If you gotta.”

“That’s the thing,” Obi says, smile too tight. “I really, really do.”

It’s easy to keep her head when it’s all just...logistics. Shikito still has to arrive from Wistal, and Obi has a handful of leads he can chase all from the leisure of his desk. Permissions to seek as well, not the least from Makiri, who won’t be happy to see one of his most experienced guards snatched out from under him right before inspections. The more she doesn’t think about dates or times, the further it seems, like that lunch she keeps promising Izuru or Suzu’s thesis defense.

But when he leaves her in that hall by herself, begging off to go send off a few notes before dinner, it’s--

It’s real. Too real. And much, much too close.

There’s a fluttering by the window, a golden shape taking form on the sill, and all it has to say is, “Shirayuki,” and--

And that’s enough. Her eyes blur, and with a single step she buries her face into Od Ana’s breast.

“I’m not crying,” she tells her, because she can’t be if feathers catch the tears before they ever fall. “It will all be fine. I know it will be.”

“Of course,” Od Ana agrees, beak nuzzling at her hair. “It can’t be anything else.”

And oh, how nice that would be, if only either of them believed it.

[the-pen-pot]

Fangirling for chapter 39

However, before any of them could utter a word, Lady Mellifor stepped forward, her gaze shrewd. 'I witnessed no sorcery,' she declared. 'I saw nothing more than a desperate man attempt to assassinate Camelot's Prince Regent. You do not deserve the mercy that you have been shown. The gallows are too good for you!'

'Your lies are the pathetic excuses of someone seeking to escape the consequences of their actions,' Sir Geoffrey added, his old voice resonant in the echoing dungeon. 'Consequences that are well-deserved.'

So, they know Merlin did indeed use magic there or Merlin somehow 'blinded' them to it? Oh, but I guess with the conversation between Arthur and Sir Geoffrey later they DO know about magic but don't mind it! (My reading comprehension is still there but slower.) Good that he has other supporters!

'I've made him forget. I didn't want him lurking in the shadows, waiting for the chance to stab us in the back. He will carry his guilt and his punishment, but he won't recall the details. He will go in peace, and he won't bother Camelot again.' He hitched his shoulders in a shrug, an almost-apology. 'Mordred's not the only one who can meddle with people's minds. I don't like doing it, but if it keeps Arthur safe…'

Well yes, it is creepy to know he can mess with people's mind. But it's for Arthur and if it's for him then I don't think there is nothing Merlin would do for him. Total devotion. It's a good thing Merlin is on their side because OMG he would be a terrifying villain with all those powers. 😲

'No. Not yet. I'll tell him once Vernell has gone. How he handles this is important to the court. People will remember it for years to come. It's essential that Arthur appears completely genuine. This way, he doesn't have to hide anything from the council.'

'Instead, you take on the burden.'

Merlin huffed a mirthless laugh. 'I'm used to it,' he promised.

See, evidence of his total devotion. But we've seen that clearly in previous chapers. I mean, he literarly would take on Arthur's pain (and his friends's pain).

(And I think if Arthur was able to, he would also take on Merlin's pain. Maybe Merlin doesn't fully believe that yet. )

There was a moment of hesitation, and Merlin felt the memory of the previous night at the inn paint the air with its veils. Perhaps it was unwise to offer to touch Arthur, even in his capacity as servant and healer, but there were some things Merlin could not sacrifice. He could reluctantly bow to the common sense of setting aside the desire Arthur stirred in him, but he refused to keep his distance. It might be better for his sanity, but it would be catastrophic for the friendship that flourished between them.

😍😍😍😍 I was glad when Arthur said yes. He can't stop being close to Merlin either. 😍😍😍😍

When he turned around, it was to find Arthur standing behind him, close enough to touch. His chest was still bare, bronzed by the firelight, and Arthur's gaze carried an intensity that made Merlin's heart race.

'What?'

Arthur reached out, his fingers hesitating a scant half-inch away before he traced a line along Merlin's collarbone. 'There was one here, from that same tavern brawl.' His right hand dropped, bolder now, to curve around the dip of Merlin's waist. 'Three deep slices here, from when you saved Lancelot from being gutted by a manticore by putting yourself in harm's way.'

