#some scenes you have to do some gentle rewriting in your head around to make fit but no I think this is pretty much it.

[vaguely-concerned]

first of all rye 'hello fellow kids' ingellvar there is nothing in this world or any other I wouldn't do for you. second of all, considering where this story ends... I'm going to die. this conversation -- and how much he genuinely believes what he's saying at this point -- held up against the fact that in a couple of months max he's going to get her killed (well. that's how he feels anyway) and then go against everything she believed in and stood for as a person in the end and have to live forever with knowing that's how he honoured her sacrifice. (and live with how easy it is to live with, the way he doesn't regret what he did at all. she'll haunt him from time to time, that's fine, he's a watcher he's loved many a ghost before and will again. but that won't.) 'no one is beyond help? oh lace I'm so so sorry, wherever you are now please forgive me for who I am, but after what he pulled and by the time I'm done with him on my watcher's oath he will be beyond help. I'll hold every hand in this world that reaches back but his'. and she'll still be gone.

'or none of this matters'. im so fucking sad I feel sick *through tears* this is great I love fiction I love this game (embarrassingly genuine as is my wont)

[tojigasm]

House

Authors note: Here is the long-awaited Sam fic!! Funny thing, actually. I finished this last night only to open my computer and realize it hadn't even been saved, so I've spent this morning or so rewriting all of it, lolz. Anyways, I hope you lovelies enjoy!!

Warnings: nsfw 18+, smut, fem!reader, stepcest, sam is your stepdad, daddy kink, creampie, doggystle, kissing, anxiety

Synopsis:

Home is not the same afterward.

She doesn't notice Sam's more frequent absence as he spends more time in your room. And when you don't have college work to get done, the two of you are talking, making out, or fucking.

Your mother doesn't notice. Because if she did, what would you do.

The stone is hot beneath you – settling a baking ache into your skin that seeps up from your beach towel beneath you.

And the sounds of the rushing waves are heavy and soaked with foam that crawls up the sand as though it's coming to grab at you and pull you into the sea along with it.

You pop a bubble of gum from your glossed lips, swinging your feet behind you. You've finished the page of your book.

"Y/n," Sam's voice calls to you against the windy beach. "Look here."

He's set up a few feet away, and a digital camera stares back at you in his hands. The red recording light pulses above the lense.

You wave bashfully, fingers dancing as you wink to the camera from under your sunnies. "Hi, Sam's camera," you roll your eyes, turning back to your book.

Sam tugs at the string of your pink bikini top, "What's a pretty thing like you doin' out on the beach all alone?" His voice draws in a southern heat to it. He looks from side to side before settling down next to you, "hundereds of boys out here probably waitin' fr'their chance to steal y'away, huh?" He tips your chin, still recording you as you meet his baby blues.

A smirk pulls over your lips and you smile, teasing at the end of the string of your bathing suit top, "oh, nothin' just enjoyin' the view," you stifle a giggle through your southern accent.

Sam nods from behind the camera with a smile before stroking his hand over your jaw to behind your ear, thumb circling the soft of your cheek.

His thumb slips past your sticky lips, he lets you wrap the plush of them around his digit, and he sighs softly.

"You're a naughty girl," the light of the camera catches your eye, and you stare down the barrel of the lense before looking up at him, smirking. "What would your mother think?" The southern accent weans.

You pull away from his thumb with a 'pop', "What would your wife think?" You pull your sunnies up to rest on your head.

Sam gages you under a watchful eye of baby blue. Tongue poking at the inside of his cheek, he lifts the camera up again to look at you through the grainy lense.

Your lips perk under the scene, glossed and plush when you run your tongue along the soft of them again.

"Keep doing that, and you're gonna be in trouble, missy." Sam teases, his voice deep with warn.

You nod, "Oh, of course, daddy." There's a draw to your voice that Sam catches almost instantly. A draw of dangerous wean that suggests something that challenges him.

"Am I a bad girl, daddy?" You peer over your shoulder, "a bad, bad girl?"

Sam doesn't say anything. Rather, he watches you, smirk pulled in loftiness and eyes narrow for a moment before he stands and makes his way near the water.

—

The ride home is gentle and soft as music plays throughout the car.

Your legs are propped out the side window, and the sun blazes over your skin a glittery shine.

Sam keeps a hand on the wheel and the other past the button of your jean shorts, circling the pads of his fingers over your clit.

—

Sat in his lap, thin fabric of your bathing suit pressed into his hot bulge. Sam's hands slide up and down the soft of your back to squeeze at the plush of your ass.

You gasp playfully, arching your back some to press your hands up into your breasts with a soft moan.

Sam groans from beneath you, relaxing deeper into the leather of the couch and spreading his thick thighs.

"You're so pretty." Sam speaks earnestly, resting his head against the arch of the couch.

You bite at your bottom lip, scuffing your hands into his thick tufts of roan. "What would my mom think?" The question is far softer.

Sam chuckles, and you can feel his leg bounce up and down beneath you. His head rolls to the side lightly, "Let daddy take care of you, hmm?"

Rough hands scoop under the plush of your ass to lift you, gently moving you to rub against the hot bulge of his cock.

A sharp hiss passes through Sam's teeth, and he holds a hand at your waist as the other strokes up and down the length of him.

The fat swollen tip presses into your bathing suit, and you whine, followed by a teaching 'shh' from Sam.

"Christ, can already feel how wet you are."

"Please fuck me." Your brows drop into a pout "wanna feel good, daddy." and Sam nods, moving the thin material to the side with one hand before pushing his tip against your sopping folds.

"Deep breath fr'me, angel," Sam guides gently as you take the girth of him inch by inch. The ache pools in your thighs, stretch so delicious your knees ache.

Your head falls forward to his chest, and he takes on a protective role when you've taken the bulk of him. Completely filled with him, balls pressed up against your velvet folds.

Sam presses a kiss to your temple, "feel okay?" He asks, testing a soft thrust that makes you keen in want.

"Please," you sob, tucking your face into his shoulder.

The two of you go on like that for a while; taking from one another and all at the same time fliiing each other up in a suffocating hold that contracts and pulses.

Windows of the living room fog and both you and Sam's skin runs slick with heat.

"M'legs hurt." You mumble, and Sam nods.

"Okay, hon," he helps you off of him before standing and maneuvering you to sit on the slick seat of the couch.

You wiggle in an anticipation and Sam chuckles quietly, running his hand over the globes of your ass.

"Arch yr'back, sweetie," he stands behind you, pushing at the dip of your spine to which you follow, dropping your head to cushioned pillows and letting your knees support your cunt In the air. "There y'go."

His cock fills you so deliciously that you sob.

And it's all so overwhelming; your slick that trickles down the insides of your thighs, the 'pap, pap, pap' that echoes throughout the living room, the weight of him and the stretch of his girth against your gummy walls, and the vulgarity of it all.

"Fuckin' swear you were made fr'me," Sam groans and you cry.

Your cheek presses into the hot leather of the couch, and your nails dig into the rough seat.

Sam's hand trails down your arm to hold your own, grounding you as he gently circles his thumb over your hot skin.

"So deep," you mumble, "feels so good."

