#scar skins you will always be famous

[k1ngsnak3]

New Scar skins!! I got this out a bit late so I can say for sure that Scar is not the feral wounded animal type on red at the moment, but I think it'd be cool anyway.

No lighting version beneath cut

I haven't done done this type of cell shading in ages ngl I miss it

[give-some-lemons]

“Accidents happen”

Pregnancy headcanons with Silco

Tags: pregnancy; unplanned pregnancy; older man/younger woman; topside reader.

~ when you first met him it was an interesting and pleasant surprise for you to finally see how the famous and so fearful Eye of Zaun looked like. A man who aged like the most expensive wine from your family’s collection with a sharp features, a few grey strands in his hair and, of course, a red eye, which you could compare to a comet drifting in a night sky.

~ everything about him was nothing like you expected it to be — his clothes, behavior, manner of speaking was more similar to a topside one and that… intrigued. A man who hates Piltover and its citizens but wants to live and look like them? You let an evil chuckle out, while he pressed his scarred lips to the back of your hand.

~ for him you were an exotic exemplar, a topside aristocrat who’s father was probably his age, but despite that fact you were still showing interest in him, keeping your sight on his face and body much longer than etiquette allows, saying ambiguous things that a young lady of your status should not even think about, trying to get under his skin.

~ at the late nights he dreamed about those gaze looking at him from the bottom up, those lips on the most intimate parts of his body and this silk hair in his hand while he guides you in a way he needs the most. You were driving him insane, leaving him without any thought except the sinful ones where lust was completely taking control of him

~ it was only a couple of nights between two of you, when your fingers that ran along his shoulder or chest was turning a peaceful evening into an act of passion and pleasures. When his previous meeting was so unsuccessful that the next second you walked in his office you were finding yourself on his desk with his lips on the soft skin of your neck. When you felt an arousal blooming in your lower abdomen just because of the way his fingers moved through his hair or loosening his tie.

~ you loved teasing him especially in the most inappropriate places like his office, filled with people who came for business reasons, and then watch how he slowly succumbs to his lustful desires, making every possible effort for the meeting to be over as quickly as possible. After his partners left the room, you were literally thrown onto a nearby sofa with his slender posture looming over you and his teeth biting into the softness of your skin.

~ after some time, there were certain signals that you wished to ignore: weakness throughout your body, feelings of nausea at the most inconvenient times of the day and mild, barely noticeable pains in the lower abdomen. You were scared, more to say terrified by the fact that a tiny life was already growing inside of you.

~ sitting in his office and discussing another topic, related to your family business you could feel his hand caressing and squeezing your thigh wanting nothing more than to take you right there, leaving all of the stress he had during the day behind and forgetting himself in the softness of your skin. That’s exactly the time when you tell him about the consequences of your passionate nights that already came to life.

~ at first he freezes, studying you with his piercing gaze, most likely searching for any signs of deceit or the most terrible joke he's ever heard in his life. Covered with a mask of indifference, that he mastered for a lot of years deep inside he’s shocked, in the greatest disbelief that it’s even possible in his age. Only when the man lightened a cigarette and inhaled the soothing smoke into his lungs, he broke a heavy silence with his hoarse voice.

— Are… you sure?

A young woman in front of him sighs slightly raising her eyebrows in annoyance, as she always did.

— I called a doctor this morning, how do you think?

An older man emits another puff of smoke with a dark chuckle. Raising a child he doesn’t even wanted with a woman he had in his bed a few times was not something he planned to, especially knowing how hard it is. He already has a kid, a stubborn young woman who he loves with all his heart and he really wishes to just shrug, leaving aristocrat at fate’s will along with his seed growing inside of her, but he hesitates for a split of second.

— What are you planning to do?

She nervously purses her lips into a thin line trying her best not to lose her face, her confidence before him even tho a man can tell the truth just by how her body language changed. She was frightened. An heir of a noble family, an arrogant piltie and a young girl who’s future was brighter than the sky over her head is now sitting with a head of the biggest criminal organization, who probably was suitable for her as a father discussing his child in her belly.

— I’ll keep it.

Of course, what else she could say now, when there’s not so much options left for her. Deep down she probably knows the answer to her own question — he will not help, she’s on her own now and it feels as if the whole world had fallen with an unbearable weight on her shoulders.

— I’ll take care of everything you’ll need.

She finally raised her gaze to the man across from her after a long starring at a smoldering ashes in a bright painted ashtray. Despite that her face didn’t show any emotion her heart skipped a beat fulfilling chest with warmth.

~ in the next days he already was in your family’s mansion talking with your parents about your current situation and you could see that judging look on their faces, mentally returning in those times when you was a little guilty kid who broke something or get a complaint from your teacher. At first they even tried to completely ignore your whole existence without saying a word or giving any glance at your side, but it seems like over time they reconciled with the idea that in a short amount of time they’ll become grandparents.

~ you both reach an agreement that you better to stay in Piltover, to not let rumors spread all over the undercity and to interfere his enemies to use you in their hatred and plans about him. That was the motive of why you needed to stop paying him visits no matter of the purpose. You stayed in your family mansion with his loyal people almost always keeping an eye on you and ensuring that your wishes and orders are fulfilled.

~ even tho he cannot be with you by obvious reasons during your hard times he regularly visits you to make sure that you’re doing well often fulfilling whims of his dear girl and the tiny creature, that develops inside of her. But mostly first one, massaging slightly swollen areas of your body, talking you through nausea and frequent dizziness in your head and, of course, spoiling you. Anything that slips through your conversation be it some kind of jewelry, hobby or food you can later found delivered right to your room with a beautifully written note that makes a smile on your face bloom leaving cheeks painted pink.

~ despite the fact that he doesn’t show it he really cares for your child and you can tell it by his hand that sometimes rests on your belly and suggestions about how it would be better for the baby to listen to your voice or music even if it didn’t form into an embryo yet. Also was the one who insisted on a complete change in your diet consuming more plant foods and animal protein even if you struggle with one of it he’ll make sure you eat it.

~ secretly he wants and honestly waits for another girl, thinking about how Jinx will take care of her younger sister, protecting and spending time together, even tho he’s a little bit afraid of her influence. In the end one hyperactive kid who likes to get into troubles is enough for him. But he hopes that mostly you’ll be the one to frequent with a child at least because he’s too busy and, for his own taste, too old to mess around with a noisy little creature who needs to be watched all the time.

~ when the childbirth finally comes he’s informed immediately after the water broke, by your maid, a woman who had worked for him for lots of years and as soon as this man is free from his duties as the ruler of the whole city he’ll rush to you to be by your side during the parturition. He probably will not be allowed to come near you so he would just sit there waiting for your pain and screams of suffering to be over as soon as possible.

~ holding a little boy on his hands he feels range of emotions while the child surprisingly calmly looks at him studying with its curious blue ocean eyes, just like his own. As if for a split second the whole world had shrunk, leaving no one in it except him and this little one just to observe, figure out how exactly to feel about each other: fear, concern… love? But after a moment passed he was already standing there, holding the small, fragile creature closer to his chest.

~ despite him not loving you in a conventional way, it seems like he developed really warm feelings towards you as one of his closest people, the one whom he values. You were his business partner, a mother of his child who mostly had the same goals as he — protect his son for any cost and give anything to raise him properly, as a person he himself could never be on the streets of his city. Sometimes, while sharing so rare and precious moments of your child peacefully sleeping together, you’d understand him better often comforting him even if he didn’t ask for it, while your head rests on his shoulder or your fingers find his.

~ it took a lot of efforts, mostly from your parents’ side, to finally arrange the marriage appealing on the fact that many people, including other prominent families that was respected by yours, won’t accept this child as an heir without an official confirmation. Through his discontent, annoyed sights and frowning eyebrows he ended up signing all the required papers making you his dear wife, as he often called you. And although it did not give any benefits to either you or him, many from the Council and Chem barons wanted to find leverage and establish control over the other side, but so far without any success.

Few years later

Man was sitting in his office overwhelmed with a pile of papers on his desk and a boy on his lap, who was drawing something in his own notebook which cover was painted and signed with his name with his favorite crayons. Pink and blue. Of course, following his sister in every way possible, but at least his fears were in vain. Even tho boy wanted to imitate his older sibling in many things he was calmer and much more sensible than many children his age, probably thanking to his father’s genetics and education, but it didn’t mean that sometimes he wasn’t capricious just like his mother.

— When will mom return? — the boy asked raising his big-eyed gaze to man’s face.

He sighed on this question. His dear wife was attending a meeting which was related to the family business, now fully belonged to her after her parents’ retirement. As was planned from the very beginning she was the one who took care of their child, sometimes resorting to Jinx’ help who was more than happy to assist. She perceived the girl, who was supposed to be her stepmother as a close friend, often visiting mansion and lingering there for a long time hanging around with her, to his own astonishment and relief.

— I don’t know. — man answers honestly. — Why? You don’t like it here?

Kid continued to stare at his father whom he looked so much like, with his dark hair and light blue eyes, looked at everyone around them inquiringly and at the same time warily. After some time spend with his older parent he even started to emulate man’s behavior and expression, ordering around to a bunch of his nannies which left his mother in touching awe. His blood, his heir who, as he sincerely hopes, will never see his people, people of Zaun in poverty, the one for whom he and his darling partner have to work even harder to achieve their common goals before these child’s eyes could see a cruelty of this two-faced world.

— I like being with you and mom.

He felt his heart melting from such a simple words of his child, this innocent little one who loved him with all heart. Smiling, he leaned over to boy’s forehead leaving a kiss and pulling him closer to his chest. His little family, people for whom he could easily give his life away if he’d need to, who cared for him no matter what, that’s something definitely worth fighting for.

[slxtslovebambi]

Bodyguard 💋

Toji Fushiguro x Fem!reader | MDNI

"C’mon princess, use your big girl words. I know you can… where’d that smart mouth go huh?"

Synopsis: You’re a famous model and Toji is your bodyguard who used to be a MMA Fighter.

Warnings: SMUTTY! Power imbalance (physically), power play, fingering, nipple play (reader has pierced nipples), usage of the word 'cunt', slight breeding?, no protection

Wc: 3,3k

Being a model was always stressful for you.

Since your first shoot as a teenager you never got to stay anywhere for a long time and the diets your personal trainer put you on were brutal. Now you’re 22, still young and still just as pretty as you were when you started in the industry.

"Y/n ’m not gonna say it again, put your damn phone away 'n answer me…" Your bodyguard Toji speaks with his arms crossed and a stern look on his face as he pushes the button to the elevator. His black shirt is hugging his muscles and the scar on his lips slightly shrinks because of the frown planted onto his lips.

"What?" You look up from your phone and walk inside the elevator once the door opens.

Toji follows you quickly and first presses one of the elevator button to close the doors and then the one to your penthouse.

"What do you mean 'What'?! Why’d you change my schedule without tellin' me? That was my shift tomorrow, I was assigned to you!"

It’s not easy for Toji to not raise his voice at you, but the thought of you going anywhere alone was ridiculous to him. He’s clearly aware of the fact that you’re somewhat of an authoritative person to him, but he’s not fully willing to accept that yet.

"I wanted Kento for tomorrow…" You shrug.

"Nanami?!" He looks stunned at you, not understanding how you could replace him with someone he thought was the most bland and stuck up guy he ever met.

"Yes, it’s just for one day. You work too much overtime anyways." The bell chimes to signal the elevator has arrived and the doors of the elevator open wide. You and Toji both walk out, heading to your door when suddenly he slightly pulls you back by your upper arm.

"Why would you give my shift to Nanami? I never said I wanted to work less." Toji's voice is calm but very strict. He’s looking directly into your eyes, making sure you understand that he’s genuinely upset about this.

"I have a red carpet event tomorrow..." You’re not intimidated by Toji, you’d never be but you don’t like when he’s grabbing you like that. It’s just reminding you of the fact that he’s much stronger compared to you. You know he used to be a professional MMA fighter and you enjoy asking him questions about his former occupation but having him display his power over you is probably what you disliked the most.

"So? I don’t mind goin' to a red carpet with you." Toji genuinely looks confused by now.

"It’s not one of those events. I want Kento to go with me cause he’s a bit more suitable, that’s it."

You don’t care that your response sounded slightly dismissive since you were never scared to challenge Toji anyways.

He lets out an offended scoff at your comment.

"You think he’s more suitable than me? What’s that supposed to mean? I ain’t good enough to do my own goddamn job no more just cause I don’t got a stick up my ass, is that what you’re implying?!" He crosses his arms again, giving you another small glare.

"That’s not what I’m saying Toji, but this is a really big event and you don’t even wear suits…"

Your voice is slightly quieter than before, you still know there’s nothing to be scared of cause Toji would never do anything to you, but you don’t appreciate his sudden change in tone.

"Oh yeah? What do you think I am, some caveman? I can put on a suit and wear a tie if that’s what you want!" Obviously Toji noticed your reaction to him raising his voice a bit, so he quickly makes sure to be more soft spoken with you. His grip around your upper arm loosens and wanders up to your shoulder where his hand rests while his thumb slowly rubs your soft skin.

"You wanna tell me you’ll slick your hair back, wear a tie and let my make up team cover your scar?" You ask skeptically as you get the key to your door and unlock it.

"My scar?" Toji ask’s flabbergasted.

You nod as you walk inside and let him follow you in.

"What’s wrong with my scar?"

It’s not like he was ever insecure about any scars on his body, not even the one on his face but you implying he needed to cover it to be suitable didn’t sit right with him.

"Nothings wrong with it…"

You take off your jacket and throw it on the coat hanger next to the door, leaving you in your tight fitting top.

"I just don’t want them to think anything."

You say before taking your heels off ass well.

Toji would like to protest against your suggestion but he can't help but admire your figure for a moment, his eyes quickly trailing over your body, pausing briefly at your pierced nipples poking through your top before returning to your face.

"'m not trying to argue with you y/n."

He lets out a deep sigh.

"We’re not arguing Toji, I’m just asking you if you’re willing to do what I ask you for. I can always ask Kento." You say.

Despite the fact that you weren’t born rich and you like to believe that you’re quite humble you still show a bit of attitude sometimes.

Toji can do nothing but raise an eyebrow at you.

"Alright, I’ll cover my scar as well…"

He gives in.

"Good, you can go ahead and finish work for today then." A tired yawn slips of your lips.

"You just got home and you’re already trying to kick me out before I even get the chance to make sure you eat?" Toji lets out an amused snort at your comment.

"It’s not your job to watch me eat.."

At this point you’re just tired and ready to take a shower and go to bed.

"My job is looking out for you, no matter where. And when I think of the bullshit your personal trainer is puttin' you on, I think it’s better to keep an eye on your diet."

Toji chuckles.

"You don’t know anything about diets Toji…"

It’s not like you’re trying to provoke him on purpose, but it’s not just him that had a long day. You never liked explaining yourself or justifying your actions, unfortunately with Toji by your side that’s something you have to do a lot.

"I don’t know anything about diets? Sweetheart I had to maintain my body mass for years straight back when I was fighting, I think I know a lot more about dieting and nutrition than you do. So do me a favor and go eat something, yeah?" He gives you a slight pat on your lower back as you sigh and make your way over to the kitchen, thinking that giving in might be the only way he’s going to stop bothering you.

"You wanna eat something too?"

You ask Toji when opening your fridge.

You can hear him humming deeply before also walking into the kitchen and standing right behind you.

"No thank you… "

Both of his hands make their way to your shoulder before slowly dragging his warm palms down your skin. He’s gently rubbing over your upper arms while you look at the mostly old things in your half empty fridge. You really should’ve thought of sending someone grocery shopping for this week.

"You’re really cold doll…" Toji says, not happy about the observation he just made.

"I don’t feel cold." You shrug.

"Are you sure?" His hands travel to your ribs.

"Mhm.." you hum as you go reach for the bowl with the leftover fruit salad from the night before.

"What’s that? Don’t you want a sandwich or something?" He looks at the bowl skeptically.

"I don’t even have bread here Toji."

Your eyes roll yet again almost automatically.

"And thats the best you could find?"

He lifts you up and sits you down right on the kitchen island before getting a fork and handing it to you.

"I’ll leave once you’re finished."

He says as he leans against the sink across from you.

"You don’t have to." You mumble while carefully picking all the strawberries in bowl first since they were your favorite.

"I don’t have to? Five minutes ago you were practically beggin' for me to go home."

He snorts and looks at you with a small smirk.

"I was just mad cause you were pissing me off.."

You continue eating. You usually never minded any of your bodyguards being around you but Toji had a tendency of getting on your nerves.

It always seemed like he couldn’t accept that he won’t be able to always be in control.

"I was huh?" He chuckles. "Let’s hope you’ll still be able to sleep tonight." He says sarcastically.

His hand gently brushes some of your hair out off your face before gently grabbing your jaw and rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

Your eyes naturally look directly back at him, hesitating before removing his hand from your face, making him chuckle.

"I’ll be fine, let’s hope you don’t lose your job though." You answer just as snarky as he did.

"Is that a threat?" His smirk widens and his eyebrow rises quickly.

"You like testing me, don’t you?"

Toji leans in just slightly, his voice a low and steady.

Your breath hitches just for a second, but you quickly recover, poking him in his stomach with your right index finger.

Toji gently removes your hand from his stomach and laughs as he places it in the middle of his chest, putting his hand right over it to secure it.

"You think way too highly of yourself."

You shake your head in disbelief with a light smile on your lips, trying to pull your hand back to reach for the fork but Toji's grip is too tight.

Your heart skips a beat as his hand holds yours in place, but you keep your expression neutral, refusing to let him see the effect it’s having on you.

"Y’know what, maybe you should go home now."

You chuckle.

"'s too late for that now brat. You know what’s comin' now."

Toji’s eyes linger over your figure, a sly grin spreading across his face as he chuckles again.

"Nuh-uh.." you shake your head, trying to push him back with the hand that’s resting on his chest as he uses the hand that isn’t holding yours in place to wrap it around your waist.

He slips a finger between the soft fabric of your top and your warm skin, making your top lift slightly.

"What’s wrong princess? You don’t wanna play anymore?" He challenges you, letting go of your hand to wrap his other hand around your waist as well.

"You didn’t think all that teasing wouldn’t do anythin' to me now did you?"

He continues lifting your shirt, leaving you too stunned to speak. The palms of your hands are getting warmer and warmer and despite only you noticing it, you’re heart beat is starting to get faster as well.

Your breath stops for a second when he pulls your top right over your head and leaves you topless. Toji couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your pierced nipples hardening once they were exposed to the cold air.

"That’s a pretty girl."

He grins. As a model getting called pretty is like calling a bodybuilder strong or a scientist smart. It’s something that occurs often and usually it’s what people tell you when they first meet you, yet it feels like a genuine compliment coming from Toji. You can’t help but stare directly in his face, still silenced by his sudden actions.

Once realization hits you, you try to cover you chest but Toji quickly puts your arms back down.

"You don’t wanna let me see you?" He says in an almost mocking tone, slightly pouting with the same look on his face that he uses to make fun of you when you’re mad at him.

"C’mon princess, use your big girl words. I know you can… where’d that smart mouth go huh?"

His hands rest on your thighs, slowly making their way to the hem of your mini skirt.

"Toji…" Is all you manage to say in a quiet unsure tone before wrapping your arms around his neck.

You’d be lying if you said that Toji and you weren’t always dancing around that fine line of work and personal relationship, but despite some wandering hands here and there or a few flirty remarks on the side you never thought he’d take it this far.

It was easy to tell that you were attracted to Toji to say the least, but you still told everyone including your manager that you had no interest in him whatsoever.