I can see this in my mind like a movie (and in that movie they kiss,🤣🤣🤣🤣 )

This story is making my vacation week extra fun.

I am so glad it's making your vacation week extra fun, lovely, and that it's movie-evocative in your head! I'm so close to finishing off posting Hiraeth on AO3 at last. It's kinda epic!

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

Of New Traditions and Christmas Ornaments

dick grayson x reader

(A/N): Ha ha you thought you were done with me? Well, you were wrong. I felt like I didn’t get enough of your prompts in the first one and I really wanted to write a fic with Dick because I feel like I want to write a lot of things with him and then none of them get finished, so call this self indulgent. Hope you like it @citrinesparkles!

wc: ~800

warnings: explicit mentions of christmas

~~

You’re just taping down the last of the garland around your TV stand when you hear the door open. Your christmas spotify playlist is on in the background as it has been since you started pulling out your decorations just under an hour ago. 

Only a handful of people have a key to your apartment, and you were only expecting one tonight. Sure enough, Dick comes up behind you and you turn to face him and greets you with a kiss and a quick hug before holding up a small red bag. He holds it out to you with a curtsey. 

“For you, my dear.” You chuckle at him before taking the bag. 

“Why thank you very much, kind sir.”  You take out the top layer of white tissue paper and pull out a small wooden ornament. Your mouth drops open when you turn it around. Burnt into the wood are the words “Our First Christmas Together” in cursive font. Under that, your names and the year are also burnt in. 

You pull Dick into a hug, your arms around his neck and your face buried in your shoulder.  

“Dickie, it's beautiful.” There’s a relieved smile on Dick’s face when he pulls back. 

“I didn’t know if it was going to be too soon because it’s our first winter together even though we’ve been together for most of the year and I don’t want this relationship to go away but-”

“Hey.” You take his hand and squeeze it. “I love it. Thank you.” You lean down to put it on top of your box of ornaments. 

“Help me with the tree garland?” 

“Just tell me what to do.” 

The garland around the tree goes much faster when you don’t have to travel around it yourself. Instead you pass the long strand of garland to Dick so he can do the opposite side of the tree and pass it back to you. Once you’ve gotten to the end, you leave dick to finish and start pulling out ornaments. 

You don't have a ton of ornaments in your apartment. You left most of the nostalgic ones your mom favored with her. You didn't even want to relive your elementary school attempt at sports at her house, there’s no way you want to in your own apartment. Your tree also isn’t very big, so you hand Dick one of the sets of classic ornaments you bought your first Christmas in your own apartment and hang the second yourself. And after that, all that’s left is the topper and the ornament Dick just brought you. It’s not heavy in your hands, but it feels like it should be. 

When you were offered ornaments made by five, by eight, by twelve year old you, you told your parents that you’d collect your own nostalgic ornaments. You didn’t need theirs. 

When you look up from the ornament, Dick is watching you, a fond look on his face. You offer it to him but he shakes his head. 

“Your tree and your gift.” You pull him towards you instead, your back against his front. Dick adapts immediately, wrapping his arms around your shoulders so they grasp each other over your collarbones. 

There’s an empty spot in the middle of the tree, right at your eye level, and you gently work the twine over the pine needles and let the ornament hang. 

The tree topper feels less monumental than hanging the ornament was and you quickly stand on your tippy toes to add it to the top of your tree. You turn around to face Dick. 

“Crappy Hallmark movie?” you suggest. 

“Is there any other kind?” 

You laugh, nudging the empty ornament box into the corner of your living room. Dick hands you the empty box that held your lights and garland and you stack the empty topper box on top of those before dropping onto your couch. 

“You pick the movie, I’ll make the hot chocolate?” Dick’s still standing and you take a second to just look at him before you answer. He’s wearing a dark blue chrismukkah sweater, rows of dreidels and menorahs in between rows of ornaments and christmas trees,—a mixing of his and Bruce’s family traditions that Dick ignited a couple years after Bruce took him in. Bruce used to do the same thing with his parents, Dick told you once— black sweatpants, and nightwing socks you got him ages ago. 

“Yeah, sounds good,” you say, your chest warm. 

Dick washes the pot while the cocoa cools to drinkable temperature despite your protests, and you’ve settled on a movie by the time he sits down and hands you your Christmas wreath mug. His reindeer mug is held close to his chest by the hand not moving to wrap around yours. 