His hand slips to hold at your chin, pulling you up to rest your back against his chest.

The angle makes your breath hitch and your eyes screw shut as his cock stretches you open.

"Please," you cry.

And when you cum, your lashes fall to your cheeks and your walls squeeze around his girth.

"M'cumming, daddy, fuck" you sob and Sam soothes you, letting you fall back to the couch, laying himself atop you.

"You're okay," Sam whispers against your cheek, still pumping into you.

The overstimulation sends shivers through your thighs and toes, making you squeal under him.

Sam drops his chin to your shoulder, kissing up the soft of your neck and your chin. The bristles of his beard tickles against your soft cheeks.

"Oh fuck," Sam warns, swollen balls tapping your soaked folds. "Shit, daddy's gonna cum," he bites at the skin of your shoulder when he fills you.

The heat of him spills into you and trickles down the insides of your thighs and Sam gently places you to the couch before scooping his cum back into your swollen cunt.

Large hands run up and down the soft of your legs.

"You okay?" He asks after a moment.

You nod. Lashes closed to your cheeks.

He stands and sits beside you on the couch, pulling you into his lap, holding you to his chest as he rocks the two of you back and forth gently.

—

Home is not the same afterward.

Your mother doesn't return from her trip for a few days, and though she's none the wiser, you know eventually one of the two of you would slip.

She doesn't notice the Sam sitting on your side of the table, his hand soft on your thigh or your foot on his shoe.

She doesn't notice the small splintered pieces of leather from her favorite couch that are missing.

And she doesn't notice how excited you are when she tells you she's planning another girl's trip at the end of the upcoming month.

She doesn't notice Sam's more frequent absence as he spends more time in your room. And when you don't have college work to get done, the two of you are talking, making out, or fucking.

You tell yourself your mother doesn't notice as Sam pulls you into his lap against your headboard, kissing over your cheeks and nose and chin. The bristles of his beard tickles you again, and you giggle.

Your mother doesn't notice. Because if she did, what would you do.

[ladytauria]

"You're going to get yourself killed!" or maybe even “I’m sorry I scared you” with damitim?

i went with both, although i changed the wording of the first a little!

um. this is reverse robins! specifically a rewrite of the scene where ra's kicks tim off the top floor of WE and dick-as-batman rescues him <3

also pre-relationship.

oh, and warnings for some suicidal ideation in the first part. it's in the paragraph immediately after the cut

>> AO3 <<

Tim realizes what’s going to happen a split-second before it does. Ra’s’s boot impacts his chest hard enough to bruise, even through the armor. Glass shatters at his back, the sound ringing in his ears.

He plummets, almost in slow motion.

There is no panic. He knew, going in, he wasn’t like to walk out alive. That makes it easier; acceptance washing over him, relaxing his muscles. He feels—weightless. Free, almost. The air combs through his hair like gentle fingers—his eyes falling closed under his mask.

It’s not the ground that slams into him.

Instead, it’s a body. The force of it rattles his teeth, hard enough he’s almost worried they’ll crack. An arm locks around his waist, clutching him tight, holding him up even as they touch down on a nearby rooftop.

He’s set on his feet almost gently. 

The grip on his arms, after, is not so gentle. Neither is the shake he gets.

“Timothy,” Damian barks, yanking the cowl from his head like they aren’t on some random rooftop, where anyone could stumble upon them. “What the hell were you thinking? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

The pure—Tim can only call it panic, despite how ridiculous the idea is—in his voice knocks Tim entirely off balance. Still…

He grins, crookedly. “I knew you’d catch me.” He tucks away the messy tangle of feeling in his chest. He’ll examine it later, when he’s alone.

Damian stares at him—the look in his eyes one Tim cannot read. “You—“ His jaw tightens. He lets go of Tim just as abruptly as he’d grabbed him, cape swishing dramatically as he turns, shoving a gloved hand through his hair, mussing it even further.

Tim…

Maybe it’s the leftover adrenaline. Maybe it’s that he hasn’t fully processed his survival. Whatever it is… Tim feels off-kilter.

This is not how Damian behaves with him.

Damian doesn’t… For one thing, he doesn’t call him Timothy. He doesn’t lecture Tim when he does something reckless—well. Not like this, anyway. Normally he calls him a moron, and whatever other synonyms he can think of, and lists all the ways Tim failed.

This—

This is new.

Damian seems genuinely, terribly upset, and…

Tim feels… guilty. “I…” He steps closer, not quite daring enough to reach out. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says.

He didn’t… He didn’t think Damian would care.

Maybe that was uncharitable of him. Damian had certainly seemed to care when he died the first time—at least enough to not make the same mistakes with Tim’s successor. But… Well. It would have been Tim’s own fault this time, in a way the last one wasn’t.

“Shut up,” Damian snaps, whirling on him again. “You— Do you—“ He snaps his jaw shut; throat working. “How dare you? How dare you?”

Tim isn’t sure he’s ever seen Damian so incoherent before. He blinks at him, mouth opening, but— He doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, uselessly. “I didn’t… think you'd be this upset.”

Damian flinches like Tim slapped him.

Hell. Tim’s not sure he would have flinched that hard if he had smacked him.

“You didn’t think—“ Damian scoffs. To Tim’s horror, the sound is distinctly wet. “I nearly failed to save you a second time, almost had to discover your corpse again, and you didn’t think I would be upset.” His eyes are glassy; rimming with red. He swipes a hand down his face. “Did you know your body was still warm when I pulled it from the wreckage, Drake?”

Tim—

Tim thinks he might have made a few errors in his calculations.

Damian steps closer to him. Something about the Batman uniform makes him look taller. Broader. Even though Tim has always had to tilt his chin to look at him, he doesn’t recall ever feeling quite this small.

The feeling is enhanced when broad, warm palms cup his cheeks, the kevlar scratchy against his skin.

“I cannot do that again, Timothy,” Damian whispers. “Do not— You cannot put me through that a second time. Please.”

Tim swallows, throat achingly dry. He covers Damian’s hands with his own. His voice cracks as he says, “I won’t.”

[some-pers0n]

Hey guys here's writing of Mastermind and Starflight with Morrowseer there too ig. It's a rewrite of his intro scene. Yayyy. Will I come back to this and make it into an actual proper oneshot? Who even knows at this point. No formatting or anything, I just needed to get writing down before midnight for my daily words

"Ach!" The NightWing across the room hissed. "Make no more movements. I was tasked with solving this *crisis* that we have found ourselves in, and I intend on finding a solution before we are all buried in rubble. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to tend to."

"...father?" Starflight spoke hesitantly.

He winced as he saw the dragon– Mastermind, the royal scientist– pause. He dropped his tools. "I swear to the *moons* if you don't stop pestering me with these strange..." As he craned his neck to face them, his words trailed off.

It was like staring at his own reflection. Starflight always felt out of place when it came to being the only NightWing in the cave, but here on the volcano? Every other dragons looked like him. Scales black as the night and wings made up of the skies above.

By this dragon was different. There was a light in his eyes that Starflight knew too well. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. His own father right before him.

Before he could properly get another word out, Mastermind lurched forward, grabbing him by the snout.