Toji softly kisses your forehead as he spreads your legs further apart and lifts your skirt.

He smiles warmly at you as he traces around the hem of your panties before pushing the fabric to the side and gently rubbing his warm thumb against your clit.

Your body instantly reacts by flinching at the intense feeling, making Toji chuckle.

"It’s okay sweetheart, relax." He whispers, moving the other hand up to your still hardened nipples before tugging one.

His other hand keeps moving his thumb against your now swollen clit, making you grip harder into his shoulder.

As your core slowly begins to get wet he uses his index and middle finger to press against your entrance, leaving you gasping once he enters you.

"Atta girl." He looks proudly at you.

You use both of your hands to support your weight by leaning onto your palms and tilting your head back.

Toji slowly begins kissing your neck with both of his fingers still pushed deep into your cunt and his other hand toying with your nipple.

He trails his kisses further down to your chest before latching onto the other one, gently wrapping his tongue around it.

You can’t help but want more, you just need to feel more of him. You unconsciously start moving your hips more towards his hand in hopes of getting to feel more of his fingers but Toji quickly catches on to that.

He lightly catches your nipple between his teeth, making you stop your movements as he gives it a last rub with the tip of his tongue before letting go of it.

You whine when he stops, clearly not happy about his sudden halt.

"You want more princess?"

He grins, feeling you suck his fingers greedily deeper into you.

You nod at his question, sitting up straight to look at him and rub against the bulge in his pants.

"Say it.." He looks at you with a dead serious face.

"Huh?" You look confused back at him.

"If you want it so bad, then say it. Say that you want my dick, right here and right now."

He smirks.

"I’m not saying that." You refuse to participate in his power play, clearly just a weak attempt at an ego boost.

"Fine, as you wish." He shrugs before pulling both of his fingers out of you.

You gasp slightly at the sudden feeling of emptiness, still clenching around nothing.

"Noo, Toji!"

You’re surprised by how whiny your voice just got, but even more bothered at the stunt he just pulled.

"C’mon y/n 'm not stupid… you’re drippin' wet and you’re sitting here with your nipples all puffy, yet you’re somehow too prideful to admit that you want me? Just say the word and I’ll make you feel good."

He laughs, amused by your stubbornness.

"Fine goddamn! I want you Toji, I need you.. please…" you pout, immediately feeling shame all over your body…

"That’s all I wanted to hear sweetheart."

Toji's smirk widens.

"But I need you to get off there, alright?"

He chuckles as you take his hand and hop off the kitchen island, not sure where this is going yet. Toji doesn’t hesitate and pulls your panties down to your knees, leaving you just in your skirt. He stands right behind you and kisses your bare shoulder, making sure you’re not uncomfortable by tracing over your waist.

"Stop teasing me Toji…"

You complain frustratedly.

"Alright sweet cheeks, bend over then."

You immediately do as he says, leaning your upper body over the island and feeling one of his hands trails from your leg up to your ass.

You can quietly hear the buckle of his belt opening before he opens the zipper of his pants.

His other hand grips around your waist and you hear a small groan coming from Toji.

The side of your face, and your tits are pressed against the cool marble of the island and your back is slightly arched when you feel a tiny kiss being pressed on your shoulder.

"Let me know when it’s too much okay?"

Toji whispers in your year.

You nod quickly, not wanting to wait anymore when there’s suddenly a hand pushes one of your legs further apart.

It doesn’t take long until you feel his tip splitting your folds and rubbing against your clit, just like his thumb did earlier.

Toji takes a moment before starting to use a little bit of pressure to push into you.

He smirks smugly at the desperate sounds you’re making, trying to take his full length on the first try.

"Woah woah, calm down."

He pulls out again, before doing same thing all over again.

You try to relax as much as you can, feeling his hand rub over your back.

"That’s it princess, let me in. You’ve almost done it." He says before pushing much further this time. You bite your lip, holding any sounds back from slipping through your teeth.

"That’s a good girl, there we go."

Toji's voice is much gentler than before.

He hums with every thrust, feeling your warm walls suck him in.

Your eyes begin to water at the intensity of pain and pleasure mixing and your entire body starts getting warmer. Toji’s hand trails from your back up to your head and grabs the back of your head by your hair as he begins moving smother and faster.

You’ve never been this filled before and something in your body is telling you that you won’t be able to be that filled for much longer either. It’s not until you feel Toji’s other hand playing with your clit that you actually have to moan out loud. You try everything you can to hold back but it’s impossible.

With his full length inside you, the feeling of his fingers on you’re by now fully sensitive clit and your nipples rubbing themselves sore and perky against the stone of your kitchen island you just can’t keep it in anymore.

Toji immediately knows you’re climaxing by your cramping legs and tightening hole.

"Why didn’t you say you were close?"

He looks amused at you.

"I’m sorry…" you try to catch your breath.

"Oh no you’re good doll, don’t worry."

He still hasn’t stopped moving his full length in and out of you.

"You think you can spread your legs further one more time?" He asks you gently.

You nod, doing as he says.

Toji doesn’t hesitate and makes you suck him in a few more times before you hear him groan once more.

"Mhmmm, I knew you could do it."

He speaks and you feel him release himself deep inside you.

"I knew you were my good girl"

Can’t believe it’s been over a year omfg, I wanna start posting more especially since I have so many drafts, but I just can’t seem to finish them. :/ feel free to send requests, maybe it’ll help me get over my writers block and actually motivate me. Ly and don’t forget to reblog! 💕

[n0tamused]

Genshi/HSR Characters as Dragons!

A/n: It has been a bit since my last dragon post, sorry my friends. Gotten a bit under the weather but I think that small reprieve has given me a lot of time to think of these designs! So I really hope you like them. Let me know what you think, or maybe who you'd like to see next in dragon form?

Contents: Diluc Ragnvindr, Sunday, Trailblazers(Stelle and Caelus) x GN Reader (separate), angsty hcs and also fluff, implied religious trauma in Sunday's hcs? Trauma in general.

Words: 2000

Diluc Ragnvindr:

-The esteemed Uncrowned King of Mondstadt is not only famous for belonging to a rich family and being top of the food chain in the industry, but also for possessing a power unlike any other. Dragons and dragon shapeshifters, although not unheard of or rare, have been scarcely seen since the cataclysm. Besides Dragon Dvalin, not many others are present in Mondstadt today

-No one exactly knows whether the Ragnivindr family had dragon people before, as the family seems to have kept their history to themselves, but if secrecy was their goal then what did bring Diluc to display his skill with claws and fang? Some speculate that it is not the Ragnvindr lineage that carries this power, but rather it is his mother that passed down the dragon blood onto her son. Diluc doesn’t talk about it whatever the case is. 

-Even in dragon form he is hard to mistake for someone else. He carries himself with power in every step and is always well kept. 

-Kaeya used to tease him when they were children, when Diluc didn’t have much control over his draconic form and when he used to stumble from being a kid one moment and being a small hatchling the other. Kaeya would pull at his tail only to get smacked by it. But the two boys were inseparable and trusted one another. Kaeya never spilled the secret of his red-headed brother’s abilities 

-Not even the childhood friends Jean and Barbara knew of the secret

-Yet, that dreadful night came when Crepus died, and flames soared so high and so hot that not even the rain could quench it. 

-It goes without saying that Diluc carries a lot of guilt and trauma from those days and for the first time in his life he found himself truly and utterly alone. He had no one. Crepus was dead, Kaeya betrayed him, Adelinde was just a maid, he couldn’t trouble her and he and any other friend he may have had in his youth have long since drifted apart.

-Grief turned to anger and that anger swallowed him, pushing him onward on the path of vengeance.

-Shneznaya had suffered much of his attacks - well, the Fatui there did, Diluc never risked harming a civilians, and he had saved quite a few hostages that the Fatui had gotten their hands on. In the land of ice, Diluc almost died as well once he came face to face with one of the Fatui Harbingers, and a dragon shifter at that too. He managed to live by the skin of his teeth, dragging his battered self into the snowy deserts that stretched on endlessly

-That incident ultimately sent him back to his home. He had learnt much and suffered plenty, it was time to let the winter turn to spring.

-Adelinde and Elzer had sent him many letters, he knew, he received most of them. Yet he never had the heart to respond to them..

-He came back a new man, scarred both in flesh and soul, yet a small piece of him was… content, maybe numb too. The cold of the nation Tsaritsa governs over certainly took its toll on him.

-If truth be told, he didn’t expect to return from the trip and he certainly didn’t think he’d ever form any sort of notable relationships in his personal life. He didn’t look for them nor did he particularly look forward to any either. His wound always felt too fresh to let anyone close

-Yet you just managed to do just that. Get close enough into this barricade he built around himself, and you helped put soft linen around his wounds, holding him close when he yearned for touch, leaving him be when he yearned for the cold.

-It took a while, but a rose in the wall of ice began to bloom. Flowers, no matter how delicate, always find cracks to grow in, even stronger than on solid ground.

-Diluc is quite protective of you, very much so, but he is not pushy with it. He understands boundaries and he himself is not a fan of always hovering over someone’s head or being in someone’s space. He does have his ears and good eyes, not just his own, that would alert him should any harm come to you

-You did find some of his feathers around the winery. At first you didn’t know they were his, so you just picked it up as it was still a rather impressive feather, yet it became even more precious once you learnt it belonged to him. Diluc didn’t understand why you’d keep it or regard it with so much admiration, but he wasn’t going to voice whatever protest he had that soon died on his tongue

-He reveals his dragon form to you even later, in the lush grass around the Dawn Winery during one dusky evening. Winter was coming so the air was chilly and breezy. You wanted to watch the sunset and to eventually stargaze, but Diluc wanted you warm while you did that, and soon his dragon form was lying behind your back, his warmth seeping into you and keeping you comfortable.

Sunday:

-Not every eye that is open is seeing, and not every eye that is closed is dreaming, so who are we to judge another? Sunday, the dragon in rule over the Land of Festivities, had long since ascended past a simple ruler. His current form alone demanded a certain form of delicate respect, a cautious one at that.

-No one remembers how he may have looked like before, if he had eyes or if those had been claimed by the Harmony or ▇▇▇▇

-Aeon of Harmony keeps their eyes closed, and in doing so rids themselves of any subjective thoughts. All are equal, and together we are stronger, such is the mantra of Harmony and Sunday was adept at putting that image forth. People were happy, people were content. 

-How many wings does Sunday have that are his own? Only two pairs. One pair meant for flight was crippled, cut short, and the other pair shields his eyes from the world. He now only moves and flies when THEY wish he flies, when THEY allow it, when THEY deem it necessary, and not anytime else. These wings are a burden and a blessing. They’re not his own but he hates to think they’d hurt him should he make some error - not that he would, he won't allow himself an error. No..

-Sunday inhabits his dragon form a lot of times, which, in a way, is also dictated by THEM. The only time he is human is when he goes behind the screen to listen to people confessing their bad deeds and their sins, bestowing his blessing and forgiveness unto them and guiding them back on the right track. THEY are merciful, he says, you have been forgiven.

-His words of advice and the action he took to ‘renovate’ the Land of Festivities(Dreams) have gained him much support and love and even many more followers where he previously had less. People generally did like the Oak family, they also loved his sister. She was the pearl of the Oak family, the sun, and he was the moon and the sea. 

-The colorful pair of horns on his head is said to come from the Harmony as well, it is THEIR blessing to Sunday, to look more formidable yet more approachable. It is THEIR gift. People know and people see this as a sign that he is the true leader they should follow. Many have become more easy to get to do certain things - most of them good yes, like behaving and upholding the rules while in the Dreamscape, but other actions came as hidden tactics from THEM to harvest the necessary power needed for the next step.

-Sunday has become lost in this grand scheme of things, and even the thought of the next morning became a thought too far to consider. He barely has time alone and to himself, he can never escape the eyes of THEM.

-He hates to trouble you. You two have drifted apart it would seem, yet from time to time Sunday would find you visiting him, wishing to give him company at least for a little while. And silently he prays he can indulge you - he wants to, he misses you, your warmth, your presence, your voice, your touch. He is welcoming to you. You have an idea of what’s happening: stress, work, duty - it is a response that he offered one too many times, but there was more, something you couldn’t dig up. It was a thorn in your side, you couldn’t get it out.

-So you sit with him, sharing some words and stories over dinner, tea and cakes. Other times you lay with him, his ear to your chest, listening to the gentle drumming of your heart, a lullaby that is the last thing able to have him sleep soundly.

-He dislikes for you to see him in his dragon form, he considers it broken although it looks angelic in the eyes of the majority, but as it is the form he is found in a lot of the time it is unavoidable. Yet you are the only person he allows to touch him, besides his sister. 

-Touch him, pet him, do as you wish. He is there for you.

Trailblazers:

-Double trouble, Baseballer of the Cosmos, the Nameless, the…*looks at smudged ink writing* Yes, the esteemed Trailblazers!

-You may have heard many stories about them, but once you get a look at them in reality, you’ll see just how amazing they are. The world is vast, yet they seem to shock everyone with their…otherworldly appearance.

-They both claim they weren’t like this before - they were two different people, but now they’re not and they do not remember how it all came to be this way. It is odd, but they’ve gotten used to it.

-Despite the appearance, Stelle is the more aggressive of the two and usually packs a more meaner bite, headbutt or a nastier scratch of the claws. Caelus is more shy, despite him looking more scary, he is sheepish and a tad bit more naive. But both of them are determined to get to the bottom of their story and to get back to their own bodies. The stellaron within them also seems to have something to do with their current predicament. 

-There were times where they were glad for it, as they could provide each other with company and comfort, their heads nuzzling their cheeks together or tangling their necks when they go to sleep in the dragon form. 

-Going in human form is rather complicated, neither of the two like it as one would have to be “dormant” while the other roams the world. The dormant one is able to hear most of what goes on outside, but they’re stuck roaming the subconscious like a heliobi - roaming through hazy memories and corridors. They have gotten used to each other's company so much that it is odd to be “alone”.

-They both love the express a lot and their significant other - which also puzzles them as to how they even have one to begin with.. but alright, they’re not arguing against it nor are they dissatisfied. It is funny how, at times, one of them can get sassy with the other when it comes to dates and things, sometimes even jealous. 

-But it is cute, and it works out in the end.

-At times there are situations where it would be better for either Stelle or Caelus to go (battle - Stelle; something more diplomatic - Caelus), so the two can switch back and forth if really necessary

-Their tail in dragon form is something like a beaver tail, although much fluffier. It can pack a nasty hit if you’re unfortunate to be on the receiving end of their attacks..

Size chart:

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Tags: @moonlitreveri3 @lexidraws2 @drowning-in-cabbages @creationsabyss @grimulf-of-the-wilderness @st4rrl1ghtwastaken @the-inquisitive-constellation @voiddance @the-bilkush @fictionally-attached

+ @not-the-darknight (hope you don't mind the tag on there! <3)

[hp-hcs]

• smut (?) • like a record, baby [soulmate au]—poly! simp! mattheo riddle x poly! simp! harry potter x poly! gn! reader

hey sorry i fell off the face of the planet for like two and a half months i fell back into my old hyperfixation and started a new blog just for that and lowkey forgot abt this one and kinda fell out of the fandom lmfao anywhore—

inspired by that one Dead or Alive song

tws: sort of smut? it’s mostly implied and also like two sentences and also doesn’t involve the reader whatsoever?, lowkey bottom mattheo tbh, blink-and-you-miss-it reference to potential harry self harm :(, so fucking ooc omg

not edited if you see any mistakes shhh no you didn’t

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

If I, I get to know your name / Well, if I could trace your private number, baby

Mattheo huffed, resigned. It was official; he’d finally have to talk to Scarboy.

Eight years.

Eight years of avoiding the damn boy. Eight years of ignoring the sudden sharp pains that would slice across his forehead, right where Potter’s famous scar was. Eight years of waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares that weren’t his own.

His fingers reached down on instinct to mindlessly trace the prominent soulmarks etched into his wrist. His fingertips skated over the sprawling lightning bolt mark that twisted its way up his arm, its branching lines crossing over part of his faded Dark Mark.

His fingers then marched their way across his scarred skin to the other soulmark. It was an odd black circle with a smaller red circle inside, and an even smaller circle in the center. Thin white lines following the curve of the circular shape were intermittently drawn on the black part, giving it a ridge-like visual texture.

He had no fucking clue what it was supposed to be. Neither did his mother, the one time he’d worked up the nerve to ask her about it.

Potter might, a little voice in his head whispered. He was raised by Mudbloods. If it’s a Muggle symbol, he might know what it is.

Fuck. He really would have to get over himself and talk to Scarboy.

~~~

I, I got to be your friend now, baby

“It’s a vinyl.”

Mattheo paused. “What?”

“The mark. It’s a vinyl.” Harry pushed his glasses up his nose where they’d started to slip down. “It’s an old-fashioned way Muggles used to play music.”

“Music? Is it an instrument?” Mattheo asked, his eyes lingering for just a second too long on Harry’s slender fingers. Potter had taken the news of being Mattheo’s soulmate surprisingly well. He’d just shrugged and nodded, saying he already knew.

Mattheo looks between his and Harry’s exposed forearms. His skin itches to pull his sleeve down, to cover up the shameful mark of his father burned into his flesh for eternity. Harry’s arm is also scarred, but in a much different way. Both bear the same circular soulmark—the vinyl, as Potter had called it—although their other soulmarks differed. Mattheo’s was the obvious lightning bolt, while Harry’s was a cigarette, puffing out a cloud of smoke that formed the shape of a snake.

And I would like to move in just a little bit closer

“Sort of,” Harry answered his original question, doing his best to explain as his fingers tracing the identical vinyl soulmark on his own wrist. “It’s just a plastic disk. When you put it on a record player, it spins, and a little needle follows the grooves. It plays whatever music was recorded onto it.”

“Uh huh,” Mattheo hummed in acknowledgment a half-second too late, too busy focusing on Harry’s fingers. Had they always looked that good?

Harry smirked and reached over, lacing their hands together. Mattheo’s skin promptly heated up about ten degrees and the skin under his soulmark sizzled with a pleasant buzz before radiating a soft silver glow.

That’s it. They were together; now, until forever.

~~~

Mattheo’s legs shook, his teeth digging into his lower lip hard enough to bleed. “A-ah~ P-Potter—”

“Nuh uh.” The man in question, currently hidden underneath a library table, pulled off. “That’s not my name, and you know it.”

“Harry!”

“That’s it. Good boy.”

~~~

All I know is that to me / You look like you're lots of fun

They refused to call it the Yule Ball this year. After all, the war was over, there was no reason to continue separating Muggleborns and Purebloods with something as silly as a school dance.

So, much to the horror of many a Pureblood parent, Hogwarts was hosting Prom this year.

Open up your lovin' arms / Watch out, here I come

Harry was having a blast. Admin had insisted on only playing Muggle music at Prom, and it had been a wonderfully painful mix of *Nsync, Outkast, and Ricky Martin.

“You have to dance with me,” Harry demanded, pulling Mattheo out onto the dance floor by his arm.

Mattheo stumbled, still not used to the odd formal attire Muggles wore. (A tuxedo, Harry had informed him it was called.) Although he’d never say it aloud, he preferred the tux over his usual dress robes. So much easier to move around in; why were dress robes ever on the table as an option?

~~~

You spin me right ‘round, baby, right ‘round / Like a record, baby, right ‘round, ‘round, ‘round

You spin around in a circle with Hermione, both of you doing your best to teach Pansy Parkinson—Hermione’s soulmate—how to dance anything other than ballroom-style.

All three of you were laughing like mad, spinning around and around until you all got dizzy.