Your cocoa is done by the end of the movie. By the middle of the second movie, you’ve put the mugs in the sink, grabbed a candy cane, and sat back down, and Dick’s curled up with his head using your thigh as a pillow. By the end, Dick’s sleeping, blowing slow breaths rhythmically in and out as you card your fingers through his hair. You click down to the next suggested movie and hit play. 

[syunkiss]

He’s so teenage boy

Sir put your collarbones AWAY

Cover those bazoongas whore

[joy-of-life88]

Inked Temptation [a Damian Priest story] 13 Everything is gone

Damian POV

"Ellie! ELLIE!" I screamed as I ran toward the burning truck.

"Sir, you can't go there." suddenly said a police officer who stopped me.

"My girlfriend is in that truck. Let me through!" I yelled at him as I pushed him aside, but he held my arm tightly as he tried to hold me back.

"Sir, I-" he replied.

"Damian!" I heard a familiar voice call out.

It was Ellie. Thank heavens she was okay. I tore myself away and ran toward her.

She was sitting on the ground, shaking all over. Slowly she tried to get up, but she couldn't. Ellie was covered in soot, her clothes torn in some places. I saw that she had a long cut on her collarbone that was bleeding like crazy.

I quickly rushed to her and fell to my knees in front of her. Immediately I stopped her from getting up. I took her face in my hands.

"Ellie, my god, Ellie. Thank God you're okay. I was so scared." I said, covering her with tears, soot and blood smeared face.

"I... I couldn't get out... The door wouldn't unlock. I tried and tried.... I was so scared... It was so hot and the smoke... the smoke.... I couldn't breathe... I broke the window with the glass bottle. Then I climbed out... I saw... Scott running away." she began to cry as I put her arms around my neck and clung to me with everything she had.

"Shhh.... Shhh... everything is okay... You're safe. I've got you, Ellie-Bell." I whispered to her to somehow calm her down.

I could hardly believe what she was telling me, that this bastard was trying to hurt my angel. She could have died. And for what? That his affairs didn't come out in the open? That son of a bitch. If I ever get my hands on him, it'll be his last hour.

"That was so damn close... Everything is gone... He wanted to destroy the evidence so I couldn't expose him." Ellie breathed, sniffling.

She looked over at the burning vehicle, watching as the firefighters began to extinguish the flames.

"It doesn't matter, baby girl. You are all right. Everything is all right. That is what is most important. Material things can be replaced... You can't be replaced. I love you, you hear me? And I'm glad I didn't lose you," I replied as I pulled back a bit to look her in the eye.

"I love you too, D. I'm so grateful for you." she said and then leaned in to give me a kiss.

I just wanted to hold her. Those minutes when I thought I had lost her had been terrifying. Never in my life had I felt such pain as when I thought she might be gone forever.

When I looked into the eyes of this woman, I knew that I could no longer imagine a life without her in it. She was something special. Ellie was more important to me than anything before. Even though it started as a temptation, it quickly became so much more.

"Cásate conmigo..." I whispered as she held my gaze.

"What?" asked Ellie, confused as she began to cough violently.

I quickly came back to my senses and blinked a few times.

"Not important.... Let's get you fixed up, baby. Your arm is bleeding too." then I said after a few minutes.

I carefully moved my arms under her to lift her into my arms. Ellie laid her head against my chest as I carried her to the ambulance that had just arrived.

[ariadnapr]

Elendil x fem southern healer

“The last one!”, you yell from your improvised medical consultation.

The men and women of Númenor had arrived with the first lights of dawn, the rode to kill your enemies, the orcs and save your little town. Now, how the unique healer that was alive, you’re taking care of the injured.

The door opens and a man with white armour appears on front of you, he has the most beautiful blue eyes that you have seen in your life. You gasp and sit up straight, although you feel that your heart beats against your ribs in a furious race. You move your arm and point the sit at your side, the Númenorean nods and approaches to you. And you turn to the different wooden bowls fills of flowers and plants, all of them medicinal.

“Where are you wounded, sir?”, you ask and pray to Valar for your voice doesn’t betray you, but sigh relieve, because you don’t doubt.

“Under a collarbone, an arrow”.