"Wh– what?"

"Hold still! I'm inspecting..." Mastermind murmered beneath his breath. He squinted as he looked over Starflight, jerking his head around and brighting his face up close to see. "Dark green eyes, splash scale pattern along the wing membrane, a rather perfect jawline..."

Without warning, he hugged Starflight. "Moons above! My son has returned!" He wrapped his wings around him, holding him close.

"Wh– what is..." Starflight was distracted by the sudden comfort and gentle embrace he had found himself in. Though, just as quickly as it had arrived, he let it go.

"My son! Morrowseer, I almost thought you to be useless by now, what with your little scheme."

"It's not a scheme, scientist."

"Oh, come now, don't get all formal." He scoffed. "I was led to believe that this little gamble of yours, personally setting up the Dragonets of Destiny and the formation of the Talons of Peace, was a fruitless endeavor. A waste of time and resources that, in all honesty, should have gone to my research either way."

"And what have you done in the past six or so years to make up for it?"

"Oh, plenty! You wouldn't truly appreciate it though. Yes, yes, indeed your mind is more for other, lesser matters." Mastermind's energetic eyes landed back on Starflight. "Which brings us to you! You already inherited so many of my most valuable traits. Although, you are missing my glasses. You also do not quite have the same, well, vibrato in your voice as I do. That's a problem for later. You'll adopt the accent and my very own spectacles soon enough, young newt."

He flinched upon hearing such an awful nickname. "My name is Starflight," he said.

"Starflight! Oh, Starflight!" Mastermind looked him over once more. "Hm, doesn't exactly strike me as a 'Starflight'. I would say you would be better off as a... 'Bigtalons'?" He laughed at his own comment. "I jest! I kid! It's only a rather common and boring name. Me? I fit the title of 'Mastermind' like a glove! You? Well–" He waved his talons– "I suppose I can't be upset at you. Rather, your cavegivers. Guardians, is that what you called them?"

Starflight nodded, slightly overwhelmed by how much this dragon was talking.

"Guardians, bah! What son of mine needs to be guarded? I doubted they were any good."

"They weren't. They were...not very nice." Starflight broke eye contact with him, staring at his talons.

"Oh, so you must have trauma of some kind from how you phrased it."

"H– huh?"

"It's obvious! Such a tone and hesitancy would mean you're inclined not to exactly talk about it. Play it down. It's basic behavioral psychology. You must also have been severely punished and have gone through rigorous and repeated trauma if you had left that cave in a state like this."

"Mastermind, I assure you the Guardians were not entrusted with five dragonets if only to harm them. It was to train them for the outside world. Pyrrhia is a cruel, uncaring reality that we live in."

"I agree with you, yes, but look at him!" Mastermind pointed to Starflight. "Healthy minds do not have a face like that. Clearly, despite growing up in far better conditions, he was subjected to enough mental trauma to become...this." He gestured in the general direction of Starflight. "No offense, of course."

[fitalich]

There's Always a Tell

Jake Kiszka x Reader (Post-Band Film AU)

[Edited - 11/9/23]

After lurking here and there, I finally caved and incorporated Jake into a short piece I'd started for a college class. No, I have no shame.

I hope you find it titillating.

Feedback is welcomed and greatly appreciated 🖤

Contains: Alcohol, cursing, sexual situations...hand kink?

Lead-in: You've overworked this scene to smithereens, rewriting the score, recuts, to where the original scene has been completely abandoned. All to avoid telling the director that you need to reshoot the practical effects that were half of the film's budget. Musician blames the edit; Editor doesn't think it's salvageable. The Musician [Male, sat left] and Editor [First Person, sat right] are reviewing the sequence on the projector. 

“It's just not cutting enough," you said. 

"Mmm.” He took a generous swig of neat blanco from his hatched rocks glass, audibly forcing the liquor down. The long silver pendants around his neck fell forward, dangling in front of his chest whenever he reached for the coffee table. 

His severely unbuttoned shirt did the same, black linen separating past his sternum and joining just below his ribcage, opening itself to expose skin you hadn’t seen. Jake’s body was akin to his other features–His frame was soulfully edged, strong-knit like a craftsman, but his flesh was gentle, supple, a little romantic. 

"I think we’re just gonna have to reshoot it," you said. "Build this up properly." 

His eyes fluttered shut. All the work he’d done, it wouldn’t be lost entirely, but the time wasted pained him. The entire night had been a battle over the pacing, and why it felt so awkward. He had already written the score, so you were left to the task of cutting the film to tempo by hand. If you even alluded to the issues within the raw footage, he’d shoot you a look, don’t say it. One time you muttered, you can put glitter on a piece of shit, it’s still a piece of shit. His best suggestion of the night, I could use a drink, so could you. 

He finally agreed, nodding his head reluctantly. "I'll talk to Josh, see what we can do." He patted the top of your hand twice, resting it there loosely. "What you've done here is fantastic, I'm sorry if I–I didn't mean to insult you–"

"You didn't," You chuckled. "The blind leading the blind," you said pointing between the two of you.

His head fell back with a soft laugh. "Right you are," he said, emphasizing his words with another pat on your hand, resting it there yet again.

You've never rejected his touch, but you've felt the need to question it. You wouldn’t put it past him, whether his actions were intentionally absent-minded, or he was simply unaware of the effect he had on you. Neither he nor his brother were ones to be very shy of physical affection. After a drink, however, he would languidly dance the line of professionalism and flirtation, making himself impossible to extrapolate. That was when you realized, this was the first time you too had been drinking.

He began to tap his thumb against your skin rhythmically, contemplating, while his eyes rested on the frozen film. You watched the tendons in his strumming hand twinge and flex, his middle finger joining in for what was some pattern playing in his head. 

Then the tapping faltered, slowing to a stop. 

You could feel him watching you now, no longer lost in thought. For once, this felt unadorned, forthright, like he was asking for your permission to continue. You looked to him, searching his face for a tell of some kind, but he was only doing just the same. Like you, he had no intent to speak.

You were taken aback by his pupils, so clearly blown out, even with only the flicker of a projector. His lips fell apart from how shallow and desperate his breathing had become, but he tried to hide it. He sucked on his lower lip, softly dragging it out against his teeth, wetting it with his tongue. You felt his hand begin to stir, gently pressing the entire surface of his fingers into your skin. Neither of you had blinked. 

You began to turn your palm over. He took over naturally, leading your hand to be fully encased underneath his. It was warm, almost hot, and it flooded your body. Slowly, he curled his arm, lowering his head slightly as he brought your hand to his soft mouth. He paused. 

A small breath that had escaped his nose tickled your skin. He became entirely transfixed in your eyes, silently ordering them to stay locked on his, before moving again.

He pressed his lips delicately to the base of your thumb, again along the joint, and once more against your knuckle. You pulled a long breath through your nose. 

He looked pleased with himself, wearing a small smirk as he extended your thumb with the coaxing of a finger. He then wrapped his lips around the sensitive pad, watching your mouth part for him. With a gentle squeeze to your hand, he started to suck lightly. A jolt shot up your arm when you felt the brush of his tongue.