All three of you tried to stumble off the dance floor and back to the table you’d called dibs on earlier in the night. As you’re stumbling back, dizzy, you bump into a pair of men.

Suddenly, your outfit feels a lot stuffier than it did before. You feel hot all over.

One of the men grabs your bicep to try to steady you. His hands are slick with sweat. The other also looks rather warm, his face flushed. All three of you stare at each other as a bright silver glow emanating from three people’s wrists suddenly cuts through the dimmed lights of the dance floor.

I want your love.

[reidology13]

I tell someone I love them (just as a distraction)

Spencer Reid x fem famous!reader

Summary: In the depths of his addiction, Spencer finds someone who needs an escape as much as he does. cw: talk of addiction, allusions to sex (no actual smut), angst no happy ending

Part 2 here!

Meaningless whispers of ‘I love you’ mumbled between laboured breaths and cold kisses in an apartment that doesn’t feel like mine. The sheen of sweat that coats his body is nearly constant these days, it has nothing to do with physical exertion. The glaze over his hollow eyes is the furthest possible thing from pleasure, although by now he might have his wires crossed. His face is beautiful, and I can see myself marrying it in another life, one where my chest isn’t as hollow as his cheeks. A life where I don’t have to ignore the fresh scars in the crook of his elbow as I pull his shirt off.

I am not in that world, and neither is he, a reality that I cannot grieve because this is what I asked for, what I have been working for since before I can remember. The parties that leave me empty and sick, the performances that start the moment I leave the stage, the new friends who tag along for my name. I love him because he doesn’t care about any of it, if only because he’s too high to care about much at all.

I don’t feel anything when I finish, I’m not sure he does, either. I watch as he disappears from my side, already scrambling to his bag, searching through it until he finds what he needs. He slips into the bathroom, finally taking his chance to feel something after the numbness of the night. He has his escape, he used to be mine. I wonder if one day the chemicals he defiles his veins with will stop calming his ever racing mind, or if I just need a higher dose.

When he comes back, I pull him close to me, dragging him back down into the bedsheets and sweat. It works this time, my skin alight with every electrifying touch as his fingers dance gracefully across my body. His hands shake as they move, a feeling that makes my nerves sing as a lump forms in my throat and my heart sinks to my stomach. He looks up at me with those brown eyes that would be so gorgeous if they held any emotion, anything but that violent hunger for a craving he should have satisfied moments earlier. He can’t up his dose as easily as I can, can’t pull his vice back to bed without the risk of never waking up. He doesn’t bother saying that he loves me this time, we both know it’s not true. Or maybe it is, but there are things he loves much more, and telling me he loves me debases one of the only pure things left in the world. I’m glad he doesn’t try this time.

He holds me afterwards, his trembling body not yet ready to stand up, or maybe he knows that the moment he does he’ll be back inside the bathroom. I turn my head away, and as he buries his face in my shoulder, I pretend I don’t feel the apology he mouths against my glass skin. He runs a hand down my upper arm, his touch tentative and light, scared that I’ll shatter into a million pieces. My heart does. If he knows about the tear that runs down my face, he ignores it, and I’m not surprised. Ignorance is what we’re good at, after all.

When I wake up, he’s gone, slipped into the early morning, or called into the job that he shouldn’t be doing in his condition. I crawl out of my cold, damp sheets, the disgusting aftermath of our night. The sick feeling that perpetually sits in my gut, loosening under him, twisting tighter under the sun of the next day. 

Slowly, I peel back the layers of sticky fabric, watching how they cling to my skin and each other as I force them into the washing machine. I turn it on.

Fresh sheets are laid out on my bed, sheets that haven’t yet witnessed the tornado of us, still clean and untainted by tears and sweat and words that never mean anything. I lay the sheet over the mattress, fighting to wrap it around all four corners as it perpetually escapes one, always sitting just slightly wrong. I place the pillows down carefully, fighting the urge to punch them like I’ve been wanting to punch his face every time he shows up at my door.

I can see myself marrying him in this world, too, getting him the help he needs and staying with him through it all. He would be able to be there for me when I need it, not an escape from, but support through the other parts of my life, a person to love and talk to about the hard things. But I know that is still impossible. One day, he will sober up and disappear, or I will be an uninvited guest at his funeral. There’s no option that ends well for both of us, the best we can do is take it as it happens and ignore everything.

I watch as the last blanket floats down over the bed, carelessly adjusting its corners. It looks exactly the same.

[lacroixqueen]

your opal eyes are all i wish to see (sevika x reader, undercover fake dating)

Summary: Silco sent you and Sevika on a covert intelligence mission to a ball on the topside. You have to disguise as a couple to blend in.

Pairing: Sevika x fem reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Tags: slow burn, unrequited love, crush, fake dating, undercover

Silco ordered you and Sevika to partake on an intel mission on the topside that evening. You were obviously over the moon. It wasn’t often he assigned you a job out in the field, but since you have been working extra hard recently, he decided to give you a chance.

“It’s a cocktail party,” he explained casually as he was explaining the operation to you both. He swished around the whiskey in his glass as he spoke. “In the Council headquarters.”

“Who’s our target?” Sevika asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She always wanted to get to the point of every conversation, and fast. 

Silco pushed a file holding a couple photographs across the table. “These two. They are both famous inventors in Piltover. I want you both to get the latest information on Hextech development and report back to me after the event.”

You stood on your tiptoes, peering over Sevika’s shoulder. One of the men in the photos was a stocky-looking broad, and the other was much skinnier. Seemed like an easy enough job. And besides, it was an excuse to doll up and spend more time with your crush. 

You two decided to get ready at the office later that day. Sevika was already changed into a gorgeous black split thigh dress. You walked in shyly with a red off-the-shoulder gown. She glanced at you, grimacing slightly at your amateurish makeup.

“Your eyeliner is uneven,” she commented, sighing as she stood up. “Let me fix it.” You noticed Sevika’s tasteful smokey eyeshadow and glimmery cheek highlights as she walked toward you. Why did she have to look so good but with seemingly such little effort. It simply wasn’t fair.

“I-it’s okay, really!” you assured, stepping back a little. “I just whipped something together last minute, I’m sure no one will notice.”

“I said, let me fix it,” she repeated, sitting you down in a nearby armchair and kneeling before you. She lightly rested the base of her thumb against your cheekbone, taking her makeup pencil and gently drawing out your liner. “These are topsiders. They care about how you look.”

You swallowed that lump in your throat as you noticed how intensely focused her gray eyes were on your face. You hoped she wouldn’t feel how hot your cheeks were burning against her wrist. If she did, she didn’t say anything. 

“There,” she said, capping her eyeliner pencil and then flicking the edges of her work with the side of her fingertip. 

“Thanks, Sevika..” you murmured softly, looking down at the folded hands in your lap.

“Just help me zip up,” she said, standing up and turning her back towards you. 

You gulped apprehensively, stopping to admire her beautiful skin. It was heavily scarred, probably from all the fighting she had to do everyday. You also noticed some faint, blue-purple lines. Most likely aftereffects from her Shimmer-infused mechanical arm. 

Slowly but surely, you slid the zipper up and closed the clasp of her dress. There was a brief pause. And for some reason, you felt this overwhelming urge to just kiss her.

So you did. Very gently, you planted your lips along the curve of her neck. 

She immediately turned around. “What are you doing?”

“I-I just, I’m sorry. I wanted to um.. show you that..” Words failed. You were struggling to figure out a way to express to her that in this moment, she was just about the most beautiful person you have ever seen. That she looked so drop-dead gorgeous in her dress that it was criminal. And that you have had feelings for her for months, and that it was getting hard to even talk to her without wanting to burst into a million little pieces. That you wanted to kiss her so badly at times it was hard to even breathe. 

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“Okay.. I’m sorry, Sevika.” 

The cable car ride up was so silent you swore you could hear a pin drop. You tried to distract yourself from how your heart was effectively shattered by staring mindlessly out the window. 

Stupid stupid stupid. How could you just go and kiss her like that without even asking? It was so obvious from the very beginning she never saw you as anything more than just a colleague. And now it’s like you’ve ruined whatever semblance of a friendship you two had together. You wished you could just take it all back. Rewind the clock and fight that dumb urge you had, or whatever that was. She probably hates you now. And that was just about the worst part. 

Sevika led you two into a back entrance in the Council headquarters to avoid being noticed. The party was tasteful, if a little loud. It seemed like just about anyone who was anyone in Piltover was in attendance. 

“Hold my hand,” she would instruct icily. “We need to look like a couple, not coworkers.”

“O-okay,” you agreed reluctantly, still overthinking the awkward moment you shared not too long ago. 

Her hand felt warm, sturdy, safe. You wondered what it would be like to actually hold it, and not just pretend to. 

“Follow my lead,” she would say as she took your hand and grabbed your waist when the music swelled. You felt protected whenever you were with her. Like nothing bad could ever happen to you. Even though she wasn’t entirely focused on the dance, you could feel her powerful presence. 

But her eyes were surveilling around the entire room. She somehow never lost sight of the mission’s goal. Even amidst the glistening chandeliers, sparkling champagne. The kaleidoscopic ball gowns and the shallow conversation. She never cared for the superficial bullshit.

Almost immediately, she noticed the targets across the ballroom, conversing quietly next to the table of hor d’oeuvres. She proceeded to glide gently over in their direction, guiding you along in the process. She expertly waltzed her way behind large swaths of people, weaving her way through the venue with such quietude and ease.

“Sevika,” you whispered through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? What if they notice us?”

“They won’t,” she shushed you softly. “Just follow my lead, and nothing bad will ever happen.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Even her tone of voice was able to calm you down into a level of zen you have never experienced before.

Deftly, she plucked a glass of bubbling champagne off a wandering waiter’s tray and passed it into your hand, quickly grabbing another one for herself. 

With a level of grace you have never seen before, she naturally clinked her glass against your own and took a generous sip. 

The pair of Hextech researchers were a mere few feet away, whispering about something fervently. 

You placed your hand on a side table, subtly tilting your ear in their direction. 

“I said,” the leaner man repeated. “I made a new breakthrough. The Hextech, it’s.. evolving. As if it has a mind of its own.”

“What do you mean?” the more muscular of the pair muttered. 

“It’s like.. it can learn. It’s making mistakes, and it’s adapting,” the skinnier one elaborated. “If it keeps going like this, I think I can make it–”

“Be quiet!” the other man shushed. “You’re being too loud.”

Without even a moment of hesitation, Sevika took you by the waist and pulled you into a deep kiss. 

At that point, you weren’t even thinking about the crucial piece of information that was just mentioned casually within earshot. 

All you could focus on was her soft lips. And how sturdy and perfect her large hand felt in the delicate curve of your figure. 

How her warm tongue tasted like wine and red lipstick. How you wanted to push her into the wall and return her kiss tenfold. But people were watching. 

“No one is even paying attention,” the thin man continued, running his hand through his hair after scouring the room. “We are fine.”

Sevika smirked into the kiss. They didn’t suspect a thing. 

The inventor pair quickly scurried off, however, much to your dismay. But the deed was done. Besides, you knew you both had to report back to Silco right away. 

Your heart sank when Sevika interrupted your kiss to peer over her shoulder. Once she noticed the targets have left, she grabbed you by the hand and started to lead you out of the ballroom. 

“Sevika, wait!” you plead. “Why can’t we just stay a little while longer?”

“The mission is complete,” she replied. “Our intelligence became aware of the new development. Besides, we should head back before we are caught.” 

You sighed, knowing that you were fighting a losing battle. You would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t even slightly looking forward to one more dance, one more drink, one more kiss with her. But you knew you were just setting yourself up for more heartbreak. 

Like clockwork, you both disappeared into the night, as quickly as you came. 

On the cable car ride home, there was an eerie air of silence that cloaked the space between you. 

Sevika was looking intently out the window, searching for any potential stragglers who might be on her tail. 

You desperately wished to bring up your misstep from earlier. You wanted to spill out your heart and soul to her, and apologize for overstepping her boundary. 

“S-Sevika,” you managed to stammer out. 

“What is it,” she murmured without taking her eyes off of the road as the lights and signs whooshed by. 

“I-I just wanted to apologize again,” you stuttered. “About what I did when we were getting ready. I should have just asked you first, or not even thought about it at all. I’m sorry.”

She sighed, gently placing her hand on your exposed thigh, rubbing it ever so softly. 

You immediately felt a jolt of electricity rush through your spine. 

“You know..” she started. “I really, really don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to even meet her gaze. You wanted to object, ask her to clarify, or tell her about how much you really did enjoy the kiss, or how you couldn’t take your eyes off of her when she was wearing that goddamn dress the entire night. But you bit your tongue. 

Something in you told you to hold back. At least for now. 

Now wasn’t the right time, a part of your conscience would remind you. 

You relentlessly wondered when exactly that time would be. 

[bump1nthen1ght]

Lovers in Arms (Living Armor x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Knight x Living Armor (He/Him)

Genre:Fantasy, Established Relationship, Slight Exhibitionism

Warnings: None

Word Count:1507 words

Summary: As a famous knight, you’re quite used to receiving unwanted attention from others, romantic or not. Your partner, however, has found another way of coping with it.

Request: Hear me out a female knight x living Armor. Outside is very protective plate armor but the inside is a sticky, slimy mass of tendrils. When she is out fighting everything is normal but when she is talking with people and doing errands is when it starts to become hard to ignore. Doesn't help that the armor dirty talks and praises her while its fondling and screwing her. They both have a great relationship.

“I don’t like this man.”

“I’m aware.” You mumble under your breath, feeling the way Rust squirms and wriggles against your skin, a tell-tale sign of his annoyance. It’s a far cry from his usual movements, which have a way of syncing perfectly to your limbs, slipping right into the natural crevices. “But he’s willing to pay for this next campaign, so we gotta suck up a bit.”

You’d normally not speak so freely with Rust like this, but the man of discussion, some lord or something, is talking about himself so loudly you doubt he notices.

“I’ve heard much about your past battles, good knight! When I saw you would be leading this battalion, I knew I had to come and meet you.” You nod along, used to the simple back and forths of these sorts of conversations. You play the part, stroke their egos, and your knights and squires have full bellies and well-maintained equipment for the rest of their next mission. It’s embarrassing, but worth it. “I must say too, you are much more…beautiful than I expected, captain.”

You internalize a groan, your armor shuddering as Rust’s tentacles tense up.

This happens a lot too.

“I mean not to offend but when I first heard of your epic tales, I thought ‘surely someone so accomplished can’t also be attractive.’ And yet you-” The lord bites his lip in what he mist thinks is charming, “-have enchanted me.”

You muster your best flattered grin, despite the way your stomach sours.

“Thank you, my lord. I assure you the feeling is mu- hngh!” Blood nearly draws from thr forceful bite against your lip, a moan nearly clawing its way out of you mouth. The lord’s eyebrows shoot up. “E-excuse me. I think some of my old battle scars are-” another breathy sigh, your cheeks growing hot, “-acting up. I apologize.”

You don’t stay to hear the lord's worried questions and sympathies, instead running to your tent. You pass by drinking soldiers and courtiers, all celebrating your last victory. None spare a look at their serious captain, knowing how often you retreat your quarters. Surely to look over battle strategies and war routes, always the hard worker.

“F-fuck, Rust.” You pant, nearly collapsing once you reach your bed. The appendage currently circling your clit stops, your cunt aching from the lack of stimulation. “You have to stop doing that.”

“And why should I?” Rust's smug voice echoes in your helm. “Not like that buffon would’ve noticed. Pigheaded, ignorant fool, flirting with you-”

This was a common occurrence as well. Something about military success and captain’s armor has a way of drawing people’s attention, several nobles looking to leech off of the prestige of courting you. While you’ve perfected a method of deflection, seeming humble yet appreciative, Rust can’t help but seeth whenever they start sweet talking. His jealousy comes to a head, all the sass and the passion all bursting out like a broken dam. You’re usually able go escape somewhere private before it becomes too overwhelming, but there have been times you struggle to finish your sentence because of the tentacles fucking you like a piston, his low voice whispering laviscious that echoe in your ears.

“You’re an immaculate treasure, captain. They don’t deserve you.”

“I don’t know when you look more beautiful, on the battlefield or cumming on my tentacles.”

“Cum for me, Captain.”

You learn to give a grated smile, utter an excuse about your old injuries, and hobble away while cum runs down your legs in rivulets.

It can get a little frustrating, but in this moment, you can't say you hate the effect jealousy has on him.

“Forget about him.” You collapsed onto your bed, all thoughts of reprimanding Rust fading from mind. The only need at the forefront of your mind is lust, your body craving the taste of pleasure. “It’s just us now.”

If he could, Rust would surely be smirking.

“That's right. As it should be.” Rust’s voice rumbles all across your body, accompanied by the familiar slipping of his tentacles, all slotting into place. One slides right between your pussy lips, now slick, and resumes circling your clit. “Just you and I, together.”

Your head is thrown back in a moan, helm falling off and letting your hair lie loose. Rust’s inner body only extends to your chestplate, his voice now echoing off your collar and into your ear.

“Yes, pretty girl. Such pretty noises.” Two tentacles encircle your breasts, squeezing and fondling. “My gorgeous captain” The metal shakes with Rust’s purrs, plate joints rubbing against each other as all the tentacles move. “Hmm, I love the way this pussy tastes after a long battle.”

“Rust.” You whine, hand thrown over your face as a hot blush spreads up your neck.

“What? Its true.” A tip of a tentacle prods at your entrance, dancing around it like a tease. “The sweat that drips down between your thighs, your sweet juices…” That tapered tip slowly enters your whole, tabtalizinignly slow, “It’s addictive.”

A shaky sigh is muffled by your palm, your legs instinctively spreading wide as the tentacle stretches you open. Lines of ridges along the side scrape against your walls, sending shocking bolts across your stomach. Your free hand digs into your blankets.

“Divine.” Rust moans, two limbs pressing your breasts together as another slots in between them. The tentacle inside burns as it reaches its girthiest part, the tip now curled against your g-spot. “If those fools ever saw you like this, captain, they’d know how out of their league you are.”

“Aah!” Your hand becomes a fist and you bite down on your knuckles, Rust finally starting to thrust inside of you. In private he likes to take his sweet time setting the pace, unraveling you like a gift.

“I want you to sing for me, general.”

“Oh, fu-uck.” You draw out your vowels, back arching as the tentacles around your nipples twist even tighter. The ones deep in your pussy go frustratingly slow, drawing out to the tip before pressing you open again. “Rust.”

If your enemies could see you now; The fierce Captain of the Crimson Brigade, whose command brought countless victories for the crown, who never rested until the fight was one, begging like a common whore. Your voice all high and needy, so different from the gruff persona you put on when shouting orders.

On the battlefield, you and Rust are all business. Everything clicks, your two bodies moving in perfect synchronicity, throwing javelins and wielding a greatsword with ease. You’re the perfect pair; You bring the technique, he brings the strength, and together you can bring down titans. A force to be reckoned with, that bows to no one.

But it can be exhausting. All those decisions, life-changing decisions, are in your hands. You are the face of this operation, after all, and any missteps reflect on your leadership, no one else's.

So what's wrong with handing the reins over, every once in a while? Let someone set the pace, move your body for you. Let you be the obedient soldier, following the lead.

“Good girl.” Rust purse, and all those troubles from before melting away.

Your thighs fight to clench together as he begins fucking you faster, vision blurring as he hits your g-spot with precision. The merriment of celebration and drunken victory outside are loud enough to drown your wanton noises. Let them have their image of their general, let them have the person you pretend to be on the battlefield. These noises are for Rust, and only Rust.