You feel how your veins become ice, later a fire from your chest burn them, and you need to make a great, great, effort to not succumb of his sweet and deep voice. You apart your gaze and put it in the bowls, and rush in your brain to say something.

“Oh, that’s is… gross”.

The Númenorean smiles and from his lips emerge a soft laugh, you dry swallowing and try to not to watching, but it’s impossible. And you can’t avoid smile too.

“Well, we going to watch it”.

The man takes off the armour and open his shirt, you stand up and approach to him. All tension is gone, now you move as a healer that you’re. A stain of blood decors the fabric and has a hole, he got stop the haemorrhage, but now you have to heal it. You move away the clothing very slowly and carefully , you grimace when the shirt is sticked with his bloody skin. The man says nothing, no complain, no sound; but you capture with your eyes a wince of pain in his face.

“Shit”, you mutter.

And then you realize that you said it in loud voice, your eyes travel at his face and he raises an eyebrow.

“What happen?”

You open your mouth and close it, watch the red stain and sigh.

“We have two options, sir: or I rip your pretty shirt or you take off, because I the fabric obstruct my work”

The Númenorean looks to you at a moment, you don’t say if he is thinking or they believe you’re taking advantage of him, but he takes off the shirt and you inhale by your nose because you thought that he would not.

Ok, calm down, girl. Is just a pretty man with an amazing voice. You can do it.

“Is this right?”, he asks, and you have the certain that he’s mocking of you, maybe teasing you? You apart those though of your mind. Not the moment.

You take a wet rag and clean the wound, you put in your movements a lot of careful, as with the others injured. You’re inclining over his shoulder and focus on the hole. Isn’t very deep, he’s a lucky man, you think. Could be worst. But the armour has done a good job. Your ignore his breathe in your face but not how he takes a lock of your hair very carefully and puts it behind your ear. You raise your eyes and meet his blue eyes.

Your heart flips over and your breath escape of your mouth. And you lose your soul when he smiles you.

An outside noise startle you and you realize what was going to do, your cheeks become red and you turn to the table, grab a handful of the best flower you have and make a plaster with your fingers. You try to not think so much, but without lose in his eyes and his lips, damn it. You treat him so professional that you know and bandage his shoulder and his clavicle. At the end, you need to approach to him a lot, as if you were hugging him, you caress his back following the line of the bandage and his mouth touches your ear. You feel more than you see that he’s smiling. When you finish the temperature has risen in the hut and your forehead are sweating.

He puts his clothes back on except for the armour, you take a step towards to him.

“If you have a fever come to see me, try to not use your arm for a… A day? I don’t know when you will leave the town, but don’t any stupid that can get worse the injury”

“Fine. But…” he started to say.

You raise an eyebrow, isn’t the first time of this day that some wounded person has complain about your advices.

“Can I visit you if I don’t have fever?”

You blink and open your mouth.

“Ah… Yes? I mean, yes! No prob”.

The Númenorean smiles and your knees shake, and he walks to the door, and suddenly you remember a thing.

“Wait!”

You say and he stops with a hand in the knocker. The man turns to you, a bit surprised.

“I don’t even know your name”.

He smiles, approaches to you, raise his hand and caress with his knuckle your nose. “Elendil, an Elf Friend”.

[a-gal-with-taste]

His Colors

Summary: You don't know why, or what convinced you it was a good idea. It WASN'T a good idea, and men had gotten killed for much less, than daring to put on your employer's coat and then getting caught wearing it when he returns to his office. However, Silco has an... interesting response to seeing you wearing his apparel.

Pairing: Silco X GN!Reader (Pre-Slash)

Wordcount: 1.5K

Warnings: SFW. Some romantic/sexual tension, small mention of violence, Silco being slightlypossessive

Note: No thoughts, just Silco taking one look at the person of his desire wearing his clothes/colors and immediately going 'Hm...Yes. Mine now.' He 100% is the type who would be smug for days if he realized you were twinning.

"You look good in my colors." You nearly jump a mile, immediately going to yank the coat off of your shoulders, before your boss lets out a small sigh and shortly says, "Leave it," as you hear the door click sharply shut behind him.

Fingers freezing on the collar, you lower your hands down increment by small, small increment as he comes over to you step by slow, slow step. Apologies turn to ash in your mouth as the Eye of Zaun smoothly steps into view on the mirror in front of you, face impassive though you're sure your darting eyes from his face to your own wide-eyed expression is nothing short of comedy.