"Fuck," you whispered. A small, sweet sound pressed in his throat. He looked to your forearm, catching the trail of goosebumps he'd left behind. You needed to touch him. 

You brought your other hand up the side of his neck, weaving the tips of your fingers through the hair just behind his ear, lightly tracing your thumb along his jawbone. He gave a final kiss to the pulse point in your wrist, and you closed your fingers around the roots of his soft hair. He blew an impish wisp past his lips, shaking his head as if he were trying to taunt you. You tugged harshly. 

He held his jaw stiff, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth, followed by a dark, full-toned groan vibrating in his chest. As your hand wandered back down his neck, he pulled you in by the lock he had on your arm, wanting your body close to his. Pressing your thumb into the hollow under his ear, you rolled his head to the other side, exposing his neck for you.

"That’s what you wanted," he said…

[mamahoga]

My Love Is Not Insane, You Are Just Too Sane - Chapter 1

{ Here's a story my lovely cockroaches. I've never written horror before so maybe I'll rewrite this in the future? I haven't figured out a title yet. }

Elizer hums a cherry song to himself as he inspects the liver in his hands. “Hm…decent enough. You’re lungs are terrible though. Do you really smoke at this age?” His smile was sweet and caring like talking to his child. But suddenly it became black and he kicked the empty carcass into the island wall in the kitchen. “Don’t you?!” He continued to kick and spit at her before he finally calmed down and panted, grabbing his inhaler and shook it before he took a breath from it. “Fucking bitch. I leave for one month and this is what I find. You’re lucky I know some who like them a bit banged up because you look like a mess.” He let out am maniacal laugh and smirks, unaware of his visitor behind him.

The unknown man freezes in horror at the scene before him. He couldn’t move, too transfixed by the horrific sight of someone butchering his ex. He lets out a loud gasp, getting the attention of the crazed man. Elizer turned around quickly and froze with a guilty expression as he slowly got closer to the other with a small smile. “Colter…you weren’t…You weren’t supposed to see that my love. You really shouldn’t have.” The young man known as Colter took a moment to react before quickly taking steps back to run from the bloody male. But that was all in vain as he was easily caught by him in a tight grip.

“You have to forget all that. You love me don’t you? So do this for me okay love?” His hands moved to the other’s cheeks clutching in a gentle possessive grip and giggled not even noticing as he stained his face with blood from his hands. Colter could only frantically nod as he tried to flinch away unless he wanted the insane man to hurt him. “Y-Yeah.” His voice trembled and intense green eyes bored into Elizer’s vantablack ones. He only smiled sweetly back at him and loosened his grip on the other and pulled them close.

“Don’t be scare okay? I would never hurt you. I did all this for you!” He dragged him over to the mangled and mostly tortured body smiling more widely. “See?! It’s the bitch who hurt you! I took good care of her till she was begging for forgiveness.” Elizer hugged his arm with a sweet smile and went to kiss his cheek when he was suddenly slammed into the wall. “What the hell?! What in the fucking hell did you do to her?!” The male’s face was cold and uncaring for the atrocity he just committed. “I killed her for you,” he said calmly. He slipped his arms around the shorter man’s neck and smiled. “Are you happy? She was going to use her popularity and riches to ruin your life-”

“Why the fuck is it any of you business?!” He pushed him away harshly making him gasp and wince. In a hand to hand fight, Elizer would be lucky to barely scrape by since not only does he have asthma, he’s so thin one could see the bones slightly poking out his skin. He watched as the love of his life paced around the room caught between rage and panic. “Because I love you!” He reached out for the other’s cheek again and whimper. “Are angry because I left it so messy? I’ll clean it, I promise. Do you not like her blood on me?” Elizer beamed and laughed brightly. “I understand perfectly! I don’t want her pig blood on me either.”

Colter shook his head and pulled away, backing up against the wall. “W-Who are you? How did you get in here?” He thinks for a moment and his eyes widen. “Shit, how long have you been watching me?!” Elizer blinks and tears fill his eyes as his face falls with a betrayed look. “You…don’t remember me? How could you?! I wasn’t even gone that long!” He trembles and starts to furiously wipe the blood off his with his sleeve. “Can you not see me through her blood?! Once I’m pure will you remember me?!”

Colter hesitates, trying to place the boy in his mind. “N-No…why should I?” He asked even more wary when he saw the other start to laugh before kicking over a chair with sudden anger. “My love, don’t be cruel…is this your punishment for being gone for so long?” Colter flinches more surprised than frightened at this point. “Well…Why don’t you try to remind me.” He softens his voice to trying to get him to calm down as well and it started to work after a moment. “…We last saw each other a month ago. I had to go on a business trip with my mom so I had to leave. I wasn’t able to keep an eye on you for too long but I knew enough to make me come home a bit early.” He digs into his shirt and pull out a green half heart and opens it revealing a picture of him being kissed on the cheek under a mistletoe.

Colter’s eyes widen and he digs into his pocket and pulls out the matching other half of the heart except it was black. Inside was a picture of himself kissing someone under the mistletoe. Elizer smiled and tears pricked his eyes again. “So you still have it?” Colter slowly nodded. “Yeah…This was one of the things on me when I woke up. I didn’t know who was on the other side but I wanted to find them…” Elizer only laughed lightly and hugged him tightly. “So do you remember me now, Colt?” The memory for the former was in flashes but it was there nonetheless. “A bit…I was in a car crash a month ago…” He slides to the ground as recognition fills his expression before frustration takes over and he grits his teeth.

He slams his fist down on the ground and curses, “Damn, why can’t I remember your name?” Elizer nods gently as he smiles and scurries into his arms for a hug. “It’s fine love. Don’t hurt yourself.” He grabbed his knuckles and kissed them softly and smiled warmly. “We’ll go slow. If we go too fast it might put you in a bad shock. Remembering my name will be like the final puzzle piece! Let’s just get out of here okay?” Colter doesn’t hug back still wary and gently pushes him away, his dark curly hair falling into his eyes as he looks down. “…Why?”

“Because I love you Colt. I always have and always will.” He was stunned for a moment before nodding. “And I…” He swallowed. “Appreciate that…but you can’t just go around killing my exes…especially when you’re killing for someone who doesn’t even remember you.” He glanced at the girls body but Elizer blocked his line of sight which he was thankful for. “Well alright. I won’t do it anymore.” He guides Colter’s face by his cheek to look at him and smiles. “We’re leaving. That thing will be taken care of so only look at me. I promise to be good, just for you darling.” The other shivers and slowly climbs up to stand on his own feet. “Where are we going?” He was happy to leave the room without being dismembered.

“My home of course. Don’t worry, I don’t bring other people in there.” He stands up after him and pulls out his phone so he can text a colleague. Once he’s done he puts it away and gives all his attention back to Colter. “Let’s go hun.” He puts his arm out so the mention could take it, but he remembered that they’re still rebuilding their relationship so he pulled his arm back and just opened the door for him. “Thank you,” he says not just thanking him for opening the door. Elizer seemed to get the meaning and just shook his head. “Stop, I don’t deserve for something as small as this.” Colter half expected to feel the icy blade of a knife slip into his ribs but only felt warm hands on his back gently pushing him out.