“I’m getting close.” Your lips quiver, the skin nearly worn thin from your incessant biting. “Please, Rust.”

“How could I ever say no to you, Captain?” A second tentacle slips inside you, joining its twin and thrusting in you like a well-oiled machine. A gaso claws its way out of your throat, hips jumping from the burning stretch. “Especially when you ask so nicely.”

The tentacles twist together, writing against your walls. Your eyes roll back into your head as a buzzing sensation travels up from your core to your face, like you're starting to go numb.

“Oh, gods!” You cry out as the crescendo finally hits, pussy clenching the tentacles in a vice. All of Rust’s appendages shudder, a sultry groan echoing out of your collar.

The armor feels hot, almost too hot as you lay in the end, the high of climaxing slowly fading. Sweat drips down your entire body, loving tentacles lapping them up eagerly. Words still escape you, your thoughts a jumbled mess of sensations and emotions. You should really take a shower, shed Rust and clean him as well, but everything is sore, and your brain calls for sleep.

“Rest, my captain. We can bathe in the morning.”

Rust whispers, low tone only pulling you further into unconsciousness.

In the soft embrace of your lover, you can fall asleep peacefully. No thoughts of battles, or blood, or death. Just the two of you, as always.

[warping-realities]

The Last Curse of the Dark Lord

(Revised and improved version)

It’s all over; it’s finally all over. Harry couldn’t quite believe that, after all this time, all his losses, Voldemort had finally been vanquished. The young lad began to crack a timid smile in the midst of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, only to be hit by a wave of energy he’d never felt before in his life, accompanied by the cold voice of the Dark Lord whispering to him.

“You might think you’ve defeated me, Potter, but even in death, the Dark Lord's revenge comes for you. This is my final curse, and it will take everything you love and make Dumbledore , that muggle lover, worst nightmare came to life. This goes for both of you; he who mixes with pigs must live like one.”

At that moment, the boy lost consciousness, unaware that his famous scar was fading away, leaving behind flawless skin.

...

“You didn’t do what I asked. You never treated Harry like a son. He didn’t know anything but neglect and often cruelty because of you. The best that can be said is that he at least escaped the horrible damage you inflicted on the poor lad sitting between you.”

Harry dreamt of an old man with long, white hair and a beard. Sitting in one of the armchairs in his aunt and uncle’s sitting room, he could’ve sworn he recognised the man, but that was impossible; the Dursleys would never let a doddering old git like that cross their threshold, let alone sit in their pristine living room and speak to them in such a way. As he strained to remember where he knew the old geezer from, the dream slowly unravelled as the lad experienced a succession of even more bizarre dreams before finally falling into a deep sleep.

...

Harry awoke in his room at his aunt and uncle’s posh house. For a moment, he thought he was back in his old room at number 4 Privet Drive, but that didn’t make sense, just like those odd dreams he knew he could never talk about in that house. Not that he had the slightest interest in doing so; he wasn’t some sort of weirdo, after all. The dreams involved a school of magic and a Lord… Vol… Vold… something. Bizarre. He stretched, rubbed his eyes, and sat up in bed. For a moment, he thought about putting on his glasses, but then remembered he hadn’t needed them for years, ever since his aunt and uncle had forked out for an expensive corrective surgery. Blimey, the Dursleys would give him and Dudley anything they wanted, as the room full of tech gadgets and boxing equipment attested. Still feeling drowsy, the lad scratched his powerful pecs, sensing he was forgetting something very important.

He forced his sluggish mind to try to remember and… he knew there was something planned with Dudley, something his cousin really wanted, and he, as his best mate, would go along. No, no, that wasn’t right, an annoying voice nagged in his head, soon drowned out by a louder and much thicker voice. Mate, today was an important day; he just needed to remember why, but thinking had never been his strong suit. Ever since they were little, Dudley had been the leader, and he was a good follower. Dudley was much brighter, after all. And speaking of the devil, the blonde, muscular lad appeared in his cousin’s doorway at that moment.

“Oi, Goblin! You still haven’t got up, sleepyhead? Get a move on; today’s the big day!”

Harry frowned at the nickname he loathed. His cousin was the only one who didn’t risk getting a proper beating for addressing him like that, although he rarely called him that inside the house for fear of irritating his parents. Dudley exuded confidence, dressed in the smart attire the Dursleys so loved to see on both of them. If only they knew… they’d do nothing but come up with some excuse for the pair’s antics, as always. Letting his cousin pass unharmed, he scratched his head, lost in foggy thoughts.

“Yeah, I know it’s the big day, Big D… just can’t remember why.”

“Potter, how stupid are you? Thank goodness I’m the brains around here! Go have your breakfast; Father wants a word with you before we head out. Put on some clothes and shave that scruff; you know how he gets when he thinks we’re slacking.”

Harry felt butterflies in his stomach, the fear of his uncle’s explosion settling in. But why? Uncle Vernon had never raised his voice at him. The man treated him like a prince.

“Potter, you idiot! You shouldn’t have drunk so much last night. Bloody Piers and his bets,” the young lad muttered as he grabbed the first bits of clothing he found on the floor.

He descended the stairs, still groggy, stopping beside the cupboard under the stairs and staring at it for a few seconds, with the strange image of his uncle locking him in there. Nonsense. He burst out laughing just imagining it.

“What the hell was in those drinks?” he thought, taking a few steps before stopping again, looking at the coffee table in the living room covered in photos of him and his cousin. He scratched his head, with the odd feeling that the images should be moving. If Uncle Vernon heard such nonsense, he could really lose his temper. For some reason, he was surprised to see himself in those photos, as if, for some strange reason, he shouldn’t be there.

The first image showed a young Petunia, flanked by Harry and Dudley on a winter outing about a year after he moved in with them. He was astonished at how thin he looked.

The second was a photo of Vernon with the two boys in his office at Grunnings, the drill company he was director of before making a very profitable deal with old Mr. Mason some years back and then expanding the business into other areas. That business agreement guaranteed them the manor where they lived today among many other advantages.

Harry remembered that day well; after all, it was his twelfth birthday, and he deserved to have that day all to himself. As a reward for giving in, he got a video game and a television just for himself, so he wouldn’t have to share with Dudley, which his cousin thought was a brilliant idea, perhaps because it had been his idea. Strangely, the image of a woman screaming at the sight of an owl flying through the living room window popped into his mind. What the hell was that? An owl in the sitting room? Harry had never been the imaginative type; that drink really must have been poisoned. Piers was going to get a right hiding when Harry saw him again.

Next to it, there was a black and white photo of him and Dudley at Smeltings, the school they both attended until a few days ago. That one was taken on their first day of school. Once again, Harry was flooded with old memories, him and Dudley trying on the uniform that barely fit the pair’s bulk, just before Harry’s eleventh birthday, the two of them engaging in a lively tussle with the sticks that were part of the school uniform.

Of course, the two later used those sticks on far more interesting targets. Finally, there was a photo of the two of them at 15 years old in the boxing ring, the sport responsible for turning all the fat they’d accumulated over the years into muscle power. It was in the boxing team that the two earned their nicknames: Big D for Dudley, thanks to his impressive build, and Goblin for Harry, who, being the shortest in the team had to resort to some tactics that were seen as vicious by some people, earning him that moniker.

Still with the memory of those fun afternoons in mind, the lad entered the kitchen, greeted by the smile on his uncle’s face.

“Morning, Uncle Vernon.”

“Harry, me boy, I need to have a word with you… what are you doing?” The man stopped upon seeing the lad serving a plate for him.

“Sorry, Uncle, is there something wrong with the eggs?”

“No, they’re perfect, but why are you serving? You’ve never done anything like that in your life. Hahaha. Clever lad, trying to please your old uncle. Sit down, Harry; you don’t need to try and butter me up. I just want to ask you a favour.”

Harry sat down at the table, pensive. What the hell was happening to him that day? Was it just the hangover?

“I know where you and Dudley went last night. Don’t get me wrong, lad; I reckon every healthy boy should enjoy life. But I ask you not to let your aunt see. Son, your dad... he was a right piece of work, sorry to say it again, but it’s true. That man could drink properly, and that’s what worries Petunia. So, keep it for Mallorca. Enjoy yourselves; after all, it’s the first time you and Dudley are going off alone to our seaside house.”

Harry’s first instinct was to shout at his uncle to defend his dad, but why would he do that? His dad had died in a car accident, probably drunk, after dragging his mum around the country. Harry liked a good drink too, but he and Dudley would have to be more discreet, especially if the Dursleys had noticed. For a long time, the two lads had avoided showing all their activities, even knowing that the Dursleys would support them; but what they didn’t see, they didn’t feel. And it was precisely by remembering this the lad broke into a smile and spoke to his uncle.

“I’ll go, Uncle, but I assure you that what happened last night was a one-off. Dudley and I’ve never drunk before; it was all Gordon and Piers’s idea. I swear.”

“I knew it! I told Petunia yesterday: ‘Tunia, our boys wouldn’t do something like that. We’ve raised them well. They’re good lads, and we’re good parents. Isn’t that right, lad?’”

“You’re the best, Uncle! Now I’ll go get changed; after all, it’s the big day.” Mallorca! How could he forget? They’d been organising this for months, finally off on holiday alone to do whatever they wanted. He’d been a bit slow if he’d forgotten about it.

After getting ready and grabbing his bags, Harry went to find his cousin, who was already waiting for him in the shiny new car he’d received as a birthday present for his eighteenth. Harry was counting the days to his own birthday, knowing he’d get a machine like that too. He and Big D were itching to race each other. They’d wanted to do that for years, although Petunia had been inexplicably firm in her refusals, probably due to how she lost her sister.

And speaking of her, his aunt was waiting for him in the front garden while Dudley laughed at seeing his dad struggle to get into the sporty car he’d driven back from the airport. Aunt Petunia turned to Harry, looking at him with her pale eyes, which for a brief moment made the lad think will be filled with resentment, but which instead showed adoration.

“Harry, dear, I may not like your father; he wasn’t worthy of your mother, but Lily… Lily was eccentric. If you knew about the horrible boy she was hanging about with when we were young! But when you lost your mother, I lost my sister. But she left you to me, and I’ve done everything to make sure you had everything you wanted, just like Dudders. My two boys all grown up! Off on your own! Do take care of each other!”

“Don’t worry, Aunt Petunia; Dudders and I will look after ourselves. I promise we’ll call every day!” If we remember, thought the lad, smiling inwardly.

“Get a move on, Potter! Time for a bit of fun!” shouted his cousin from the car.

....

A few days later, with his stubble at a length he knew would drive the girls wild, Harry strolled down the sunny streets of Magaluf, heading to meet his cousin, grinning without a care in the world as if he owned the place.

Upon arriving at the beach, Dudley was easy to spot; he was easily the biggest bloke on the shore, and it was hard to believe his cousin was only eighteen. With a mischievous grin, Big D pointed to a group of younger boys.

“Potter, look at those little nippers; they’re begging for a beating.”

“True, but they can wait,” Harry replied. Not used to being challenged, Dudley turned to his cousin.

“And can I ask why, Goblin?”

“The reason, Big D, is those two lovely birds eyeing us up. The redhead’s mine!” Harry replied.

“And you reckon you can pull a fit bird like that, Potter?”

“You know I can, Big D. Once they’ve had a taste, they always come back,” Harry said, pointing to his member.

“They love my magic wand!”

[aaizawashouta]

Heatin' Up

pairing: frat!kiba x fem!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: kiba and his famous beer pong partner finally do the dirty. (modern!au)

warnings: smut (18+, minors dni) oral f and m receiving, p in v, cream pie.

a/n: it's me, hi. this was long over due. i love them your honor.

→ Wyd later? 

You could feel the disgust on your face. It never ceases to amaze you how much of a fuckboy he could be. No wonder he was in a frat. What did this make you? His booty call? Ugh, you’re the only one who would ever answer him on such short notice. Your nails tapped against your phone as you contemplated your answer.

→ Party @ the house 

→ Got your fav 

What did he think you are? Some schmuck? As if your favorite drink would be enough to pull you from the comfort of your room. But then you hear the giggling. Your roommates are never quiet, and you know their habits. Especially when you hear Shikamaru’s name dropped. Ino’s been trying to get into his pants for weeks. Sighing, you push your blankets off your lap, knowing you're in a losing situation.

The girls barge into your room, animatedly talking over one another. You get the jist, which you already knew. Sakura eyes you suspiciously when you don’t fight them on coming along. Ino’s already tearing into your closet. You pinch the side of your thigh to keep yourself from freaking out.

“We promise,” Ino says as she coats your lashes in mascara. “We won’t leave your side.”

It’s a lie, it always is. They always abandon you at some point. Not that it matters. Because there is one who always sniffs you out. You couldn’t hide from him even if you wanted to.

→ you comin? 

I’ll be there! Find me xoxo ←

It was a new world record. You’d lost sight of your roommates the moment you walked in. Not all that bummed about it, you headed to the kitchen. You had been promised your favorite drink. Gaara and Kankuro are stationed in the kitchen. Their only job is to make sure that the drinks stay clean. A shutter rushes over you as you think about how the house had been your freshman year. A hand rubs at your forearm, the pink and shiny scar a reminder of the hell that broke out that night. Grabbing your drink, Gaara pops the cap off for you, smiling as you take a much needed drink. The latter gives you a wink accompanied by a smirk. You flash them a smile before braving the rest of the party.

You hear him before you see him. Laughter and sharp words greet you when you step out into the backyard. There’s a bonfire, most of your friend group sits around it. Naruto and Kiba are bickering, both hotheaded and passionate about their beliefs. You can’t make out what it is exactly they're arguing about, you just hope it isn’t something stupid. Taking another swig of your drink, eyes cast down to watch your steps, a large hand wraps around your arm. You glance up to see Kiba. His large frame blocking out the light from the fire, but his grin still lights up his face. 

“There she is,”

“I told you I was coming.”

“Thought you got lost when your dumbass friends walked out here without you.”

Well, he’s not wrong is he? He had some faith in you, though, given he didn’t come hunt you down himself. But now that he has you, he isn’t letting you go. Time moves quickly whenever you’re with Kiba. One drink turns into two, and two into three. 

“Hey, the pong table is open!”

You yelp when you're yanked from your seat, tripping over your own feet as you're dragged back into the house. “Game face on, baby. We got a table to dominate.”

It’s never been like this intense before. Sweat drips down your neck. You’ve stripped down every layer while still remaining decent. Not everybody at this party needs to see you in your undies. Goosebumps breakout on your skin when a deep sigh comes from behind you. Nerves? Not a thing. Anxiety never seems to dig its claws in you. The only thing that ever sets you off is the impatient man behind you breathing down your neck.

This is the last shot of the game. The make or break of your winning sweep. You and Kiba always dominate the pong table, but tonight is something special. Or it could be. If only he’d take a step back and let you fucking breathe.

Slowly you turn, head tilting to clash gazes with familiar amusement. His brows shoot up into his headband, actually your headband – it’s your favorite color. He’s shirtless, when the hell did that happen? Probably started stripping down when you did. Jeans hanging low on his hips, the band of his underwear playing with the dark hair of his happy trail. His sneakers are toe to toe with your bare feet. It’s almost like a superstition. Or maybe because playing beer pong in high heels isn’t a smart idea. For you, anyway.

“Are you going to throw?”

“Are you going to let me breathe?”

His grin takes on a wolfish form as he steps into your space. Always by your side, never more than an arms length away. If anyone knows how to push your buttons it’s Kiba. If there’s anyone who isn’t afraid of pushing your buttons, it’s Kiba. You’ve been giving him a lot of slack lately. No pushback for all the bullshit he throws your way. Your lips purse, lifting your foot you step on the toes of his shoes.

“Bro, what the fuck.”

“Back away, Inuzuka. Wouldn’t want to scuff up those kicks.”

Your lips twitch when he huffs out a humorless laugh. As if he’s surprised by your audacity. Kiba takes a step back, his jaw clenching when you refuse to pick up your foot. Yeah, the fucking audacity.

“You’re mean.”

“You’re messing up my game.”

“Are you even playing anymore?”

You look behind you with a sneer on your face. Naruto and Lee stand there – Lee literally vibrating from all the energy drinks he’s had. Naruto rolls his shoulders, pinning you and Kiba with a bored look.

“Why? Want me to kick your ass that bad, huh?”

The group watching laughs, causing you to smile. Naruto gives you the bird before pouting. Another swig of your drink down and your shoulders loosen. Warm hands land on your waist, lips brushing against your ear.

“Nothing but water, baby.”

 “This is the winning shot, what do I get if I make it?”

There isn’t a doubt you’ll make it. You’re gloating now. A wide grin eating up your face as you roll the ball through your fingers.

“When’d you turn into a scammer? That’s easy fucking money. Everyone here knows you’ll make the shot.”

“What are you willing to hand over, Kiba?”

He’s silent, debating. You quirk an eyebrow as you stare up at him over your shoulder, intrigued by the wheels turning in his head. He sighs, fingers digging into your sides. “Throw the damn ball.”

You can’t help but snort. It’s not rocket science, beer pong. It’s technique, all in the wrist. But don’t tell any of the meatheads that. God forbid you figured out how to beat the frat bros at their own game. Which you do every time you play. Taking a deep breath you position yourself, aiming. The hoots and hollers quiet down as you look from the red solo cup to Kiba. He’s beaming; smirk showing off a sharp fang. Slightly threatening, but boyish all the same. It’s a clean shot – you sink it without even looking.

The pride that flares in Kiba’s eyes sends heat through you. There isn’t a moment to think about it before he’s rushing you. In an instant you’re off your feet, a screech leaving you as you hastily wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Hell yeah, that’s my girl.”

Your teeth bite into your cheek to hold back your whimper. This isn’t the first time he’s said something like that. How easily he calls you pet names and claims you as his. He’s known you since you were a gap toothed little kid with knobby knees. The only one mean enough to put Kiba in his place when his mouth got away from him.

“Ki, you’re making me dizzy.”

He grumbles but lets you down. Not bothering to move away his chest brushing against your back with every breath. Not like you mind. You’ve never been one to shy away from Kiba. He invades your space, your mind, your dreams. 

“It’s not fair.” Naruto complains, downing another cup of cheap beer. “I want her as my partner in the next game.”

Kiba’s grip on your waist tightens when he looks over your shoulder towards the blond. “Over my dead fucking body. She’s mine.”

Snickering from beside you catches your attention. Ino and Sakura sit with their drinks trying to hide their smug looks. Oh yeah, you’ll never hear the end of it. They’ve been trying to set you and Kiba up for a while now. You don’t ever encourage their meddling, but you don’t put a stop to it either. Because there is a big part of you that wonders. It’s your little secret if the part that wonders happens late at night with your fingers buried deep between your legs. No one has to know. 

“What the fuck are you snickering for? Not like anyone wants you.”

The drink you’re holding gets slammed down on the table. Kiba pulls you into him as you choke on the liquid. You’re trying to breathe, but your laughter keeps bubbling up, making it hard. Large palms run up and down your spine, a soothing gesture. Finally gulping in some air you flash Kiba an appreciative smile.

He’s got a look in his eye, one you’ve never seen before. Goosebumps erupt across your skin. His gaze takes you in from head to toe; it’s predatory, wild. The hand he used to sooth you is now gripping the back of your neck. Kiba pulls you close, head tilted down, nose brushing against your own. You’ve got to fight to keep your eyes from fluttering closed. Warm breath ghosts over your parted lips, waiting. You nod, barely visible, but Kiba catches it. Warm lips meet yours. Firm against your own, but not demanding. He’s holding back, not wanting to put on a show. You gasp when his tongue lightly brushes against your bottom lip, and then he’s gone. Pulling away, leaving you only a small taste.