"Um... I-i really don't know what... what possessed me to put it on, sir."

"I don't know either." He comments, eyes cool,  boring into yours through the reflection. The side he stands on, and just behind you is prickling, and it takes all the strength in your body not to jerk as he reached over, hands going towards your neck. The Industrialist wasn't known for his on-hands approach when it comes to retribution, but for daring to put on his prized coat after he left you alone in his office for only two minutes?

Men had been killed for even less, so yes, you could see him strangling you for this show of audacity, and you close your eyes in preparation, biting back a embarrassing whimper for mercy as you feel hands pass either side of your neck.

Keeping your eyes close, you wait for the inevitable, and are surprised, and confused when it doesn't come. Instead, you hear a faint rustle of fabric as the flaps of the coat-collar are pulled out a bit more, and then straightened, before your skin tingles through the thick fabric as you feel his hands slip down from your collarbones to smooth them into place. The hands remain in place, between the space of your chest and collar, and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding as his voice quietly, and patiently orders, "Open your eyes."

Never one to disobey, you do so. You manage to breath normally even as your gaze instantly hones onto Silco still standing directly behind you. Even though you felt him, you still can't help but flicker your gaze down to his hands on your body, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. As if noticing where your eyes were at, he moves those hands from where they rested, to rest at your shoulders and slowly begins to turn you away from the floor-length mirror to face him.

You stand before Silco with hands limp at your sides, trying and failing to look away from his duel-colored eyes as he looks at yours without any hesitation, and without revealing a single thought going on in his mind. His hands remain on your shoulders as he drops his gaze down, following the coats form around your body while you find your ears start to burn at the mortification of this entire situation. "Sir, really, I'm-"

He trails his hand from your shoulder, gripping your bicep lightly, but firmly, while the other reaches over and takes your wrist from that same arm. Pulling that appendage up and out a bit, you're rendered mute as he runs a rather critical eye over the fit of the sleeve of his own coat around your arm. He pushes up the sleeve lightly from your wrist in his examination, and you feel your skin prickle, and ears burn with the feel of his skin on yours.

His hands are, surprisingly warm. You don't know why you always thought they would be as frigid as the man usual appears, but you suppose not...

"What are your measurements?" Silco asks, suddenly. Opening your mouth, no sound comes out. He glances back up at your owlish expression, and repeats the question again slowly, but again, you just can't seem to form the words or numbers he wants.

He sighs, clarifying a bit dryly. "Your shirt size."

You close your mouth, swallow, and tell him. He nods, and drops your arm, which you bring back to your side as he smoothly steps back, rendering you stiff.

He lets out a silent breath through his teeth with a nod to himself, hooking a thumb into the pocket of his pants while the other hand absently, thoughtfully rubs on his chin. The fact that he's just standing there, analyzing you, has you bewildered but nonetheless on-edge in preparation for whatever punishment he's concocting for you.

It's useless, you've seen others try and fail, but you try to plead your case nonetheless, "Sir... Silco, I truly am sorry for, um... putting your stuff on while you were-" You're voice is halted as he silently moves his hand from his chin, raising his index finger for silence as he closes his eye in thought, the lidless hellfire-black one still staring into the middle-distance. You can't help but feel as though it's still trained on you, and any other words you had in mind escape you.

A beat. Then the tip of his finger does a slow circle towards the ceiling.

You blink. He opens that brighter, seafoam green eye, and looks at you expectantly under a hooded lid and lashes. Swallowing, chest suddenly feeling tight, you find your feet and body doing the work for you as you brain goes dumb in your astonishment, turning in a slow, disbelieving circle for your boss while wearing his coat.

You feel fire race through your body when you hear him hum distantly by the time you're a third of the way through your rotation, eyes immediately locking onto his still-carefully unexpressive ones as you face him again, your brow raised in a million silent questions. Silco doesn't say anything, again a hand rubbing lightly at his lower face as his eyes roam over your form slowly again. Perhaps Silco takes pity on you (more than likely, he's finished with his examination) as he holds out his hand after another moment of you staring dumbfounded while he looks you over.