Once they got in front of his car he opened the door for Colter. “Hop in.” But he did not get in and instead too a step back. “You…How do I know you’re not lying to me…You could just kill me too.” For a moment it became silent and even the crawling of bugs could be heard.

“Hm…Now that I think about it, I very much could do that.”

Backstage:

Elizer: *stab stab*

Colt: What do you have there?

Elizer: *holds up a bloody knife* A knife!

Colt: NO-!!!

[aphroditestummyrolls]

This one is the last one! For both @devouring-time and @ladybastet92 who requested Smiling and Hugging! I combined the two prompts because they worked so seamlessly together, I hope you don’t mind.

This scene (something like it, from Yusuf’s POV, like the rest of the story) was in the original cut of chapter four, and I think this one is the one that’s finally gonna break open the floodgates for this rewrite. I changed a few things here, like the setting (I just wanted to describe Yusuf in the rose pavilion) and the POV (but I’m definitely gonna add some Nicolò POV to a few chapters— it really needs thing up), but I took the dialogue and premise. I hope you love this, it made me feel oh so soft. 🌸✨🍓

“Can I see you again?”

That was what he always asked him.

He had so many questions, always posed with a strange formality that didn’t reach his glittering brown eyes. The Prince almost looked hopeful, as if he waited with bated breath on the edge of Nicolò’s reply.

Nicolò could hardly find a single word in his entire head when faced with that breathless politeness, and those deep, warm eyes. He couldn’t even bring himself to say the yes, yes you can, whenever you like— please let me see you again on the tip of his tongue. There was something new inside him, and it clung to him like ivy, spreading over his bones and into his chest to grip his heart.

It was want— Nicolò did not often want, but he did. He wanted to see Prince Yusuf again. And the Prince wanted to see him— he asked him.

Nicolò hardly knew what to do. He’d never had such power. If he was needed, he was sought, and brought before his king. He was ordered, not requested by the elite. Was it a trap? Or had this strange foreign prince forgotten his station?

“Why do you always ask me that?”

The question caught him off guard, and he fumbled his words. “Because you have no obligation to do so, if you… if you don’t want to.”

He had only been able to nod. He had no thoughts beyond the tug in his chest of something— something that twined them together, ever tighter and harder to resist.

It was dangerous.

It was exhilarating.

So, the Prince returned to him, again and again. He asked questions, he told stories, he complimented Nicolò’s work.

Not you, he reminded himself sternly, the traitorous heat of a blush blossoming under his skin, his palms sweating a little. He only compliments the gardens.

But the look in his eyes when he said such things was enough to leave him permanently pink and flustered, his ears burning. It was too much, almost, to hold Prince Yusuf’s gaze, and yet Nicolò could not look away. He came back, again and again.

Like that day— that day at the pavilion, Yusuf had seen the roses fully in bloom for the first time. The jasmine was in it’s last days before wilting away, but it’s cloying scent still wrapped itself round the pillars, mingling with the roses’ sweetness.

Yusuf looked transcendently beautiful.

The soft white pillars of the pavilion flanked him with the climbing vines of red, white and pink buds, petals unfurling against the backdrop of green gardens and distant lavender mountains. The darkness of his curls, his closely trimmed beard, and the black silk of his tunic set a striking contrast to the riot of nature’s colors, framing him like the negative space between stars— like a constellation.

He was looking up, and the awe laid plain on his face would have been enough to make Nicolò truly arrogant, but it didn’t. Because as Prince Yusuf gazed up into the kaleidoscope of roses that weaved up and under and around the wrought iron roof above them, Nicolò was looking at the Prince, just as struck. Just as breathless.

He had a dazzling smile— that of a true diplomat. His lips were dusky pink, and his teeth were straight and gleaming. Nicolò had been stopped in his tracks by it more often than he cared to count.

But, this smile was different from all the others he’d seen from him. The tightness around his eyes had softened, gentling his features into something genuine and unguarded. He looked young, and Nicolò realized for the first time that the Prince could not be much older than himself.

“Oh Nicolò,” he breathed, the words curling and intertwining with the scents of roses and heady jasmine. Suddenly, his throat went dry— he was rendered speechless and utterly stupid, hearing his name spoken like that. “Nicolò, this is… it’s magnificent, you’re magnificent.”

He tore his gaze from the canopy of petals above them, fixed those eyes on him, and he called him that.

Nicolò was sure he’d gone redder than any flower he’d ever grown— his cheeks burned with it, and he pressed his lips tight together, willing his face to school itself into an expression tamer than the wildness that bounced up and down in his chest. He met the Prince’s gaze, and found that he couldn’t look away.

“Gr- grazie, I…” he stuttered, voice trembling with restrained emotion, lips curling into something bright and warm against his will. He couldn’t stop the smile. “Grazie mille, your Highness.”

He should leave. He couldn’t stand the emotions threatening to burst from his chest, growing between his ribs like seeds under the sun. Under the Prince’s gaze— so soft and young, so sincere— he couldn’t take those warm attentions at such strength.

He was one breath away from making a break for the chestnut groves, when the last of his resolve finally broke.

Yusuf took his hand. It was warm and strong. His fingers were long, as elegant as the rest of him, stained at the fingertips with charcoal smudges and dried ink.

“Nicolò, are you alright?” His smile was still there, but his eyes glittered with concern.

He couldn’t contain it for a single second longer, blurting out “Y-You are just so kind.”

He thought maybe the young Prince would laugh at him— and he wasn’t sure he could take that. He was overwhelmed, a lack of control threatening him in a way he’d never felt. He should run, he could burst into tears, he could lean in and kiss those pink, smiling lips—

Yusuf let go of his hand, leaving it too cold against the air, only to throw his arms around Nicolò’s shoulders.

He was holding him. He was hugging him.

It was barely a second, but it felt like a hundred years to Nicolò’s mind. He was frozen to his spot, rooted into the ground as he had been any and every time in the past when he’d had to brace himself for impact.

It had been so very long since someone had reached for him this way.

Just as quickly, Yusuf was pulling back, urgency reversing the action, and he was wide-eyed as he did. As if he’d burned poor Nicolò, the Prince started to back away, and through the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, his could hear his furtive apology.

“I should have thought, Nicolò, I should asked—”

And his arms moved without thought. “No!” he cried, and took the other man by the waist, reeling him back in.

The weight was steadying, comforting. It was as if a bubble had popped around them by feeling the reality of the Prince under his hands— he wasn’t some distant constellation, or a diplomat, or even a Prince. Yusuf was a man. He was young, and solid, and he loved Jasmine. He asked questions, and made requests.

A spell that had held Nicolò at the edge of propriety was suddenly broken, and he breathed the smell of Shea butter and coffee— Yusuf.

He had relaxed into Nicolò’s chest, deflating with relief and maybe something else— Nicolò felt almost like he’d been given whiplash, leaning into the man hugging him as he went from overwhelmed with pent up formality to the most at ease he had ever felt in the presence of another person.