Clearing your throat you pick up your discarded items. “I need to pee.”

“Sure, babe. Let’s go.”

A huff leaves your lips as you follow after him. His large frame breaks through the sea of people, keeping you from getting knocked around. It gets a beat quieter when you hit the stairs. Less people, less chatter. Kiba bangs on the bathroom door, giving no time before ripping it open. Covering your mouth so the embarrassed couple doesn’t see you laughing. The poor girl has no time to adjust her skirt before Kiba is manhandling them out of the way. 

“Do your business.”

You wait a beat. “Get out.”

“Babe,”

“Kiba! I’m not peeing with you in here!”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

That makes your temper flare. “Don’t compare me to your one night stands. You’ve only seen me naked in your dreams, but even that is lacking.”

In a blink of an eye he’s got you shoved against the counter. Hand wrapped around your throat, lips brushing over yours as he speaks. “Only because you won’t give it up.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You know me better than anybody. But sometimes, you’re so fucking blind it pisses me off.”

“I swear to god, Kiba, if you think you’re going to fuck me in this bathroom–” Your mouth snaps shut. You don’t even want to entertain that thought. But Kiba is grinning now, big and brilliant. A cat that got the cream. Makes you want to smack him.

“I knew it.” He whispers. “I knew you wanted me. Bet you touch that sweet pussy thinking of me, don’tcha sweetheart?”

No, absolutely not. You aren’t doing this. You manage to shove him away, a glare settling over your pretty features. You slam the bathroom door open ready to leave. You never really had to pee, you just needed a breather. Now here you are; stressed out and getting hornier by the second. But the chance to leave never comes. You never step out of the bathroom. Kiba takes this into his own hands –quite literally– and picks you up, tossing you over his shoulder.

“Fuck you, Inuzuka. Put me down!”

“Yeah, baby. That’s the plan.”

You can’t fight him. Can’t ignore the heat that spreads through you. Your thighs would be rubbing together if Kiba didn’t have a mean grip on them. So you hang there, blood rushing to your head as he enters his room. He tosses you on the bed, standing there staring at you with a hungry, desperate gaze while you get your bearings. 

Grabbing your ankle Kiba drags you down the bed, smacking your thigh to get your attention. “Let’s go, baby girl. On your knees.”

“What?”

Kiba raises a brow. “On. Your. Knees.”

“You want me on my knees for you? You first.”

Hands grab at you, hastily undoing your pants before tugging them along with the black thong you wore down your legs. Kiba never takes his eyes off you as he tosses the clothes over his shoulder. His fingers tangle with yours, dragging your hand down your body, drawing your fingers up and down the seam between your legs, a sign you take to spread them. He doesn’t have to give you any more direction. Eagerly you dip a finger in, building up a pace before adding another. Placing one hand on a bare thigh, he holds you open, pushing his shoulders in between to get closer to you. A satisfied groan leaves you when he kisses your thigh. His teeth scrape over the sensitive flesh, a laugh rumbling in his chest when he notices your hand moving faster and faster the closer he gets to your core.

“Kiba,” you’re begging. Needy, and desperate. 

His hand moves, expert fingers toying with your pert nipples. Back arching with each tug and twist. You’re mumbling–bite, bite, bite. With your own hand busy between your legs, Kiba pushes up on his elbows, licking a trail between the valley of your breasts before sucking one in his mouth. You whimper, hand now tangled in his hair, holding him tight as you push your tit into his mouth. He rolls it in his mouth, tongue flicking at it before sucking. Eyes wide, pupils blown out as he watches you teeter closer to the edge.

His hand trails down your stomach, fingers tracing over yours. A grunt escapes him when he realizes you’ve stopped moving it. He tsks at you, pulling himself away from your chest. “Don’t stop,” he commands, his hand gripping your now stilled hand and forcing your fingers back inside. No longer two deep, but three. He wants you stretched out and ready for him. He keeps his hand over yours, controlling the pace. ‘Come on sweetheart – fuck, like that.”

He watches you for a moment, before lowering himself back down. You jolt at the flat of his tongue running over your nipple. A low groan parting your lips when his teeth finally latch on to it. You’ve always been a sucker for pain. Especially with your nipples being as sensitive as they are. He could make you come just by playing with them alone. Dragging his teeth over the tender flesh, he flicks his tongue over it. How fast can he make you come like this? Applying more pressure to the hand between your legs, it's a race between your fingers and his tongue. 

“Kiba, fuck.” 

Your legs are trembling around him, your weight shifting back onto your toes. Chasing, chasing… Kiba bites down on your nipple, hard. You scream as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. You look so fucking pretty when your like this, basking in your orgasm glow.

Knowing that your legs are anything but steady, you roll off the bed, landing on all fours before crawling over to sit on your haunches before him. You look up at him expectantly, waiting for your next order. He smiles down at you. Hand cupping your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone, finding its way down to your bottom lip. He pulls on the tender flesh, watching as your lips part and your tongue automatically comes out. Waiting, hungry.

“Are you going to be nice?” You whine, scooting forward, wanting nothing more than the feel of his heavy cock on your tongue. “Good girl, baby. Take the whole thing.”

Both hands tangle in your hair. He doesn’t move an inch, letting you come to him. Your eyes prick with tears as he makes his way in. You love the stretch, no matter where it is. Slowly, slowly, you make until you're suffocating with his cock down your throat and your nose in his dark hair. 

“That’s it — fuck, stay right there.”

His thighs twitch when you hum around him. Your mouth is so soft and warm, he could come right now if he really wanted to. But that’s not what he wants, not what you want. All of this is just foreplay. Because nothing will compare to when he’s got his cock in you and you’re begging him to fill you up, to use you. He’s been dreaming of that for years. His eyes roam all over you as he steadies his breathing, taking in the lewd scene that’s all you. 

“You’re a goddamn daydream. You know that?”

Hand pushing on your head, you gag around him before quickly being pulled away. You brace yourself, letting him use your face for his pleasure. Tears stream down your cheeks, making your eyes sparkle. Cheeks hallowed, lips suctioning around him until he can’t take it anymore. Pulling himself out of your mouth, Kiba reaches down and wraps you up in arms only to turn and toss you on the bed. You’re pussy clenches around nothing when you see the feral look in his eyes. He’s grinning down at you, but it isn’t nice. He’s going to devour you whole. Crack open your ribs and feast on everything that you are, everything you have to offer. When he’s had his fill and he’s done, you’ll do nothing but say thank you. 

“Spread those legs. I want that cunt.”

It’s your favorite part, when he first enters you. That first stretch, the feel of his cock making its way into you. He doesn’t know it yet, but you need to feel how much it hurts. Maybe your as fucking feral as he is. 

He swiftly moves to his knees, a hand slides across your ass, slapping you just hard enough to leave a red handprint behind as he thrust deep, bottoming out. It’s a silent scream, no sound leaving you. He’s big, so big, and he’s filling you up to the brim. It hurts, and you’re loving every inch that stretches you out. Your knuckles turn white with each rough, hard thrust. He slides a hand up your stomach, between your breasts so his hand can wrap it around your throat. He loves watching you come undone around him, and he’ll never forget it either. Your cheeks are flushed, pupils blown with lust, and lips parted as each of your clipped breaths turn into whimpers. 

“Babe,” he grits, hand tightening, cutting off a little more air, “you feel so fucking good.”

You stare back at him, feel as he moves to kneel on one knee, the angle shifting somewhere deeper inside of you. His teeth dig into your skin again, this time leaving bruises behind. It makes you whine. He thrusts harder, rougher until your hand is shooting out above your head, keeping you from hitting the headboard. He’s fully claiming you. Cock punching into the deepest part of you. Your head is empty, high in euphoria only Kiba can provide you. Words are pouring out of you, but you couldn’t understand what you were trying to say even if you wanted to. Whatever it is he wants to hear. Whatever keeps him close, keeps him inside of you. You never thought you’d get to be like this. 

“Kiba, I–” you're cut off by a whimper when he reaches that hard to reach spot deep inside you. Over and over again, you feel it coming, your orgasm is going to come crashing down. You’re going to drown in it, and you don’t know if you’ll make it out unscathed.

“You going to come on my cock, baby?”

“Yes!  Please, please, Kiba. Don’t stop. More, more, holy fuck,”

You come on his cock like a tidal wave, and when you collapse against the bed, your body trembles, heaving desperately for air. Kiba groans, pulling you up until you’re flush against him. His lips meet yours in a messy kiss, bucking his hips harder until he’s chasing his high right over the ledge with you. 

“Good girl,” he praises, letting go of your throat. “Such a good girl for me.”

It’s quiet, apart from your labored breathing. Kiba’s thumb runs along your stomach where his hand rests. He’s laying halfway on you, head nuzzled into the crook of your neck. It’s a soft moment, one you don’t wish to break. But this time, you really do need to pee.

“Kiba,” he grumbles, digging deeper into the comfort you provide. “Ki, get up. I have to pee.”

He glances up at you, clearly fighting off a grin. “You gonna kick me out this time?”

“Kiba,” you warn.

“What? Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

“Fucking, hell, Inuzuka.”

He chuckles, lifting his weight off you. He smiles at your glare. Quietly you get dressed. Your hair stacked up on your head in a messy bun. There’s no saving your makeup. You wince at your reflection, seeing your lipstick smeared all over your mouth. Calloused fingers grip your chin, lifting your face so he can mesh his lips with yours.

“You’re a vision, sweetheart.” he murmurs against your lips. “Don’t think this was a one time thing.”

Your head tilts. “Oh yeah? You addicted now?”

“Don’t be stupid. I’ve been addicted to you my whole fucking life.”

“Are you going soft on me?” 

He grins down at you. “Oh, baby. We’re just heatin’ up.”

[bleachification]

⸻ EVERYTHING IS BLUE

pairing: dabi x reader

word count: 2.2k

synopsis:  when life gave you a second chance to meet your supposedly dead childhood friend, you never expected it to be in the form of a villainous encounter. your once beloved toya is now dabi—a cruel, twisted silhouette of the gentle boy he used to be. 

note: includes mentions of grief and insomnia

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

There is a very famous saying: Love conquers all. 

Supposedly love transcends time. 

Space. 

Death. 

It buries sin and cures suffering, lightening the world and its burdens. It is presented with such a peculiar resemblance to what some herald as Heaven’s gift from above—a sublime feeling only justifiable by the overpowering divine or mystical. You see it in the stars; unreachable. In the sunsets and dawn; dazzling.

But you also see it in the darkness; for the act of love has made fools of many, robbing them blind of reason and humanity. It has made liars and killers—corrupted and instilled madness. And it seldom lets its victims go. 

Love creates weakness. 

You vowed to never let it make you weak again. 

After all, the last time almost killed you. But who could blame you? Toya was dear to you. Toya was special. The closest thing to a soulmate you could ever fathom. The boy was your childhood best friend and the earliest memory of happiness you can recall. Now, that is all he is—a distant, fleeting memory that whispers of fractured promises and bygone dreams. He is never more than a nostalgic breeze tickling your skin, or a particularly bright star on an early winter night. 

He exists between the lines of your past. Simply there. But never next to you. Never in arms reach. 

As time passed agonizingly, you had slowly begun to forget the most basic things, such as the bright tenor of his laugh and the soft sound of his steps—sensations you used to know by heart. 

Sometimes, you can only remember the features of his face by looking at an old photograph you had kept. It is one of black and white film, stained on the back and crinkled at the edges from the wear of time. In it, Toya is smiling, a small hand raised up in a wave at whoever was behind the camera. You can’t remember. 

Was it your mother? His? You hope it was the former. She always adored Toya.   

His left arm was slung over your shoulder and the both of you had cake and icing smudged on your faces, courtesy of one another. 

That day—your birthday—is one of the last times you saw him alive. 

So why on earth do you see that little boy in the eyes of a villain?

The face of a young man covered in gnarled purple scars is plastered across the city. Video footage from a high speed chase is being shown in an emergency broadcast on every single screen covering the downtown core. 

His name is Dabi. Prominent member of the League of Villains. It is an organization the Pro Heroes—your colleagues—are adamantly trying to dismantle. 

The man’s picture is blown up on the big screens alongside three other criminals, each involved in the chase currently carving through the city blocks.

Something about him is so familiar, but you can’t grasp exactly what. 

Grief and nostalgia must be playing tricks again. To see a dead child’s face in a villain’s visage is ridiculous.

Laughable. 

But it wouldn’t be the first time you had… hallucinated Toya’s image. 

With a sigh, you peel your dry eyes away from the ward’s television and shut the channel off. The room is eerily silent in the late night, void of the tv’s noise. You like it. Silence helps calm the mind. Settles the chaos. 

You stand and make your way out of the ward, down the empty hallway, and into your personal office. The room is clean and tidy, the only thing out of place is a stack of research papers strewn across your mahogany desk. You round the corner and settle into the soft velvet seat of your armchair before running your right hand along the underside of the table. A familiar click sounds as you locate the button and a small cabinet pops open from the left shelf. 

Three bottles sit inside. Unassuming white ones with generic labels. You pop the smallest bottle open and dump a pill out. The red medication tastes like chalk as it grazes your tongue. 

After a second of consideration, you take another, hoping these sleeping pills will be strong enough to stave off the nightmares and vivid hallucinations. 

Hope. It’s such a small word, but also such a large one. Hope was all you had at one point. It was the only thing grounding you to a reality without him. You had hoped it was all a mistake—a joke, even. Toya would pop his head from the corner and yell: “Gotcha!”

He would be fine. Alive. 

Anything but a husk of a human, burnt beyond recognition, suffocating in the flames of his own blood.

Now, hope is nothing but a pretty word to throw around when meaning is lost. 

You close your eyes and lose yourself to a dreamless sleep. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

You are experiencing a startling sense of deja vu. The television glitches, interrupting regularly scheduled programming. A familiar figure appears. 

I, Toya Todorioki, was born as the eldest son of Endeavour. 

The world—your world freezes. The only thing you can comprehend is the man on your screen.

You stand up, shaking. Then, you run. Heroes and medical staff alike shout after you, but it all fades into a blur. There is only one destination in your mind—and it is a dangerous, painful place. 

It doesn’t take long for you to locate him. The city is in turmoil, buildings have been razed to the ground and rubble covers the once bustling space. You spot Shoto and his father up ahead, mere steps away. And in front of him stands Dabi—no—Toya. Your Toya. 

His hair is white now, the natural color no longer concealed once he revealed his identity. The scars have spread from the last time you saw him online. No matter. You knew it. You knew it was him. How could you forget?

Enji rasps out something in disbelief. 

Toya only smiles wide and responds with a sardonic confirmation. You could see it in their eyes—a living nightmare had come true for the Todoroki family.

But you? All you cared about was reaching Toya. None of them have seen you yet, so you take advantage of that by quietly making your way closer. The muffled voices turn clearer as the distance shrinks. Toya is speaking to his father and brother, words spilling out in frantic turmoil. The rawness of his voice rings through. Such intense anger and hatred cannot be faked. The two others are stricken by Toya’s address. You don’t blame them; the brutality of his language guts even you. 

Shoto notices you first. His eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, but Toya notices anyway. Your old friend whips around in your direction. You freeze as his eyes land on you. Recognition immediately flashes across his face.

His face. You feel as though you have been hurtled through space and time, brought back to simpler days. A scraped knee on the playground. Food fights in the cafeteria. A million pinky promises made.

A kid you called your best friend, reduced to ash and bones. 

These memories, both awful and radiant, wash over you with so much force you almost collapse. You silently praise yourself for keeping upright against the emotional onslaught. 

“Y/N, get out of here!” Shoto yells out, urging you away in a panic. 

You ignore him. Nothing else exists right now. Not Shoto. Not his father. Only him. 

“Y/N.” The way Toya says your name is almost questioning. As if he can’t believe you’re even here. 

You’ve somehow ended up right before him. Inches separate you, if barely. 

“Hi Toya,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. It would crack otherwise. 

He’s stunned, looking like the air was knocked from his lungs. Seconds fade into forever as his familiar gaze locks onto yours, searching—but for what, you can’t tell. It takes a moment for him to seemingly gather himself. The cynical persona quickly slides back into place.

“This is a nice surprise, but I’m afraid you have me all wrong. Toya is dead, Y/N. Dabi is all that is left—all that I am.”

You swallow. The air tastes of blood. “Somehow I don’t believe that.”

Don’t? Or won’t?

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Well, it doesn’t matter what you believe. C’mon, Y/N! Don’t tell me you still have faith in who I used to be. That kid you knew is dead. Gone forever.”

You shake your head, refusing to take in his words.

“And yet, you’re standing right in front of me… how…?” Without thinking, you raise a hand up to touch his cheek. You’re operating on instinct, not logic. It's the instinct to comfort him—just like he did for you when you were children. 

But you stop yourself right before making contact with him, unsure. Toya’s gaze flits to your hand for a split second before returning to your face. There’s a question in his eyes—one you aren’t sure either of you can answer. 

“Why pretend you care? It’s cruel,” he murmurs, a subtle accusation coating his tone.

“What are you talking about? Of course I care.” You answer, bewildered. 

Pretend? How could he even begin to think that? When you’ve spent your entire life missing him?

“Then why did you move across the world the second you hit adulthood? You couldn’t even stay.”

“I thought you were dead. I mourned you. I grieved until what felt like my last breath. I left because every single second I stayed felt like reliving your death all over again.”

“And when you finally came back you were, what, healed? Moved on?” He laughs bitterly, arms spread in mockery. 

“Moved on?” You shake your head, the pain in your throat almost suffocating. “I saw you everywhere. Not just in dreams and nightmares. Hallucinating a dead person… I thought I was losing my mind! Even right now I’m praying this isn’t some sick, twisted nightmare.”

He drops his arms as well as the smile on his face. “Well, you’re in luck, Y/N. This is very much real. See, I thought things could change. That the consequences meant something to them. They lived my death and nothing happened! They saw what it did to me—the power, the ego, the fucking obsession that ruined this family—and did nothing!

“He’s a disease, don’t you get it? They all are. I’m simply here to rid the world of that sickness. I’m the cure, Y/N. I’ll burn the rot right out of the earth.”

Endeavour scrambles. “Son, don’t do this! Don’t—!”

“Son? Son?” Toya sneers. “You lost that right a long time ago, oh mighty Number One Hero.”

“Toya, please.”

He turns back to you. “No. Sorry to disappoint, Y/N, but you don’t get to participate in this dance.”

“What? No, Toya wait–”

An arm circles your waist before you can get another word out, and all of a sudden, you’re being carried away at breakneck speeds. 

Your screams are lost to the wind. 

An explosion in the distance. Red taints the sky and fills your vision. 

You have never felt so helpless.  

The next time you see Toya—the little that is left of him—is at the end of it all. He is confined. Half-alive. Burnt beyond recognition. It is like he is dying all over again. 

“I should hate you.”

You sit at his bedside, speaking your turn after his family just left. 

Toya is… tired. You can see it in his eyes—at the lack of fire. The passionate, ambitious boy you once knew is truly and utterly gone. 

But some of his kindness has returned. Or perhaps he has just accepted his fate, which is all the more heartbreaking. 

“You’ve done… terrible things. Hurt so many people,” you pause, considering your next words. Three tiny things lodged in your throat, struggling to be set free into the world. “You hurt me.”

He doesn’t look at you. You’re not sure if that’s any worse than his silence. 

“I didn’t think you would ever hurt me,” you whisper. 