You can't seem to get out of his luxurious red, black and golden coat fast-enough, although you slow down considerably as he remarks lowly, with what you almost swear is teasing in his tone, "Don't rip it."

A jolt runs up your arm as you brush hands with his as he gently takes the coat you hold back out to him, casually smoothing the invisible wrinkles on the fabric before folding it over his arm. You stand at attention, awaiting for... well, at this point, you have no idea what you're in for, but his thoughtful expression fades back to neutrality as he looks back up to you. "I trust you've finished with your work for the day?" You nod, quickly & assuringly, and the corner of Silco's mouth quirks up.

"Good. You may go then." He turns, still running his hand over his coat, and you don't dare to take a blessing for granted as you turn and speed-walk out the door.

The moment you're in the hallway outside his office, with the door clicking shut, you let out a long huff of air at your moronic behavior, raising your hands to drag your face down as you silently berate yourself-

You freeze, inhale shortly again though your nose. Your cheeks flare with heat, as you realize you still smell the lingering of smoke, seasalt and cologne from your little stunt with the jacket. It's faint, but it is just so... so Silco, you can't help but jerk them down from your nose as soon as possible, arms stiff at your sides as you march away from the office with quick, determined steps to try and work on forgetting this mortifying incident as quickly as possible.

It works. For a time.

It works, until a week later when you find yourself called to the office.

It works, until you stand in front of Silco's desk and watch with a dry mouth as he slowly opens the slim tailor box on his desk, seemingly bemused by your inability to speak as he gestures you into position at the mirror.

Your attempt to forget the previous incident works, until once more Silco's hands rest just beneath your collarbone as he stands behind you in the mirror. Watching how your eyes scan over the altered, perfectly tailored jacket he had draped over your shoulders, silently guiding your lifeless arms through when all you could do was stare.

The popped-collar is much smaller, fabric close to highlight the line of your throat, with the coat stopping just above your hips, but you would be lying if your jaw didn't drop a little more every time you noted the stunning familiarity in that deep burgundy, smooth black and those gold accents in your new coat.

"See?" You let out a shaky breath as Silco's voice breaths past your ear, warmth filling your chest and cheeks as you feel his hands subtly massage into your shoulders. You see his reflection smile coyly at you from just behind, before your eyes slip close with a shiver as you feel the barest hint of lips along the tip of the jacket-collar at your neck. "Just like I said. You look good in my colors."

[scuttling]

Trophy Husband

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 2,188 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad bod Hotch, Insecure Hotch, Dry humping, Unprotected sex, a lil Daddy kink Summary: Requested by anon: “maybe some dad bod hotch smut? like where he’s newly retired and hasn’t been working out as much and the reader worships his body bc he’s been feeling a little insecure” I love some dad bod Hotch, so happy to fill this request! Link to A03 or read below!

“No, we’re not doing forced overtime again. If you want my team to put out more consults, then we need to hire more profilers.” You walk through your front door and into the kitchen, smiling when you see Aaron standing over the stove, holding a wooden spoon and stirring something that smells amazing. “With all due respect, I’m not concerned about the budget, sir; if my people are as valuable as you stated, then I expect them to be taken care of.”

Aaron looks back at you, wrinkles his nose, and you make a motion with your hands—blah, blah, blah—which makes him chuckle.

“I agree completely, sir. That’s a great idea. If you send down the requisitions tomorrow, I’ll start interviewing on Monday. No, thank you. Good night.” You lock your phone, set your bag on the stool closest to you, and sigh. “Was it this hard to get stuff done when you were the unit chief?”

“No, it’s definitely harder now, but you make it look easy. And sexy,” he says with a smirk, and you walk over to him; he offers a taste of what he’s making—it looks like paella, and your stomach rumbles—and you lean in to take a bite off of the spoon, looking up at him and flicking your tongue over your lips. His eyes get dark.

Even after ten years of marriage, he’s so easy to get going, it’s almost unfair.

“Delicious, daddy, thank you.” You stand up fully, and he turns back to the stove; your arms wrap easily around his waist, cheek pressed to the soft, worn t-shirt that covers his back. “How was your day? Are you still enjoying the life of a trophy husband?” He snorts, muscles tensing enough that you can feel it where you rest.