The tip of Yusuf’s sweet, freckled nose brushed against the skin of his neck, and his beard was softer than it looked. Nicolò wanted to memorize the sensation of every single place they touched— he wanted to never let go.

But, they were out in the open, in broad daylight, only shaded from the world by a wall of flowers.

They had to let go.

“May I ask something of you?” Yusuf asked, just far back enough to hold his shoulders, arms length away, and Nicolò missed the way he could feel his heartbeat beside his own.

Nicolò beat him to it. “Yes, I would like to see you again.” He said, and he didn’t dare try to tighten his lips against his smile this time. The wildness of his joy could not be contained, not with his fingers bunched in the silk at Yusuf’s hips.

“Yes?” He grinned back.

“Yes.”

[cjsinkythoughts]

FATWS One Shot #3 - Stars, Stripes, and Bubbles

Word Count: 1912

Warnings: Cursing, Fluff, erm…a Relationship that You Want to Happen but Know Never Will

Setting/Characters: The first part of Captain America: The Winter Soldier in 2014 after Steve’s hostage mission; Reader, Steve Rogers, mentions of Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and Nick Fury

A/N: This…isn’t what I thought it was gonna turn out to be. But I like it, it’s cute, and I needed something pure with the shield after that ending scene, so I’m posting it.

I have a few more One Shots planned that take place during TWS so I’ll be writing those today and tomorrow. This week is a lot less hectic than last week (I was being trained in another area of my job last week, hence crazy hours), so expect more One Shots coming this week. Again, I’m trying to post them chronologically, but there might be some out of order depending on what you guys request and when, which is totally fine!

For today, I have the Reader meeting Sam (which is kinda what this was supposed to be, but…oh well) and more about the notebook planned. Also Reader meeting Bucky unofficially for the first time because he’s, you know, brainwashed and stuff. Later this week I’m planning on AoU stuff which will include the Party Scene and Wanda interactions.

If I can get through those by Friday when the new episode comes out, I’ll start on CA:CW which will include Reader officially meeting Bucky and possibly the airport scene if you guys are interested in that. Then I’ve got some Wakanda scenes and some Peter interactions. If not, I’ll start CW:CA next Sunday. Once the backstory is set up and completed chronologically, I might go back and just write some drabbles and stuff of random moments - kinda like this one. 

I did get a request earlier for Bucky’s perspective on the dancing scene in Part 4.2, so I’m planning on doing more rewrites of scenes in Bucky’s perspective, but that’ll come after the One Shots, so hopefully next week.

I think that’s all…umm…yeah. Once again, not beta’d so please excuse any mistakes! Thank you so much for reading! I’m so glad you’re all enjoying this almost as much as I am! Be kind to yourselves and others! Enjoy reading and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

The beeping of the timer made you groan and set down the book you were digging into. You were just starting to get to the good part, but the food smelled so good, so you decided it could wait.

You were so focused on your task of getting your breakfast ready that you didn’t hear your front door open or the footsteps that followed it shutting, the thud of boots hitting the floor just around the corner. Setting the ready food on the counter, you jumped at the arms that wrapped around your shoulders and waist.

“Shouldn’t you be more observant for a spy?”

You gave a hum at his deep voice, tilting your head slightly as he placed his cheek on your shoulder, nose pressing up against the column of your throat. “Shouldn’t you be heading over to the Triskelion for your debriefing with Fury?”

He growled at the mention of the mission he was just sent on yesterday morning. The first few assignments he had surprised you with how quick they were over, but then you remembered yours were a bit different than his and you got used to him being back within the next couple days.

“We don’t have secrets right? I’m so fucking tired of secrets.”

Your eyebrow quirked up as you turned to face him, his hands slipping down to your hips. You took in his state; he was still in uniform, dirt on his face, hair unruly, the shield on his back gray with the dust that covered it. He obviously hadn’t even gone to his own place yet, meaning he just got back. “What happened?”

He huffed, letting go of you to rub his face tiredly. “Natasha. She didn’t tell me that Fury sent her to do something other than what we were supposed to be doing.”

“They’re spies, bubs. It’s what they do.”

“You’re a spy. You wouldn’t do that.”

Chuckling a little at his comparison, you shook your head. “Our relationship is a little…different than yours and Nat’s.”

“I wish they’d put you on my missions. I don’t know why they don’t. We work well together, don’t we?”

You snorted. “That’s probably the reason.” At his confused look, you shook your head. “Never mind. Just…we’re closer. I know you better than they do. You can’t compare them to me. It isn’t fair.”

He grumbled, eyes glancing down to your feet. “They still should’ve told me.”

“Hey,” you tilted his head back up to meet your gaze. “It was a hostage mission, right?” He nodded. “Did you save the hostages?” Another nod, which made you shrug. “Then there you go. You did your job and you saved people. It was a success. That’s all that matters.”

“He got away.” Steve argued. “He got away because she didn’t feel the goddamn need to tell me-”

“She was following orders. Don’t be mad at her.”

“You’re right.” His quick admission stunned you for a moment, until he continued speaking. “It’s Fury’s fault. I think I’m gonna go-”

He started moving away, but you tugged him back, shaking your head again. “Not yet, bubba. You can talk to him later. Let’s get you cleaned up first. Then we’ll eat and you can tell me how that run you went on yesterday was. Okay?”

His features softened and he nodded, setting his forehead against yours. “Okay.”

You had half of your dresser sectioned off for Steve’s things. SHIELD had moved him to DC about a year previous to be closer to HQ, especially after the Helicarrier became decommissioned for repairs. You already had an apartment in DC - it was where you stayed for the most part, hence the reason you were more than willing to stay in New York for a couple years. 

The moment he moved in about ten minutes from you, you knew, just like in DC, he’d be spending a lot of time at your place. Which is why you made the executive decision to have him bring a bag over one night and unpack his stuff.

It wasn’t the first shower he took at your place and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last.

While he was cleaning up, you got to work washing his suit and the shield. You teased him by saying you’d just throw his suit in the washer and the shield in the dishwasher, but you wouldn’t actually.

His suit was air drying by the window and you were at the sink scrubbing off the shield, wishing you had a backyard and a hose, when he padded back into the room, hair plastered to his forehead, dripping down his temples, sweats and a t-shirt clinging to his body. He shook his head, leaning on the counter besides you. You always found it amusing how big he looked in your tiny kitchen.

“You know you don’t have to do that, right?”

You scoffed. “If you think I’m gonna let you walk around in that disgusting thing all day, you, my friend, are nuts.”

He chuckled, moving behind you and setting his chin on your shoulder, his larger hands stopping yours from their movements. “At least let me do this, then.” He murmured, taking the scrub brush from you, spreading the bubbles over the rings of the shield.

“You can help me. But I like finishing what I started.” You whispered back, reaching for a clean rag and dunking it into the soapy water, wiping down the star in the middle.

He placed a gentle kiss to your jaw, relenting easily. “Fine.”

You two worked in silence, the water running over the shield, taking the dirt and grime with it, hands occasionally brushing each other. Almost finished, Steve placed his hand over yours, moving it over to a certain spot. “The brush won’t get it.” He explained, his low voice sounding right beside your ear.