Silence drags on for what feels like the longest minute of your life. He still has not turned his head. Still has not acknowledged you. Your heart sinks. Maybe this really is it. Maybe there’s no affection left—all of it burned up with the last of his lingering sentiments. 

You stand up, turning your back to him, ready to leave. For good. 

“I didn’t think I would either,” Toya murmurs. 

His soft voice breaks the silence—and it is overwhelming. 

You haven't turned around to face him yet. 

“In another life, would you have stayed?” 

“I…” he swallows, voice rasping. “I don’t want to leave this life. Don’t want to leave you behind… not again.”

Tears are streaming down your face. You don’t care; you sit back down right next to him, where you rightly belong. The ache in your chest is so heavy you think it might pull you to the ground and bury you below its surface to try and muffle your misery. You almost wish it did. 

Despite the pain, you muster out your next question. 

“You think we could be happy?” You take Toya’s wounded hand in yours and gently squeeze, careful not to hurt him. 

To your relief, he doesn’t let go. In fact, he squeezes back. It’s faint but the action is felt. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we could.”

And if another life exists, you are. 

Undoubtedly so. 

[faerieroyal]

𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐘’𝐒 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄’𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐒 !

— ❥ 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 + 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

( warnings: mentions of scars )

you wake up, as always, to the feeling of strong arms wrapped around your waist, warm breath on your neck, and soft hair tickling your cheek. slowly peeling your eyes open - a feat of sheer willpower on the best days, but especially on this rare weekend day that both you and your boyfriend have off - you blink in the soft light coming through your bedroom curtains, allowing your vision to adjust to working again after hours of sleep.

after the blur of drowsiness has faded, you crane your neck slightly downwards, taking in the absolutely precious sight that awaits you. steve - your boyfriend, your stevie - is still fast asleep, his face halfway tucked into the crook between your neck and shoulder. his famous hair is obscuring one of his eyes, some bits on the top of his head brushing against your face, and the cheek resting on your skin is smooshed up, his pink lips parted as he breathes.

you’ve always insisted that your boy looks his best when he’s sleeping, a statement that always makes his cheeks turn pink and his smile go shy, but right now, you think, it’s never been more true. steve looks absolutely cherubic at this moment, with the soft light from the window making the lighter parts of his hair shine and his face peaceful and open in a way it only ever is when he’s asleep. he’s beautiful, a picture of rest and serenity, the kind of image you’re sure any artist would want to make a masterpiece out of the instant they see it.

it’s a massive shame that you have to go and ruin it.

“steve,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice low so as not to wake him up too abruptly. reaching up with the arm not held down by the weight of his head, you start to card your fingers through his soft hair, scratching his scalp lightly in that way you know he loves. “stevie, c’mon, wake up.”

it takes about a minute of ministrations and soft whispering, but eventually, steve stirs, not opening his eyes quite yet but letting out a soft, questioning hum, a heavy sound still loaded with sleep.

“i gotta use the bathroom, stevie,” you whisper to him, scratching his head a little harder than you normally would - not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt, but enough to keep him from drifting back off. “you’ve gotta move off me so i can go.”

“nooooo,” he whines, weakly squeezing his arms tighter around your waist and snuggling impossibly closer, his movements sluggish. “don’ go, stay.”

you chuckle softly. your stevie may be a touchy person pretty much all the time, always wanting to have his arm around your waist or his hand in yours when the two of you are out in public and always wanting you sitting on his lap pressed close to him when you’re by yourselves, but he’s clingy when he’s asleep or just woken up. you’ve often joked that he reminds you of a koala when he’s like this, all soft and hugging close to you like you’re a tree he’s trying to keep his grip on. he always playfully pouts when you make comments like that, but right now, as you’re trying to get out from being half under him, you’re struck by how accurate that observation actually is.

“steve,” you say softly, removing your hand from his hair to gently hook your fingers around one of his wrists and attempting to pry his arm off of you. he whines again, this time without words, but doesn’t protest any more than that as you lay his limp arm on his own side and carefully slide your shoulder out from under his head.

“i’ll be right back,” you assure him as you throw back the covers and wiggle out of bed, “promise.”

your boy doesn’t answer, seeming to have already fallen back asleep when you look back at him, but you still hurry in the bathroom, scurrying back into the bedroom and back under the covers less than three minutes after you left them. steve still doesn’t open his eyes, and for a second you think he’s well and truly gone back to sleep, but then his arm snakes back around your middle and pulls you close, putting you right back in the spot you’d been in when you’d woken up as he tucks his face back into your neck.

“so clingy, stevie,” you tease softly, twisting your head just enough to brush your lips across his forehead. you speak into his soft skin, a smile just slightly quirking the corners of your mouth. “we’re gonna have to get up eventually, y’know. just to eat ‘n all that.”

“n’right now,” he mumbles, plush lips tickling your shoulder as he speaks the same way his hair is ticking your face. “jus’ wanna hold you for now. wanna feel you an’ cuddle for a bit b’fore we gotta get up.”

and he pulls you even closer as he says that, which you hadn’t even thought was possible, like he’s trying to actually pull you inside of him, to fuse your bodies into one being so he never has to let you go again. and his words are so sweet, so sincere and perfect and so utterly steve, that you think you’d actually really like to do that - to tuck this boy inside of your rib cage, to keep him safe and keep him forever by having him as close to you as humanly possible.

but until science progresses enough that you’ll be able to do that without destroying both of you in the process (not that you wouldn’t, you think, destroy yourself to keep your stevie safe and protected), you settle for finding the raised lines littering your boyfriend’s torso under the sheets, gently running your fingertips along the scars from everything he’s been through, everything you’d give the universe to keep him from going through again - a gentle gesture of pure love, a silent vow of warmth and protection.

“okay, stevie,” you whisper, taking your lips off of his forehead but continuing your gentle touches to his scars, allowing yourself to focus on your boyfriend’s quiet breathing and the warmth of his body pressed so, so beautifully close to yours. “we’ll stay here for a little bit longer.”

you can tell he’s fallen back asleep before you’ve even finished speaking, but his hold around your body barely loosens - he clings to you, always wanting to feel your skin against his own, even in sleep. you don’t let go of him either, of course; you don’t fall back asleep yourself, but, you think in the soft morning light of your bedroom, holding this beautiful, strong boy in your shared bed, of it were up to you, you’d never let him go.

stranger things taglist: @mictodii, @whiskeyswriting, @lovings4turn, @dancingwith-sunflowers, @xoalexandrarose ! ( also going to tag @ghostlyfleur 😘 )

general taglist: @maddipoof, @thatmagickjuju, @talkingturnedtoscreamss, @malafvma, @auxiliarydetective, @heliads, @oneirataxia-girl !

( send me an ask if you want to be added to a taglist !! )

[shotmrmiller]

Pornstar! Simon crosses with 22 simon and 09 wife or just 09 wife

yknow whats kinda funny about that?

i had been thinking about having a younger simon, like post-butcher, pre-torture and he just goes to sleep in the barracks, cuz he's still like a pvt. or something and he wakes to a nice, remote home in the middle of nowhere.

only to come in contact with reader.

future him strolls in a minute later and he's...aged.

grey streaks his temples and peppers the rest of his hair. lines are etched onto his skin, most prominent around his eyes, forehead and around the corners of his mouth.

and he's scarred quiet heavily. he's got a silver line bisecting his eyebrow and lips, a crooked nose from clearly being broken too many times. his arms are littered with em, like he rolled in glass or something.

and the look old him has in his eyes as he stares at young simon is horrifying. like looking at a dead body; lifeless, empty, ice-cold.

what put that there?

but it doesn't matter after, because old simon turns to reader and changes before his very eyes. shoulders slump, eyes melt with warmth, and a small ㅤsmile graces his lips.

that's when young simon notices the rings on their fingers. married.

reader is his wife- future wife.

she's extraordinary, which eventually has him asking her if he's rich.

not necessarily.

is he famous?

the exact opposite.

are you young?

well isn't that polite.

young simon just wants to know why you're with your husband. he's never been a looker, with an attitude that has always scared off both men and women alike.

what did he do to get someone like you.

anyway, i simply don't write it cuz it's too unrealistic. + i already did multiverse.

[saturnsorbits]

Delinquency

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Angst, Smut, Mention of Gangs, Talk of Babies/Starting a Family, Open Ending, Word Count: 2.8k.

Summary: Once a villain, always a villain: Can Dabi really leave it all behind?

‘I don’t have to put up with this…’ Dabi hauls air in through his nose, teeth clenched so tight it makes his jaw ache.

‘You?’ Somehow your eyes get wider. Your lids peel back, exposing the bloodshot white and shining iris’ that almost pop from your head. ‘Please, enlighten me to what you’re putting up with, Touya. Because it sure as shit wasn’t me lying about still being involved with the fucking league.’

Dabi rolls his eyes.

Bites his lip.

Reminds himself that he loves you. ‘You don't -.’

‘Don’t you fucking dare say I don’t understand.’ There’s a shake in your voice as you try and hold back tears, but you don’t drop his gaze. You'd been ten minutes away from ringing around hospitals and praying that he'd been admitted to A&E rather than the morgue when he'd swaggered back in, knuckles sore and face bruised. ‘You told me after all the shit with your dad, you'd be done with all of that.’

Dabi sighs. ‘I am.’

You snort.

Falling in love with Dabi had meant a lot of things: learning to live with the burnt hand prints on your fridge, adjusting to the looks and hushed judgements when you walked down the street hand in hand and the coming and going of the former members of the League. You’d accepted all of that, fuck, you’d hosted dinners for his old gang, had the famous Shigaraki grace your God damn table, but the one thing you couldn’t accept was his complicity. ‘Your fucking knuckles are bleeding.’

He shakes out his hand, wincing as the ligaments tug at swelled tissue. ‘It was one fight - Tomura just needed some guy putting in his place, I’m not going back - I pr-.’

‘Don’t make promises you have no intention of keeping.’

‘Doll.’ He steps forward, arms opening to hold you, but you’re backing away before he can close the gap.

Choking back a sob, you lick the dryness from your mouth as the panic of the last few hours bubbles under your skin. ‘You’re almost thirty, Touya. We have a house, a fucking mortgage…' You bite your tongue and screw your nose up. 'Oh, my God, I was thinking about asking you for a baby. What, I - I must be stupid. How could I raise a baby like this… When, when it’s father’s off burning people to a fucking crisp just because his old boss asked him to…’

Air sticks in his throat. The word ‘baby’ ricocheting around his head like gunfire. ‘Shig -.’

‘Oh, Shigaraki can look after himself.’ You snap.

‘I…’ He wets his lips. Suddenly, his joints don't ache – the pain is in his chest instead. ‘Are you serious? About - about wanting a baby?’

‘Well not any more.’

He steps back as if slapped.

You run a palm down your face. ‘What if you go to prison? Huh? I get stuck on my own with a brat and a house I can’t pay for? Then, what? All because you couldn’t tell Shigaraki that you don’t want to be involved any more?’ There's tears spilling over your cheeks that you don't even bother wiping away. ‘What the fuck happens if you die, Touya?’

Chest tightening, he can feel his stomach ache. The now ancient scars of staples etched into his skin clenching as memories of Hell fire and bad blood threaten to overload his system. Then, you're laughing and it’s ringing in his ears snapping his attention back to you.

Your panic is fading now, being beaten out and replace with something stronger. Anger broils in your stomach so hot that you’re mad with it, but you’re too far gone to care. ‘Fucks sake, the girls were right - I should have dated Natsuo. You think his girlfriend has to put up with this shit? I bet you money he doesn’t come home wearing someone else’s blood like fucking aftershave.’

Dabi can't get his baring. His head is too full to think as the image of you cradling a child, his child, fills the void between his ears. ‘It was one job.’

‘Until the next one.’

‘I - fuck -.’

You shake your head, letting out a shaky laugh. ‘Don’t. It’s okay. I should have known what I was signing up for… It’s my own fault for thinking I could build a life here.’

‘No - wait. Doll -’ He reaches for you again, but you're already out of reach.

‘No.’ You lift your arms into the air in surrender. ‘It’s okay. I get it. The League is always gonna win.’

‘The League doesn’t exist any more.’

‘Could have fooled me.’

You go to bed alone. The darkness is suffocating, the bed too large without Dabi's frame, but even that is better than the smell of blood and spit. At some point, the shower gurgles to life, forcing out the menacing ricochet of thoughts that cause you to wonder just how long your relationship has left. It leaves you empty, sucked dry of everything, but the heavy thundering of the man you love washing blood from his knuckles next door.

The water is too hot, scorching the delicate seams of his skin. Scar tissue and skin grafts have long since settled, leaving him now with a more cohesive patch-work than the back-ally surgeons and staple guns could ever manage. He runs a hand over the scar covering the back of his wrist. That life seems miles away now.

Or, it would if he didn't go running back whenever Shigaraki called.

Which he did.

There was always a job his quirk was perfect for, or a meeting he didn't trust anyone else to mediate, a delivery that would only be safe if it was in his hands. Whatever it was, Dabi always said yes. Maybe it was because being a villain was all he had ever known? Or, maybe, just maybe, deep down, he enjoyed it... Couldn't take the restlessness of a house in the suburbs, a girlfriend who loved him despite all his flaws and the possibility of more: a baby. The word repeats on him again.

He'd never seen himself as a father. Never had an interest. Didn't want the responsibility of raising a brat, or worrying at every single turn if he was becoming his father. It had never appealed to him. That was... Until you.

Now, the image of you swollen and fat, round with his child made his balls ache. You'd look stunning, with glowing skin and one hand permanently rested on your stomach. He wonders if your tits would swell too. If your nipples, already so delicate and sweet would become more sensitive as your body prepared to offer new life to the world. Would the taste of your cunt change, once he finally allowed you to feel full of him. Something he's used to denying you time and time again. The image of you dripping with him, your fingers messily spooning the thick spend back into yourself as you beg for him to breed you burns itself into the back of his eyelids.

His eyes snap open.

Swearing, he reaches down and grips the base of his cock and watches as it twitches, helplessly in his grasp.

Sleep has barely begun to tug at your eyelids when the shower abruptly shuts off. You wait with baited breath, air locked in your chest as his footfalls creep back into the bedroom. You expect him to leave, to sleep on the sofa like he has done in the past when you have argued, but after a moment, he's moving again, rounding your side of the bed and dropping to his knees, still dripping.

Dabi's throat bobs. 'I told him, I'm done.' He mumbles, offering up his phone that he slides to you, screen up, across the mattress.

You push yourself up onto an elbow and peer at the phone where a text chain glows. To his credit, there's a message there – one swearing off further involvement, but still, your heart aches. Biting the inside of your cheek, you bring your eyes up to meet his. 'I don't -.'

He doesn't let you finish. Instead, he reaches for your hand and squeezes. 'I know... I know you don't have any reason to trust me, but look at me and tell me: does it look like I'm serious?'

The muscle in your jaw flexes. You've always had a good read on him. It's the only reason you've both gotten as far as you have.

'Am I serious?'

You lick your teeth.

'I...' Swallowing, he rubs a thumb over your knuckles. 'I mean it, I... Fuck, I wanna give you a baby so bad.'

'Touya – I can't...'

'I mean it.' He cups your cheek with his other hand. 'Don't just believe me, let me prove it to you.'

Covering his hand with yours, you peer into his eyes: searching. You want to believe him. You do. More than anything. 'Touya...'

'Doll.' Dabi leans in, his nose pressing against your cheek as he breathes hot air over your cheeks. In the millimetre of space between your lips, he whispers. 'Let me... Please.'

You close the distance between you and sink into the taste of him. His hand wraps around the back of your neck immediately, keeping you cradled close to him as he lets himself soak into your touch.

Letting yourself fall, you allow his weight to push you back until you're laying flat on the bed, but he doesn't break the kiss once. There's a desperation in his tongue. A passion had always burnt bright between you, hot and fierce, and yet, right now, his whole being is calm. He cages you in, bracketing your head between two strong elbows as he continues to pour himself into you. His tongue breaches the seam of your lips, licking into your mouth with a fever.

'Touya... Touya, please.' Gasping against his mouth, your hands find his hair and tangle in the strands there. You pull, earning yourself a quiet moan that he feeds into your mouth with another scorching kiss. Already you can feel a molten stone begin to burn in your stomach, with each of his touches your doubts are unpicked, his kiss the salve to your worries as he scatters love against your neck.

'Tell me what you need, Doll. Tell me.' Towel slipping from his hips, Dabi finds himself bare. It's odd. To be the one laid so naked while you're still clad in your sleep clothes. It makes him feel stripped, vulnerable and yet, there isn't a single inch of him that is weary.

Letting your hands slip from his hair, you cradle Dabi's face and force him to look at you. 'You... I need you.'

A smile breaks his features then. It still feels strange, tugging unusually at the edges of his mouth as if pulled by invisible strings. Pressing his hips down, he presses his half-hard cock against your pelvis and licks his teeth when he feels the blood pulse under your skin. 'Yeah? You need me, or do you need him, Doll?'

Squirming, you buck your hips anxious to feel more of him. He's searing hot, yet far too cold through the layers of your sleepwear leaving you anxious. You reach down, dropping his face in order to pull at your shorts, trying and failing to slip them from your legs.

Dabi sits back on his haunches, his hands trailing down your body slowly, but firm.

His palms are rough, calloused against your shoulders as they slip lower and take hold of your chest. For a moment he lingers, appreciating with a squeeze. You're so soft and eager, pressing up into him as he kneads at you.

A broad swipe of his thumbs over your nipples has you arching. The desperation inside of you feels as though it might tear you apart as he takes one between his fingers and rolls it, forcing it to pebble quick in the warm air.

'Shh, I've got you, Doll.' Bowing his head, Dabi lays a broad-thick lick against your neglected nipple while slowly pulling at the other. He'd never much cared for pleasure before you. Never really cared about being good. He fucked out of boredom, out of a stubborn biological need that was burrowed somewhere deep inside of him and yet, now... Now he could do without the orgasm. He'd give you his mouth, his fingers, his cock without anything in return if only it meant he was able to bask in your pleasure, to watch, to give.

It makes him want to laugh sometimes, just how much you've changed him.

How much good you bring to him.

If only he could give you something back...

If he could give you the best of him.

'Fuck, fuck... Touy – Touya.' Scrambling, you draw your nails down his back leaving brilliant red in their wake. He likes it. You know he does. Wearing the marks of how he makes you feel, so you don't bother to lighten your touch as you do it again.

Touya drops his head as a moan rolls up his throat and into your ear. The muscle in his back tenses under your abuse, a stark reminder of just how delicate the line between pain and pleasure so often is. 'Oh, baby...' He purrs.

Letting your knees drop to the side, you allow Dabi to nestle between your thighs - closer to where you so desperately need him.

He can feel it, the heat, almost burning to the touch as he reaches down to swipe two fingers through your folds. Usually, he's the one who runs hot, but right now, you're giving him more than a run for his money. His hand comes away wet and sticky. Strings of your arousal drip down his digits, reaching his knuckles before he raises his hand to his mouth and licks you from his skin.

'Touya...' Your heart is racing, hammering against your ribs as you watch him clean himself of you. 'Touya, don't tease.'

'Oh.' He feigns sympathy, before a cruel smirk twists at his features. 'Did you want a taste too, baby?'

There's no waiting for you respond, no answer or rebuttal. There's just a moan locked deep in your throat and then, his fingers pressing down on your tongue. The taste of you bursts in your mouth, mixed with the dull tang of Dabi's spit.

Dabi hums, but the noise gains gravel as soon as you begin to suck at him. He hisses through his teeth, his thumb digging into your chin as he slowly inches his fingers back of your mouth. He growls, hooking a finger to stroke at the plush of your lips. 'For that, missy, I ain't prepping you.'