“Hardly.” He was in such a good mood a moment ago that this feels like a complete 180; profiler or not, you know your husband, and something’s on his mind. You tighten your embrace, and he shrugs you off a little, and that is practically unheard of. You stand, take a step back to look at him.

“What’s wrong? You aren’t getting bored of retirement already, are you? It’s only been six months.” He sighs, shakes his head. You’re sure you look confused.

“No, retirement is fine; it’s great, actually, it’s not that.” Typical Aaron, always making you drag this shit out of him. For being so sweet and kind, he’s still not that great at being open, even though you make every effort to encourage it.

“What is it, sweetheart? Something is obviously bothering you; we should talk about it.” Another deep exhale, and he turns off the burner, moves the pan of food off of the heat, and turns to face you fully.

“I imagine you already know.” You shake your head, shrug, and he gestures to himself, to his body. You feel stupid, like there’s something you’re missing.

“Aaron, love of my life, I don’t have any idea what this means.” You mimic his previous motion, and he rolls his eyes, which you can’t stand, and he’s well aware of that. “You’ve got to give me more than that, or I can’t help.”

“You can’t help, it just… is.” He sighs, and his shoulders deflate. You move closer, to touch him, comfort him, but he takes a step back. “I know I’m not the ‘trophy husband’ you probably expected me to be. I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”

You do your best to put together these cryptic sentences, the hand gesture, and when realization finally dawns on you, you can’t help it: you laugh.

Aaron turns away, and you know that was shitty, feel instantly terrible, so you reach out to put a gentle hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you, it’s just… you don’t think you’re hot anymore?” He turns to face you, looking at you like he’s tired of your shenanigans, which… after this long, he should be plenty used to them, so the look does nothing for you.

“I’ve gotten… soft, I think that’s obvious.” At that, you smirk a little, move your hands to the button on his jeans.

“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything soft about you, Aaron. Why don’t you let me put your cock in my mouth, and we’ll check again.”

“You wanted me to talk, I’m talking.” His tone is a little admonishing, and you kind of deserve it, so you stop being horny for a second and take a deep breath.

“You’re right. Sorry. So… you’re exercising less, because obviously you don’t need to be as fit anymore, since you’re not working. Am I following?” He nods his head. “Okay, and you’re feeling… insecure about the way your body looks now, because of it.”

“Yes. Especially when you, Unit Chief Hotchner, are kicking ass and looking fucking delicious doing it, and then you have to come home to me.”

It’s like a switch is flipped in you, at those words. Oh hell no.

“Hold on here. I don’t have to come home to you, I get to come home to you; every night I do, it’s like a dream come true, and on the nights I don’t get to come home to you, I dream about it. I dream about being in your arms—strong arms, always, even if they’re less defined—and I dream about making love to you and fucking you and everything in between. You: not the Aaron of two months ago or six months ago or five years ago. You.”

He looks your face over—you’re getting fired up and you know it, and it turns him on and you also know that—and then the two of you come together for a deep, desperate kiss. Your hands fist in his hair, his roughly grab your ass, and when you pull back for air he turns you so you’re bent over the counter, searches for the zipper of your skirt.

“No!” He freezes, then steps back, and you stand up, flushed. “I’m sorry, not no—just, not here.” He blows out a breath, and you kiss him softly, sorry you scared him. “It’s just that… I want to lay you back on our bed, completely naked, and I want to put my mouth and my hands on you, everywhere. I want you to see what your body does to me, exactly as it is right now. I get that that might make you feel a little vulnerable, but will you let me?” You press your lips to his again, put your hands gently on his face. “Let me, baby.”

He nods, and you take his hand, take him to your bedroom. He’s visibly nervous, so you move his hands to your body, let him strip you naked first. He always takes pleasure in this, whether he is ripping the buttons off your favorite blouse or softly mouthing at your thighs while he drags your panties down your legs, and tonight is no exception.

“So beautiful, baby,” he murmurs as he finds that zip and drags it down, helping you step out of the skirt. You kick off your heels, and he unbuttons your top—carefully, tonight—then unhooks your bra, pulls you close and kisses your neck and chest so deliciously you almost forget what brought you here.

You lick your lips, shake yourself from the haze of submission you always feel when his mouth is at your throat, and your hands flick open the button of his jeans, tug down the zipper, guide his pants to the floor. He steps out of them, and you kiss his mouth.