Smiling, you turned your head to look at him. There was a crease between his brow as he concentrated on getting rid of the smudge on the precious metal. Your lips turned up when you noticed a dark spot on his jaw he must’ve missed. He looked at you with a grin when you started giggling. “What’s got you giggling so pretty, honey?”

Letting go of the side of the shield you were holding, you reached up to wipe the dirt on his jaw that he missed with your thumb. “Can’t let that handsome face of yours get stained. And, speaking of stains,” you turned back to the shield, holding it up for the both of you to look at, the soft light from the window above the sink making it shine even more. “You think we got it all?”

“Hmmm. I think you missed a spot.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What? Where?”

He leaned closer to the shield, face right besides yours, cheeks practically brushing together. “Right…here.” His hand that you didn’t notice cupping water, came up and splashed your face.

You let out a shriek, stepping back, further into his chest, your jaw dropped. “Steven! My pjs!”

He cackled, leaning back and holding his chest, before gasping when you did the same thing back to him. “You’re on!” He grabbed his shield and filled it with water, making you squeak and try getting out of his hold. Stupid Super Soldier strength. He dumped it on you, water falling on your head, sliding down your back and making your pajamas stick to you. You quickly retaliated, grabbing the facet and turning it towards him, laughing at his shout.

The water fight continued for a few more minutes, bowls and cups coming into play, with Steve diving behind the counter and you slipping on the floor.

“Woah, there, honey!” He chuckled, the chortles coming from your lips reassuring him that you weren’t hurt. He leaned over you, reaching his hand out. “You okay?”

You nodded, taking his hand. “Let’s call it a truce, yeah?”

“Truce? Hell no! I won!”

“You did not! You just got lucky!”

He pulled you up, tugging you close. “Alright, alright. Fine. A truce. Let’s get you into some dry clothes, now. Don’t want you gettin’ sick, honey.”

You shook your head. “That’s actually a myth.”

“I’ll take note of that.”

An eyebrow of yours raised. “In that little notebook you never let me read?”

He smiled innocently. “Maybe. I added something else yesterday.” He informed you while tugging you down the hall to your room.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Marvin Gaye’s Trouble Man Soundtrack.”

You hummed with an approving nod. “Yeah. That was a good suggestion. Who gave it to you?’

“This guy I met on my run.” He shrugged, heading over to his dresser as you grabbed a couple towels. “Sam Wilson. He seemed like a good guy.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, grabbed another set of sweats and a shirt, before turning to you and taking the towel you handed him. “Yeah. He served two tours in Afghanistan. Now he’s working down at the VA. Told me to drop by sometime.”

“Aww.” You stood on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair. “My bubba’s all grown up and making friends.”

He rolled his eyes, ducking away from your hand and running his own through his hair. “Yeah, yeah.” His smile dropped as he looked at the clothes in his hand. “I think I’m gonna head out now. I should talk to Fury.”

You frowned. “You have all day, Steve. Just eat first, okay?”

“Okay.”

He was holding something back, you could tell. Picking out your clothes for the day, you decided to question him about it. “What’re you thinking about?”

Your backs turned to each other, you started changing, just as you’d down countless times before. “I was thinking about going to the Air and Space Museum again. If you wanna come.”

“You know I do.”

It was quiet for a few more minutes, only the sound of rustling clothes and zippers filling the air. “I-I think I’m gonna go after. To see her, I mean.”

You froze, keeping your heart and your breathing steady so he wouldn’t pick up on anything. “It’ll be good for you. She…she always knows what to say.”

“So do you.”

You cleared your throat, finishing with the final touches of your outfit. “I actually forgot that I have some stuff to finish up at HQ today, so I dunno if I’ll be able to go-”

His hand grabbed your wrist, turning you around, eyes pleading and face fallen. “Please. Please come with me. Honey. I need you there. With me. Please.”

You inwardly cursed yourself for falling for those puppy eyes, a soft sigh leaving your lips. “Okay, bubs. I’ll come with you.” You might regret it later, but the relief that washed over his features was worth it for now. The power he had over you scared you, especially since you knew he didn’t realize the hold he had on you, but you couldn’t help it. It happened quickly, swiftly, and you were down before you recognized it. And you didn’t know how to deal with it other than taking it one day at a time.

“Let’s go get some breakfast, now. I can promise it’s at least decent.”

The beam he shot you made your heart flutter no matter how hard you tried keeping calm. “I’m sure it’s better than anything I could ever make.” He pulled you close, lips brushing over your forehead. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You sighed, leaning your head against his, eyes closing.

“Existing.”

***********

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All Works Taglist (Open):

@happygoreading​

@bibliophilewednesday​

[loveofafangirl]

The Right Thing

[Baron Zemo Masterlist] [Marvel Masterlist] 

Pairing: Baron Zemo x Reader (no gender, race, body type given)

Synopsis: As Zemo is sneaking away from his abode in Latvia in search of freedom, he is pulled back when he notices the fight in his home above has become dangerous for those in the streets. *Fluff:Comfort/Care*

Word Count: <1,500

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing Zemo. I don’t know what happened but he is living (and dancing) in my head rent-free so I hope you enjoy this little fic. I typically write third person; second person/reader is not really my area of comfort, so please excuse any mistakes. Not betad. A/N2: This reader becomes “Reader A” on my masterlist. Most fics can be read as this reader with their relationship with Zemo developing (even though they are all mostly one shots)

TW: non-graphic mentions of blood and injuries

He averted his gaze, pulling the collar of his coat up, attempting to blend in with the crowd forming in the street as he slipped out of his Latvian home. He could hear the clash of Vibranium echoing on the floor above. Children gathered in the street below, looking up curiously at the unusual sounds. He wanted to warn them. He knew the threats of fallout that followed from being too near those so-called heroes better than anyone. However, he feared the delay would cost him his freedom and what he must do. He quickened his pace away from them.

The shattering of a large window sounded behind him as the building took a beating from those fighting. He turned at the noise, too late to do anything more than observe the shards of colorful glass rain down on those below. 

He watched in horror as the debris struck a few people. You caught his attention when you protected a young boy, which caused you to suffer the most. He admired your resolve. You did what he wasn’t strong enough to do. He turned back the way he was heading, trying to forget the damage he saw.

You were curious about the cacophony of sounds coming from the building. You had heard that some of the Avengers were in town. You had secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of them. Not because you were a fan, more because you wanted to see them—to size them up. You had always been a good judge of character, and you wanted to determine for yourself whether they were essentially good or not; although, you already knew the world was far grayer than most people gave it credit. 

The noise above grew louder, and you could tell a battle was ensuing. You watched the number of people growing beside you, more specifically, the number of children enchanted by the unusual sounds. For a moment, fear flashes on your face, remembering Sokovia and the damage left in the wake of the last Avengers fight in the area. 

Before you have time to warn them, screams fill the air as glass and bricks begin to fall. You turn quickly, covering a small boy standing beside you, shielding him from the brunt of the crumbling debris. You cry as the glass pierces your skin; you feel blood begin to drip from some of the larger wounds. 

“Are you okay?” You ask the boy whose body trembles in your arms.