'As if that's a punishment.' You grin and lift your hips.

There's a hunger in his eyes now. One that is laced with the millions of things he's scared to admit as his expression flickers to match yours. He cocks an eyebrow and reaches for the towel around his waist. Yanking at it, he tosses it off the end of the bed and sits back on his haunches.

You love this bit. The bit were he makes you watch. Your cunt drools onto the mattress, providing the perfect lube for him to begin stroking himself. He dips into you, collecting as much of your slick as he can before wrapping his soaked fingers around his cock.

The slide is perfect. The wetness from you mixes with his own pre-cum, making each pass with his fist divine. It sends shocks of flame up his spine. Licking at his vertebrae, the pleasure builds, bubbling in-between sinew and cartilage, forcing him to bend. He leans into it, letting his body roll to find more of the pleasure he craves. 'Fuck...' He sighs, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. Pressing his cock to your entrance, he tilts forward and then...

His phone rings.

-> Masterlist

[karvroom]

THE LOOK OF LOVE

singer!kaminari x reader

⟢ summary: in which, the famous lead singer of a band makes an unexpected appearance at his local club. amongst the crowd he spots you. something about you makes him feel a rush, urging him to talk to you.

═════════════

Two drinks into the night and Kaminari could already feel his insides urging him to jump onto the dance floor. On any regular day, he wouldn’t give in to his body’s wishes, but today was different. It was a Sunday night. A day of the week he wouldn’t normally come to this club.

He felt unfamiliar with the scene, yet he knew he was in the right building. It was the set of new faces that threw him off. Kaminari had never seen these people before, nor did he feel any obligation to get to know them. As a socialite, he absolutely adored other people and their antics, finding each individual to be unique and interesting in their own way. There wasn’t anyone he’d ever interacted with that would cause him to say “they’re boring”. He always managed to pick the most characteristic out of the bunch.

The blonde set his empty glass on the bar top, spinning away from the bar tender to face the dance floor. Hundreds of individuals gathered underneath the blinding lights, indulging in the feel of one another’s sweaty, sticky skin.

He popped the collar of his leather jacket before standing from his barstool. Kaminari took the time to carefully readjust his sunglasses, pushing the spectacles onto the bridge of his nose in a comfortable position. The singer was beginning to become more comfortable with the idea of becoming a rock star and had started sporting shades indoors.

Sure, he’d received some backlash, but when you’re the frontman of the most popular band possibly in the world, perhaps it’s alright.

Kaminari was dressed his casual attire; a charcoal leather jacket covered majority of his white button up, accompanied by his black slacks he’d worn the previous night. An outline of a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, along with the keys to his car stuffed his pocket. Regardless of how plain the outfit was, it made him look and feel sexy. He ran a hand through his messy, gold tresses.

Kaminari slithered through the crowd until he found himself at a wall next to the doorway of the bathroom. Changing the scenery just barely. There he sat and observed, outlining the unique features in the faces of the mass. None jumped out at him, though he acknowledged everyone’s face told a different story. Scars running along people’s skin, freckles kissing their bodies, and some bruises. However, no one seemed to care, they were all too focused on swaying their hips to the beat of the music in a seductive manner to impress anybody daring to look at them.

The rock star’s back hit the wall. His arms made way to the pockets of his jacket, fiddling with his phone.

Tonight was different, aside from everything aforementioned, Kaminari tossed his usual moral objections to the back of his mind. Usually, he was opposed to one night stands. As much as he loved the adrenaline rush from them, he hated the idea of seeing someone for a minimal of eight hours then disappearing without a trace. The musician was starting to give up on the idea of finding a “soulmate” he’d always dreamt of since childhood.

Just as his last shred of hope was deteriorating, he spotted someone that piqued his interest.

You.

You stood on the other side of the doorway, chatting it up with a female security guard to your right. He took note of the cigarette you carelessly held between your fingers, smelling the fumes circling the area of the warehouse. Ironically, there was a sign next to your head, clearly stating ‘No Smoking Indoors’.

Kaminari’s eyes followed to the guard, seeing you two were chatting it up like you were old friends. He came to the conclusion that you must’ve been a frequent visitor. Why else would a security guard allow you to indulge in strictly prohibited activities?

You felt the shameless eyes of the blonde lingering on you through his cool shades. You slyly took a drag of the cancer stick, the butt of the cigarette rubbed between your lips. You blew the smoke out of your mouth, allowing it to infiltrate the club air. The scent mixed with the heavy perfume almost made the air non-breathable, but nobody cared. Your fingers reached up, pulling the cigarette away, leaving your lipstick stain on the paper.

You let out a breathy laugh at your friend’s joke, pretending you were having a good time. Trying to maintain Kaminari’s attention without making it obvious you knew he was watching you. You swirled the glass of hard liquor around in your other hand, watching the sphere ice cube bob up and down.

Your eyes shifted in Kaminari’s direction, he met your gaze through his sunglasses. The warmth you held in your eyes was so inviting and Kaminari believed it was only meant for him. He wanted to take it as sign—a sign that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. Quickly, you looked back to your friend, laughing at yet another one of their jokes.

Perhaps it was the drinks that got to him, but the blonde pushed himself off the wall, confidently strutting across the floor to you. He took this time to observe you from afar one last time. Your tiny black dress riding up your thighs as you tried pulling the fabric down. Clearly, you were uncomfortable in the provocative outfit.

You noticed Kaminari from the corner of your eye and you turned your body to meet him, quickly ending the conversation with the night guard. You set your drink on the table in front of you, as well as putting the cigarette out by squishing it onto the black slate. You crossed your arms over your chest while eyeing Kaminari up and down.

Almost all his confidence fled from his body as he nervously swallowed. The man was apprehensive to speak, afraid you’d immediately shoot him down, but something about you was drawing him to get to know you. The real you. Underneath the glam and sexy, laid back demeanor you threw on for outsiders to be fooled by.

“Hey,” Kaminari asked, flashing his pearly whites at you. You could smell on his breath the alcoholic beverage he had previously chugged. He leaned against the wall, squishing his arm between his body weight and the surface, “come here often?”

Kaminari took off his shades, gently sliding them into the pocket of his jacket. Now, he was completely entranced. You from far away did no justice for the way you looked up close. Your hair was a mess, fly aways sprouting from your head as you mirrored his position against the wall.

“No.” You lied, girlishly smiling. Kaminari couldn’t help but admire the grin you gave him; as mischievous as a Cheshire cat’s. He felt like you knew something he didn’t, something that could be life-altering. Your eyes ran over his attire before looking back into his gold irises, “You seem nervous.”

“Me? Nervous? Oh, please.” Kaminari rolled his eyes, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. You slightly tilted your head in return. Something about his face felt so familiar to you. The way the corners of his eyes scrunched when he smiles down at you and how his voice got deeper with each passing moment. You figured it was the alcohol.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” You finally asked, driving the conversation into full gear with that single sentence.

Kaminari leaned in close, as if he were telling you a secret, your noses only inches apart, “The man of your dreams, perhaps?”

“You wish, lover boy.” You returned the gesture, leaning forward by just a smidge.

The musician tried to come up with something witty in return, but his drunken senses fail him. All he could think about was sex. He didn’t want to hook up, but he was tired of searching for his “one true love”. Kaminari didn’t even know why he was talking to you or why his feet had a mind of their own. He wasn’t thinking straight in his state of inebriation.

He wanted to make a move on you before the moment fleeted beneath his nose. Kaminari was conflicted. The blonde felt intense emotions but nothing at the same time. He wanted to hook up with you, but also understand the depths of your soul, taking a deep dive into all that you had to say.

“What’s your name?” Was all Kaminari could muster, staring straight into your irises.

“(Y/N).”

“It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).” Kaminari stated. He tipped an imaginary top hat at you, earning a small laugh from you. “I’m Kaminari—Denki Kaminari.”

The name didn’t ring any bells for you. Kaminari was amused at your calm attitude after learning his name. Here he thought everybody knew who he was, but he knew he shouldn’t assume such things. Simply allowing the fame to get to his head.

“It’s nice to meet you as well.” Your lips formed into a soft, wistful smile. Maybe it was the liquor that made you feel the way you did, but you couldn’t help but feel an attraction bubbling for the man.

“What brings you here?” Kaminari blurted.

“Visiting some old friends. They’re the owners of this place.” You informed. Kaminari, impressed, but not surprised by the fact. He figured you had some kind of status here due to the bad habit of smoking indoors.

“Then, why aren’t you with them?” The blonde questioned.

“They’re busy upstairs with paperwork for the club.” You pointed to the ceiling above you, turning your head to look out at the crowd. You could barely make out anyone’s face because of the flashing, neon lights. You didn’t bother to turn back, “What about you? Why are you here?”

Kaminari couldn’t help be observed your side profile, admiring your beauty from every angle he possibly could.

He licked his lips before speaking, listing the reasons for his whereabouts, “Day off, bored, wanted to get out of the house.”

“You and everybody else here.” You gestured to the rowdy mass of youth who danced their problems away. Shaking their hips to the beat of the music.

There was something everyone in that club shared. They were all lonely souls regardless of their relationship status. Their normal everyday lives filled with black and white while this one had the opportunity to burst with color. It was no wonder they chose this spot in the large city.

You turned your head back, allowing your noggin to hit the wall. The fall was cushioned by your soft tresses atop of your scalp. Your eyes ran down Kaminari’s body while he was distracted by the crowd. You only stopped at his exposed chest. The shirt was buttoned down, showing off his smooth skin beneath the cloth. Whether it was purposeful or not, you enjoyed the sight.

“You’re from around here.” You said, more as a statement than a question. Kaminari met your gaze, only to look down at his shoes. You made him nervous in all honesty.

“What makes you say that?”

“You aren’t mingling.” You lifted your near-empty glass to your lips, chugging the last bit of alcohol left. You swallowed, hard, “Either that or you’re shy. But I doubt that. You had the balls to come up and talk to me. So, I’d say you’ve been here enough to know not everything is real and you’re tired of that.”

Kaminari was fascinated. How did you read him so well? Were you a psychic?

“Oh, yeah?” The blonde asked. You hummed in response, bobbing your head up and down, having to stop yourself from continuing with the catchy music. Kaminari crossed his arms, standing straight to his full height. You didn’t expect him to be as tall as he was. You could only imagine the growth spurt he went through during his teen years. “Why am I here then? Talking to you, I mean.”

You placed a finger to your lips, scanning the man as if the answer was scribbled on his skin somewhere.

“Let’s see,” You pushed yourself off the wall, starting to circle Kaminari as if you were a shark swimming around its prey in a playful manner. You weren’t one to play with your food, but you weren’t hungry at the moment. “Obviously, you came dressed to impress.”

Kaminari threw his arms up, spinning in a slow motion before coming back around to face you. The blonde spoke, “When do I not?”

“That wasn’t a compliment, buddy.” You stepped closer to him. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, almost making you start to feel hot. You hesitated before reaching a hand out to feel the leather of his jacket. Your words sharp, “Real leather. Materialistic.”

“Or just great style.” Kaminari shrugged defensively.

Your hand slithered into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out his sunglasses from earlier. You opened the temples of the glasses, holding each one in your hands and up to your face. You acted as if you were about to try them on and steal his look.

“Sunglasses indoors and at night?” You inquired, adding that to your mental list. “You’re hiding something or you’re an egoistic maniac who thinks he’s “too cool” for anyone that isn’t a model or wipes their ass with wads of cash.”

“Definitely not that.” Kaminari confirmed, shaking his head sideways to side in disagreement.

“So, you’re hiding something?” You quirked a brow, placing the sunglasses on top of your head, almost hiding them in your messy locks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The rock star shrugged once more, casting you a smug smile; a shit eating grin that you had your fair share of. Kaminari snatched the glasses from your hair, folding at the hinges and securing them safely back in his pocket. “Sorry, I don’t share my secrets with strangers.”

“Hey, you came up to me.” You pointed to yourself, clicking your tongue before you scoffed. “I think it’s only fair that I get confirmation.”

You placed both hands on your hips, giving Kaminari a glare. He thought it was cute how you actually believed you could intimidate him—though you were. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“Just to keep things interesting, I’ll tell ya.” Kaminari waved his hand in the air, a gesture telling to come closer. You two were like high schoolers exchanged gossip between one another. He drunkenly whispered into your ear, “That guy over there won’t stop starin’ at you.”

“Where?” You started to turn your head, only to be stopped by Kaminari’s hand grabbing your chin, forcing you to lock eyes with him. You used your hand to take Kaminari’s away from your face. You bluntly stated, “That’s not a secret, idiot.”

“It is if you didn’t know it.”

You rolled your eyes at the defeat, “So we’re playing that game, huh?”

Kaminari laughed, hand over his chest as he did so. He spoke shortly after, “We can play whatever you want. As long as we have a good time.”

“You think you’re a smart guy.” You inquired.

“Babe, I know I’m a smart guy.” Kaminari crossed his arms, gloating at his own witty response. He had you gagged, the only thing you could come up with was the tainted words whirring in your mind.

“You can’t be smart and pretty.” You stated, a horrible attempt to flirt with the man. However, it just made his attraction toward you grow.

With pupils dilated and heart beating out of its chamber, he couldn’t help but smile. The giddy feeling you gave him was incomparable to any other woman he’d struck a conversation with. You were something different, something new. He wanted a taste of you outside the scene; to know your body, your pain, your mind. It all intrigued him.

Kaminari looked around the room one last time. His mind and heart was in agreement that you were the one he wanted to take home out of the hundreds of college girls there. His jaw slacked before he blurted, “Do you wanna get outta here?”

[donaweasley]

The Unsaid Things

Pairing: Clint Barton x Fem!Reader

Plot:

The years, and especially the war, have taken a heavy emotional toll on everyone. But through everything, you’ve always had your friend by your side. Will the changing times bring a change in your relationship, too?

P.S.: Laura and family never happened. Clint is very much single. 😌

Warnings: Angst, Passing mention of a character’s death, Sm.u.t

💔💜🔥

Read time: ~29 mins

Minors!!!! Do NOT interact!! 🫣 🤨

You both had talked about retirement, about that fantasy land of peace several times. Clint had even announced his retirement once, twice … what was it … four times now? But every time he thought he could live without getting into the mess of the world, he got dragged into one.

Another mission.

That’s where Clint and you found yourselves on an otherwise beautiful Sunday evening. It was one of those nasty ones that always left scars - not just on the skin but also on the soul. Thankfully, you were provided backup by the government; a rare event but so was the task at hand.

You both fought, saved, killed, retrieved the necessary information and the assets you were asked to retrieve. You witnessed people die - both good and bad ones. You watched in horror as both of you made close calls with death; more than just once.

When you returned from the field, you both unwillingly brought the weight and the stench of the battle on your backs. The aftermath of such missions never washed away easily, no matter how many minutes or hours you spent in the shower, no matter how loud you played your favourite music or who you hung out with or how many drinks you downed. And with the Avengers disbanded, there were not many left for you to share your thoughts with. 

Clint had always been steady in his friendship with you. After Natasha, you were, undoubtedly, his most precious human. But when Natasha was gone, it had momentarily left a gaping hole in your relationship. He could not get out of his guilt and you did not want to push him into anything. Days after days, you had watched him stare at the void. You knew what was going on in his mind: different scenarios of the day on Vormir, wishing that he had done things differently, wishing that he had somehow put in more effort. Maybe then - maybe - she would have been here in his place. Maybe.

You had watched him torture himself for days, spiraling into despair, secluding himself from everyone, even from you, until one day you decided to breach the threshold that he had built around himself. Clint was lost in thoughts, like always. He was startled when you had walked up from behind, and wrapped your arms around his sitting form. He had fumbled for excuses to leave your embrace, lying that he had to go somewhere, that he was not in the mood for any of it. Your grip was tight, and he did not have the strength in him to push your arms away. And when you did not yield, when you did not leave him but had whispered in his ear, “Clint, please! Come back to us. We need you. I need you!” he had shattered. Turning around on the bench, he had wrapped his arms tightly around your waist and sobbed into your chest. You used to think that it was painful watching him fade away. You realised then and there that you were wrong. Watching him sob like a child, feeling him tremble under your touch was perhaps the most excruciating thing you had felt after the departure of your friends. It felt as though his sufferings were entwined with your own.

That was two years ago.

But since that afternoon, you had slowly watched him return to you. The Clint Barton that you used to know was resurfacing. Slowly but steadily. Of course, there were pieces of him that were lost to time forever. But then you all had lost parts of yourself in the war; parts that you’d probably never get back. But that did not mean that there was no room for the famous Clint-humour that you loved or the wrinkles around his eyes when he laughed. They were all coming back gradually, along with a newfound side to your friendship.

It was difficult to put a name to it but it felt warmer, the bond felt stronger and the understanding deeper. Unsaid things found a new, comfortable place between the two of you. Though no one could fill the void that Natasha and the others had left in their wake, you knew that this - whatever this strange bond was - was enough to fill the void that had once been burnt into your soul.

So, that night when you had taken shelter in the allocated safehouse, neither of you played any music nor did you strike up a conversation. You were exhausted - more in the mind than in the body. You both let the quiet take over, let the unsaid things do the talking.

After a quick shower, some bandages, and after discarding your battlesuit for your black tank top and underwear, you let your body drop down on the bed, too exhausted to climb it gracefully and get under the covers. Clint was in the other room. The safehouse wasn’t much but it saw to your basic needs: first aid, food, a hot shower and some clean towels, and two decent beds to drain the fatigue. It was a small flat in the midst of the town, rumoured (as spread by S.H.I.E.L.D) to be more like a pit stop for the owner who sometimes had work on that side of the town. So, though many eyes turned when two unknown figures in casual black clothes - one holding a large gym bag and another carrying a backpack - walked up the stairs, nobody made an effort to recognise the faces.

It was a humid night. Lying on top of the comforter, on the second floor of the building, you allowed the sound of the streets below to drown you. In the noise of the traffic and the market and the crowds, you tried to find some normality that had otherwise gone missing in your life. Minutes went by. And yet all that flashed on the curtains of your closed eyes were the harrowing moments of the day’s battle. Those eventually morphed into the wars of the past. The dying soldiers today got replaced by the pale, lifeless bodies of your friends who were no longer with you. Of those who were still there with you. Of Clint.

Your eyes snapped open. The ceiling was staring back at you. The constant rotating of the fan above and the whir of its motor seemed to mock you. Everything seemed to have a rhythm, a steadiness in their being. But you? All you were left with were bits and pieces of the moments that you had once shared with those you loved.

Sitting up, you ran a hand through the damp hair. No, you could not do this alone. Grabbing your pillow in one hand, you silently walked towards the archer’s room.

The door to his room was ajar. Clint was lying on his side, with his back turned towards you, the comforter rising up to his bare torso. He was looking all warm and comfortable. So much that the anxiety in your eyes was immediately replaced by a softness at the sight. He always did this to you - made you feel grounded even when the world around you was burning to ashes.

You were about to knock when you noticed the slow, steady pace with which his arm and shoulder rose and fell. Even after all these years, it still surprised you how fast he could fall asleep! The first feeling that kicked within you was that of frustration. Now you were doomed to bear the burden of your thoughts alone. All through the long night. But then, a small smile tugged at your lips when you saw the peace that engulfed him. After the war, it had become a rare sight to see Clint so peaceful, cocooned from his PTSD that often kept him up at night.

You had turned halfway to return to the torment in your room when you heard Clint softly call your name. You turned to see him almost on his back, craning his neck to look at you.

“I thought you were asleep,” you declared.