Your hands move up, to the hem of his t-shirt, but you do nothing. He smirks, pulls it over his head, because he knows you love that hot guy way of pulling a t-shirt off with one hand, and he happens to be a master of it. You do your best not to drool.

“Mmm. You know exactly what I like, Aaron. There’s nobody in this world who could turn me on like you, who could get me off like you.” He licks his lips, and you get on your knees, running your hands down his body as you go. “Toes to nose, you are exactly who and what I want. Don’t ever forget that.”

You start low, press your lips to the tops of his feet, then his ankles, his calves, his knees. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, but you keep moving up, slowly, until your hands find the waistband of his underwear and you pull them down. His cock springs up—this in particular is never a problem, no matter his age—and you kiss up his thighs and then rise to stand.

“Baby,” he breathes, and you lean up for a kiss, drop your panties. He grabs a fistful of your hair, takes another, rougher kiss, then releases you; you’re panting hard, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. God, he’s good. How could he ever doubt his sex appeal when he makes you this much of a horny, eager mess with just a kiss?

You guide him back to the bed because he’s too tall for you to reach everywhere standing up; you start at his right wrist, kiss your way to the crook of his elbow, over his biceps, to his shoulder. You trail your lips over his collarbone, his throat, pausing to nibble on his earlobes, to peck him on the tip of his nose.

“I love you so much, Aaron. You are and always will be perfect in my eyes. I barely even notice when you’re being a dick anymore,” you joke, and he laughs; steamy and sexy is really good, but it’s your favorite when he laughs.

You kiss down the other side of his neck, down his arm, but this time you bring his hand up and suck on his middle and ring fingers, taking them so deeply you can flick your tongue over his wedding ring. He groans, you groan, it’s really hot. Your pussy throbs.

“Fuck, baby.” You pull them out of your mouth with an innocent smile, and then straddle his legs, leaning forward to suck and bite kisses all over his stomach and hips, avoiding his cock altogether. “Oh, god, that feels so good,” he breathes, reaching for your hair, and you slide your arms up his chest, squeeze the muscles there that are softer, but still present, while you kiss wetly along his belly.

“Mmm,” you moan while you kiss, because you’re kind of… lined up tight against his thigh, and it feels really good.

You keep kissing, all over, sloppy, eager kisses, rubbing his chest and grinding against his thigh, and it’s a surprise to you both when you come, looking up at him with your mouth open and your nails digging into his skin.

“Holy fuck,” you sigh when you’re done—there’s no sugarcoating this—humping his leg, and he licks his lips, wraps his hands around your arms, and maneuvers you on onto your back, slides his cock easily inside you where you’re wet and warm. “Yes, Aaron.”

“Oh, baby. Fuck, I love you,” he groans, and he laces your fingers with his and tucks his face against your neck. You love when he gets like this, so desperate to come but so soft, so loving, and you squeeze him with your legs, push your body into his thrusts.

“Like that, honey, just like that,” you breathe, mouthing at his shoulder, your free hand clutching at his back. “Come inside me, daddy; pin me with your big body like you always do and come inside me. Love it, want it, need it.”

He moans into your throat, works his hips harder, faster, and you hold him when he comes, smoothing your palm over his skin. He looks down at you, and love shines in his eyes just like always; your heart melts a little. That’s something you’ll never get tired of seeing as long as you live.

He pulls out, replaces his cock with his fingers and brings you to orgasm again, still looking into your eyes, and he catches your last gasping moan with his lips.

You’re both tired after that, not as young as you used to be, and you pull him on top of your body again, a warm, reassuring weight; underneath him is your favorite place to be, always has been, always will be.

“Trophy husband,” you coo in his ear, scraping fingers through his hair. He chuckles softly, brushes his thumb over your lips.

“Badass wife.”

“Mm hmm, and don’t you forget it.” After a couple minutes, your stomach rumbles, and Aaron climbs off of you, returns with the whole pan of paella, two spoons, and a bottle of white wine. “No glasses?” you ask, teasing, sitting up against the pillows, and he shakes his head, wrinkles his nose.

“Nah, I like it better this way. My lips where your lips have been.” He leans in for a soft, slow, sultry kiss, and you sigh when it’s over, lean your head against his shoulder, and smile.

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