“I was. Almost.”

“Then how the hell did you know that I was here?” A small smile played on your lips since you already knew the answer.

The same knowing smile settled on his mouth, too. “Just like I do every time! You’re not as stealthy as you think you are.”

“And people think you are deaf!” You rolled your eyes playfully while taking a few slow steps into the room.

His room was much cooler than yours, thanks to the large windows that allowed cross-ventilation.

Clint was lying on his back now. “Not deaf! Hard of hearing! How many times do I have to make myself clear?”

“As many times as I want you to, Barton. Now, shut up and make room for me.” You threw the pillow at his face but he caught it in time.

“Why, did they hide bedbugs in yours?” He joked as you climbed under the cool comforter.

“I believe they had intended it for you but, accidentally,” you sighed dramatically, “I got the room.”

Clint laughed as he turned to face you.

“The same pattern?” His tone was serious now.

“Huh?”

“Your nightmares,” Clint clarified.

Your smirk was quickly replaced by a frown. “Yep,” you whispered your confession. “Tried but couldn't sleep at all!”

“Me neither.”

“I thought you were almost asleep,” you raised a playful brow.

“Was pretending to! Thought my body couldn’t tell the difference if I lay still.”

Clint’s smile grew larger when you shook with laughter. His eyes, adorned with creases from the weight of the years, took in your sight as though it was the last bit of peace, the last bit of sanity that was left in his life.

“I love you, Barton,” you said between dying laughs, as you had said uncountable times before.

“You know I love you, too,” he replied, just like he had innumerous times before.

Leaning forward, he placed a soft kiss on your forehead before beginning to get off the bed. He was clad only in his boxer briefs. Black. Somehow you knew it’d be black. Both of you had an inclination towards an all-black-clothing when it came to fights. ‘A weird kink’, Natasha used to call it.

“You know you can share the bed, right? Don’t have to sleep on the floor!” You called out with a grin spread on your face.

“Yeah, yeah!” he waved dismissively as he sauntered towards the washroom. “And stop staring at my ass.”

“There is nothing to stare at, old man. I’ve seen better.”

“Whose, Bucky’s?” You did not need to see his face to know that he was smirking. Bucky had been his favourite topic to tease you ever since you had confided in him that you had a crush on the super soldier. That was a long, long time ago.

“Nope. Mine,” you tilted your chin up as this time you owned the smirk.

Clint peeked at you in defeat before closing the door. He did have a nice ass though, now that you thought about it. You shook your head quickly before your imagination drifted away beyond what was appropriate.

Your thoughts went back to Natasha. Nat! Oh, how she used to tease the two of you! How she would have teased had she seen that you were sharing a bed! And dressed only in the bare minimum! Nat!

A silent laugh left your mouth and touched your eyes.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling and the rotating fan. It did not mock you this time. This time when you closed your eyes, you did not see red. You did not see any meadow either but it was fine. It was … normal.

A couple of minutes later, you felt the bed dip beside you. You must have dozed off because you did not remember hearing the sound of the flush or of the bathroom door opening or closing. You felt something tickle your face, and soon realised that it was Clint moving a stray strand of hair. You opened your eyes and they instantly met his. A moment passed in silence. It was comfortable … but there was something heavy in it, too. Something that made your breath hitch. Clint probably felt it, too, because he blinked and then suddenly moved away.

Unsure what to do, you slowly closed your eyes again, as though still partially asleep and hence vaguely aware of the situation. You tried hard to compose your sudden ragged breathing.

“I hope you’ve washed your hands,” you mumbled, your eyes still closed. You hoped that it would lighten the moment.

“Oops! Sorry to disappoint you!” Hearing the mirth in his voice gave you a little relief.

“Ha. Ha. Liar.”

The sound of his chuckle and the shift in the mattress told you that he had turned to face the other side. You opened one eye to confirm your doubt.

Indeed he had.

A small wave of disappointment washed over your heart. You lay there for a while, trying to slide back into the dreamscape. Nothing. A few innocent ideas to find that lost shred of peace popped up in your mind but, remembering the heaviness in the air from a few moments ago, you rejected them all. Your exhaustion had started taking its toll on you. And, in the end, you surrendered to your heart’s desires.

Sighing, you shifted closer to him, and wrapped your arm around his torso. In response, he held your hand, gently pressing it close to his chest. The warmth of his skin was soothing. But it was not enough. You scooted closer so that you were practically spooning him, and slowly wrapped your leg over his.

“Is this okay?” Your voice was barely audible, it being muffled by your doubts and by the pillow.

But the way he rubbed circles on the back of your hand with his thumb and responded “yeah” allowed you to unclench your muscles.

It was just one word but you heard everything in it. It wasn’t just an obligatory “yeah”. Neither was it a sleepy, half-conscious “yeah”. He wanted these - your closeness, your touch - as much as you wanted his. Clint reached for your thigh and pulled it further over himself.

Despite the depth of your friendship, you had never been so close to him before. But then, life wasn’t the same as before, was it? Clint was the only ray of sunshine in your life, and now you needed to hold on to that light - its warmth, its glow, everything.

Lulled by his steady breathing, you gradually descended into a peaceful space. You did not even realise when sleep had taken over. That was until your friend shuffled. The movement of muscle beneath your limbs and the tug of the comforter awoke you but only partially. You registered something warm and heavy settle on your waist, and faintly noted that Clint had pulled you flush against him.

He was warm. And even beneath the tautness of his muscles, there was a softness about him. It felt nice. Peaceful. Safe. It felt like…home.

Your sleep-drunk mind tried to pull up more descriptions but failed. “Home”: it felt like the perfect word for him; nothing further was needed.

Warm air rustled on your upper lip rhythmically. Heavy eyelids opened only slightly to note that his face was mere inches away from yours. For a moment he opened his eyes, too - hooded eyes that looked as though they were dreaming but you knew well that they were looking deep into your soul through your own. Two seconds later, he closed them, and so did you. Your fingers itched to touch his face but your arms felt too heavy. And they felt better on his back. So, you left them there.

Before you could doze off again, you felt warmth descend on your lips. You did not need to open your eyes this time. The softness of his lips was the first thing that registered in your mind; a delightful surprise. You had always found his mouth cute but never had you thought that they would be this tender! And they were sure of their actions. Clint knew what he was doing. It was not some sleep-driven whim, no. He wanted this. It almost felt like he needed this; a connection that transcended the moment.

Your mind was too dazed to process things further. And it ended all too soon, even before you could grasp properly what had happened. Or why.

When you opened your eyes again, you found Clint’s intense ones staring back at you - wide and wild. His breathing was paced. As if the faint, golden glow of the streetlights was not testament enough, you could feel its rush on your mouth. His hand was gently splayed on your back, as if to make sure you do not slip away.

And before you could fully comprehend the state of your own mind, your arm - the one that was comfortably flung around his back - slowly began making its way up to his face. Your fingers took their time to travel across the skin of his back, over his waist, his arm, all the way up to the side of his neck until they reached their destination on his cheek.

Clint’s frantic breathing visibly calmed down beneath your touch. Instinctively, he tilted his head so that the corner of his lips brushed against your palm. When your thumb started rubbing gentle circles on his cheekbone, he let out a long sigh before closing his eyes in content.

And you? Well, you leaned in to capture his parted lips with your own.

Behind closed eyes, Clint saw an entire galaxy unfurl before him. He inhaled a lungful of air through his nostrils while you let out a breath you did not even realise were holding. Both of your lips moved ardently, in perfect sync with one another. Unlike the previous brush of a kiss, this time Clint kissed you with a fierce passion that you had, until then, believed only to exist in fantasies. He pulled your body further into his, wrapping a leg over yours and threading his fingers into your hair. Unlike the dazed state of your mind the first time, this time you felt it all: the dizziness, the hunger, the burst of happiness, and the all-consuming desire to hold him as close to you as possible!

But with these feelings, crept up some uninvited voices in the back of your head. Logical voices that urged you to stop. Voices that warned that this was a mistake, that this was not how things were supposed to be, that Clint Barton was a friend, and that all of these will only end up in a heartbreak.

But you couldn’t be bothered. Not when Clint’s mouth was leaving pleas on yours and his hands were whispering prayers on your skin. Not when it finally made sense - all of it. That nagging feeling of being something more than friends, those stolen glances, those long looks, those blinding smiles that lit up whenever you were around each other, those fleeting touches that sent tingles racing long after, those unsaid things that always lingered between words - a silent acknowledgement of something much deeper. They all fell into place. Perhaps this was why neither could ever settle down with anybody else. Maybe - no, not maybe. Surely, that’s because you both sought each other in the crowds, drawn together by an undeniable connection.

His lips were insistent, leaving no room to catch your breath. Hot breath fanned your cheeks as arms pulled each other closer. When you tugged on his hair, the soft moan that left him almost melted you. Grabbing the moment, you dipped your tongue past his lips, and he welcomed you immediately. As you tasted one another, you rolled Clint over, almost lying on top of him. Your hand descended towards the mattress for support but found nothing. Opening your eyes, you realised that you both were balanced on the edge of the bed.

It took some effort to pull yourself away from a ravenous Clint.

“We’re on the edge,” you gestured with your eyes.

He first looked at you in confusion but soon turned his head to see. Then, absolutely unbothered by it, smoothly rolled over to hover on top of you, the comforter tangling you both up even further. Clint did not utter a word. Everything that needed to be said was being told by those kisses.

This was not how you had expected the night to unfold. Neither of you. Tongues painting feelings on your souls, hands memorising every curve and turn, limbs wrapped tightly around your bodies - neither of you knew how you ended up like this. But the only thing that you both knew was that it felt right. Nothing felt awkward or out-of-place. It felt like it was meant to be.

Clint’s weight pinned you down in the most delicious way. Reaching down, his hand gently but firmly tugged on your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh in his grip before placing it over his hips. Sliding up the length of your leg, the said hand settled on your ass, kneading it firmly. A smirk graced his lips when you squealed in response, and he took a mental note to do it again, as often as he could, wherever he could.

As soon as you shifted your head to breathe, away from his hungry mouth, he landed on the side of your neck, leaving nibbles on your pulse point, along the length of your neck, and over your jawline, while his tongue quickly followed behind to soothe the marks being left behind. 

Yout teeth caught his earlobe, eliciting a beautiful moan from him. While your lips sucked on his skin and left open-mouthed kisses along his neck, your hands desperately mapped his back. Every time you squeezed a muscle there, a hiss escaped him, encouraging you to explore more such vulnerable areas.

All this time, Clint had been touching and teasing you over your clothes. And although it did make you shiver in pleasure, you were beginning to grow weary of it. You wanted more. You longed for the warmth of his skin against yours. So, the next time his fingers brushed the hem of your tank top, you gently took his hand and guided it beneath the soft fabric, urging him closer.

It was not like Clint had not tried to hold himself back. Ever since you had slipped under his covers, and wrapped yourself around him, he had been wrestling with his desires. He had even slapped himself mentally the first time he kissed you. But then, when you had kissed him back, his resolve shattered. How could he possibly resist when he could feel your yearning mirroring his own? He had still tried. Tried not to cross the line, whatever fragile bit of it was left. But the moment you invited him on your skin, all his defences crumbled. 

He looked up at you, searching your eyes for any shards of hesitation. Relief washed over him to find that you were longing for the exact same things as him. His heart was hammering against his chest but his hand was gentle as it travelled up your body, taking your top up in its wake, eyes intensely following the movement of his own hand. It lingered for a small while on the underside of your breast, where it tickled patterns with the thumb. He wanted to take his time. But watching you writhe in anticipation changed everything. One instant, you felt his hand claim your breast, rough palm massaging you affectionately. The next instant, your top was being pulled off of you in a not-so-graceful manner. You could never mind, no. With Clint’s body enveloping you in the most loving way, you could not have a care in the world!  Not especially when calloused fingers were spanning across hot skin, tweaking a nipple or when his tongue was doing its magic on the other.

Your head fell back in pleasure, tempting Clint to taste your neck once more, to leave marks that would be reminiscent of these treasured moments. As his mouth travelled north, your hands travelled south on his back. They made their way beneath the comforter, past the elastic resistance of his underwear, and squeezed his ass. A smile formed on your lips at the beautiful moan that grazed the shell of your ear. Very lightly, you dragged your nails across his ass cheeks. His hips jerked up in response. And this time you were rewarded with a groan that was music to your ears. You did it again. He growled.

“Do it once more,” a warning lingered in his now hoarse voice, “and I swear-”

Before he could finish, you squeezed his ass with your nails, and delicately scratched your way up his spine, all the way up to his scalp. He could not help the roll of his hips against yours, drawing out prolonged moans from both.

“Fuck you, (Y/N)!”

His hoarse voice, paired with the unfinished threat, only aided to turn you on even more. You dragged your clothed core up and down his thigh, leaving wet trails behind. A strangled grunt from him adorned the night air.

Dragging your teeth along his jawline, you whispered close to his ear, “If all of this doesn’t lead to it, I’ll be genuinely disappointed, Barton!”

That dazzling grin - the one that you had unconsciously fallen for years ago, the smile that had dimmed under the weight of the world - sparkled once more. It was so good to see him happy again that you wished for time to stop right then and there, all so that you could watch that beautiful face light up again. 

Your own face lit up with a smile but your eyes betrayed you. That blinding smile morphed into a frown as Clint watched a single drop of tear slip down the side of your eye, landing softly on the pillow.

He quickly cradled your face, concern etched on his handsome features. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

You felt silly and guilty at the same time, robbing him of his bubble of happiness. Sniffing, you shook your head. “No, no! Nothing, it’s just … “ You stared into his worried eyes. Cupping his face, you took a deep breath. “I love you, Clint Barton.”

His eyes softened, and that radiance was back on his face, crinkling his eyes in the most gorgeous ways! He took your hand from his face, and placed a long kiss on it. “You know I love you, too.”

He kissed the side of your wrist, over your pulse, on the back of your hand. He kissed each knuckle separately - an affectionate gesture to soothe years of pain. He ran your forefinger between his lips, eventually taking it, along with your middle finger, in his mouth, and gently lapping his tongue over it.

Your mouth breathed out a silent moan at both the sight and the feeling. You watched him run his lips over the length of your arm until they started tickling the side of your neck.

Your giggles were engulfed by his kiss. This was slower, more tender than the previous ones. This wasn’t one of the desperate battles of teeth and tongue but a heart-touching love letter written for your soul. He continued peppering kisses on your chin, your nose, your cheeks, eyes, forehead, temple - until he was sure that he hadn’t left any inch of your face untouched, and until another string of giggles reached his ears.

“You sure of this?” He searched your eyes once again that night.

You narrowed your eyes in mock annoyance and sighed. “I always knew you were thick-headed.”

The arch of an eyebrow and the look he gave you, along with that smirk, told you that your words had backfired.

“How did you know?” His words rumbled in your chest.

Blushing, you lightly punched his shoulder. “Just shut up and fuck me, agent Barton!”

The archer gave you a swoon-worthy lopsided smile. “Yes, ma’am!”

That sole word, “ma’am”, made you clench your thighs together. His mouth stole another greedy kiss from you while his fingers fumbled with the waistband of your underwear beneath the covers. You were busy shoving his own boxer briefs out of the way. You had successfully pushed it past his backside but got stuck on his erection.

“I’m sorry!” You exclaimed. “Did I hurt you?”

Clint assured you that he was fine, and assisted you in pushing the little piece of clothing down his ankles, your own following it two seconds later.

You were already prepared for him. So, when you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he lined up with you, it took him very little effort to slide inside. The sting of the stretch made you hiss. Clint kissed your cheek before slowly inching himself inside you. And once he was completely sheathed, he paused, allowing you to adjust to him. He was himself basking in the feeling of you wrapped around him, resting his forehead on yours, breath mingling with yours. It was only after you nodded lightly and patted his shoulder that he started moving.

It was a languid, agonising pace. It was intimate, beautiful but you wanted more. You could feel every bit of him inside you, and it only increased your hunger. His mouth left kisses wherever it could reach - your face, your hair, your collarbone, neck shoulders, ears, your chest - anywhere and everywhere.

“Clint!” You moaned. “More! … Please!”

“Yes, babe,” he groaned into your neck.

He pulled out up to the tip and pushed back swiftly, reaching deep inside you, causing you to bite your lip to suppress a rather loud moan.

“No, babe,” he breathed, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip, “don't. You've been holding back all night. I need to hear you. Please! Let go!”

And with those words, he pulled back and pushed in harder. This time you were almost sure that the sound of your pleasure was audible beyond the walls of the house.

“That's it, love!”

His praises spurred you on just like the sweet, sultry sounds that you made kept encouraging him.

The room was soon filled with sinful sounds of approval and of skin slapping on skin as you both began edging closer to that magical precipice. The cool breeze of the night wasn't helping your sweat-drenched bodies anymore.

With one hand he gently moved some of the sweat-stuck hair from your face. Slowly, he brought the hand down the side of your face to your neck. Delicately wrapping his fingers around your throat, Clint dipped his thumb into your open mouth. He watched in awe as you closed your lips around it and sucked, twirling your tongue around it now and then.

With a loud moan, Clint closed his eyes, pushing into you harder. Your head rolled back, and your moan filled the night air,  giving him the perfect opportunity to replace his thumb in your mouth with his tongue.

Clint carefully pushed your right leg upwards, so that your knee was close to your chest. This new angle allowed him to go deeper, hitting that perfect spot every single time, making your eyes roll back in your head and urging you to scream his name.

Not much later, you realised that his rhythm was faltering. He was close but was trying hard to hold himself for you.

“Touch me!” You rasped, and guided his hand down to your clit.

Cradling your head in the hand with which he had propped himself up, Clint rubbed you with that perfect pressure that made electricity jolt up your veins. The pace of his fingers matched the pace with which he pushed into you.

It was not long before you felt that familiar tightening in your belly.

“Clint! I'm-”

“I know, babe.” God, his hoarse voice was a sin in itself! “I can feel you.”

Whimpering and writhing beneath him, you kept clenching down on him involuntarily, pushing Clint faster towards the edge. You felt yourself coming undone when he bit on your shoulder with a grunt. And with the sound of his name echoing through the room and with you squeezing him with your entirety, he released into you.

You both took some moments to calm down, your sweat-sheened, limp bodies swelling and dipping with the pace of your hearts.

Clint slowly lifted his head to look at you. His attention was drawn to the way your tongue darted out to wet your parted lips, and he could not resist a tender kiss on them.

You whined when he slowly pulled out of you, an unwelcome feeling of emptiness making its way inside. Clint smiled and cradled your face.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised before getting off the bed.

A couple of minutes later, he returned with a warm, damp towel in his hand. Clint’s hands were unexpectedly delicate whilst cleaning you up. Once he was done, he bent down and blew a raspberry on your navel. You squealed and laughed like a child encouraging him to press loud kisses all over your tummy. It made you laugh. And it made you swell with love for this dork.

Throwing the towel on the floor - an action at which you scrunched your nose up but he chose to ignore with a shrug - he crawled back beneath the comforter, and pulled you flush against him.

“You’re one gorgeous piece of a woman! Did I ever tell you that?” Clint was drawing featherlight patterns on your skin.

“You did. Twice, I think. But both the times you were so drunk that I wasn’t sure if it was you talking or Tony’s booze.”

He laughed heartily. Oh, how you loved those crinkles around his eyes!

“Nah, it was me. It was me all along.”

“Yep,” you wrapped yourself around him. “It was you all along.”

You kissed again. The last thing you remembered before sleeping soundly was the feel of his mouth on you and the smiles and giggles that drowned the noises from the streets below.

***