He nods, his lips quivering. He runs off down the street, following the crowd away from the scene without a word to you. 

You drag yourself away, too, hoping to find a quiet spot to nurse your injuries. You’re grateful they’re not worse since you can’t afford to go to the doctor. You turn a corner and sit on an old crate in the quiet alleyway. 

You peel off your shirt and turn to pull the first piece of glass from your back. You cry at the pain but continue on, gritting your teeth.

“Let me?” His voice was soft as he held his hands out in front of him, gesturing toward your wounds. 

Weary of the new stranger, you pull back defensively.

“Please.” He remained where he stood, not moving on you, giving you space. “I can help. You saved that child. Let me help you now. You won’t be able to reach them all on your own.”

Reluctantly, you nod, allowing him closer.

He slowly moves beside you, keeping his hands up, showing you he meant you no harm. 

His touch is softer than you imagined. You don’t even feel his careful fingers removing the glass. Eventually, you work up the nerve to ask, “Are you a doctor?”

“No,” he replies simply and continues his work. “Unfortunately, I have seen more destruction and loss than I would like.”

You sit in silence until he is done. He takes a minute to carefully inspect you, making sure to have removed all of the pieces to prevent infection. 

He wipes the soft fabric of his trench coat over your skin, collecting the blood that had spilled. 

His movements were so tender and warm that you can’t help but relax at his touch. The pain in your back seems to disappear under his care.

“There. All better.”

“Thank you, truly.”

His lip curls up in the corner. “You were a hero today. Many only delude themselves to be that. Few actually prove themselves to be so on occasion.”

You search his face for more. There is pain there that cut deeper than any shard of glass could. The two of you shift closer. There’s something in his eyes that lets you know his thoughts had drifted away from you. You know that look‚ the look of loss—of longing. It was all too common in the recent months and years. 

Before you can step back and thank him once more, his lips brush over yours, slowly. It feels like a dream, and for a moment, you’re afraid to breathe, as it feels like the wind whispering quietly on your lips. His eyes seem brighter at that moment like something had changed. As you decide to give yourself over to it, he pulls away, startled.

“My apologies.” His tone is honest as he steps back. He almost sounds surprised that it had happened.

“It’s okay.” You aren’t in the habit of letting random men kiss you and get away with it, but there was something genuine about him. Your eyes widen, truly focusing on the man in front of you for the first time. His brown eyes are warm and kind. You could tell he had been through a lot, but he had still taken the time to assist you. “It wasn’t you. Well, at least not completely you. It’s been a long time since someone was that…tender to me.” You swallow hard at your confession, unsure of why you had told this stranger that. “Most men want more. Demand it when it is refused.”

His eyes fill with what you think is concern, but he’s hard to read. You wonder if you’re fooling yourself, and it’s a look of pity that you’re trying to rewrite. 

He looks around nervously as people rush past the entrance of the alleyway. “I should be going.”

Filled with courage you didn’t know you had, you take a step forward and brush a kiss on his cheek. Your fingers linger on him. “Thank you again.” 

“My pleasure.” 

His smile, as he begins to move away, left you wanting more—needing to better understand him. You watch him walk toward the busy street. “Wait.”

He turns toward you, his head tilted to the side, waiting for you to continue.

“Why did you help me?” 

“It was the right thing to do.” He stated plainly. 

You nod thoughtfully. Not many people would have helped you like that without wanting more. Not many people know what the right thing is anymore. You’re not even sure you know all the time. “Can I ask you something else?”

He looks around again as if waiting for someone to find him. He offers a curt nod. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you need a place to lay low for a day?”

His head tilts further to the side, “why would you ask that?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I guess, you just look like a man who’s running.”

“How very astute of you.” He marches closer again, studying your face more carefully now. 

“You can stay with me...just for the night,” you clarify quickly.

“You don’t know me. Why would you make such an offer?”

“It’s the right thing to do." You look down, bashful for a moment, before continuing. "Plus, you helped me; I owe you a debt.” Both were partly the truth, but the third reason you couldn’t bring yourself to admit to him was that you weren’t ready to let him go. 

He considers your offer, as he proceeds to attempt to understand you. "One night." 

"One night," you agree. You reach for your shirt, attempting to shake out the remaining bits of glass and put it back over you. 

"Here." He stops you, pulling his lavish coat off his shoulders, and wraps it around you in one fluid motion. 

The gesture catches you off guard, and you let a little noise of surprise slip from your lips. 

He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he isn’t smug about it. He buttons the coat closed, shielding your body from the outside world. Stepping to the side, he extends his arm, a gentle smile on his lips. "After you."

You're not really sure what you're doing or why you made the offer you did, but you do know that for the first time in a long time, there's a smile on your face that you can't seem to wipe away. You touch your fingers to your lips, still mesmerized by the delicate kiss. You step forward, ready for whatever the future has for you. "Follow me." 

[Next Part: A Promise]

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[descendantofthesparrow]

Before Rewrite - Hades

*Spoilers for D3 rewrite~!!!! takes place from when Hades gets to the isle to the scene where Mal takes the ember from Hades!*

=

Hades cursed the rulers of Auradon every hour of every day for putting him on this wretched isle of filth and trash. He was a god! The god of the undead, the underworld! He was a crucial player in the mortal's circle of life; without him, there would be no place for souls to go, Thanatos would harvest them but with no one to claim them; they would wander around the lands forever.

He could already sense the disturbed souls, miserably watching their families walk by, or through them. All alone with no one to turn to and nowhere to go.

He had only been here for two weeks and he was already sick of it; he may have never liked it but his job was important and he needed to get back to work

-

Two weeks and four days…that's all it took for the gods to replace him. He didn’t know who it was but they seemed to know what they were doing, claiming souls so fast Hades could hardly sense when one had left the mortal world to live in the underworld.

Hades perked up at the sound of crying

Oh, Hadie.

He turned on his heel and speed over to the makeshift crib of his son, rubbing the top of his fuzzy blue hair and picking him up; gently rocking him as Hadie continued to cry, Hades didn’t know from what but he would try to find out.

-

Like the little god he was, Hadie unexpectedly thrived on the barren isle of the lost; with what little food he got and with little sun, Hadie grew quickly and strong. At four years old he was already growing into his namesake; though Hades couldn’t ever resist being a dad over his little gap tooth in the middle of his teeth.

Hades just wished Persephone could see Hadie grow, and Hades wished he could see his little flower, Melinoe, grow into the headstrong warrior she was meant to be.

-

Whaaaaaaaat the fuck did he do….what in the actual fuck did he DO?!

He had stupidly gotten black out drunk at Gaston’s bar and somehow ended up with Maleficent! Of all people on the isle?! No-not out of all people, just with someone in general!?

He had prided himself in being the most loyal husband of his brothers, Zeus who had slept with a woman every time Hera blinked, and Poseidon; who wasn’t any better.

Hades had always been loyal and true to his wife…well there were those two times BUT compared to his brothers; he was loyal.

AND NOW HE HAD TO GO AND FUCK UP THAT STREAK; over 1000 years, 1000 years! And some bad whiskey had to ruin it.

He left that bed without a word, rushing home to his 4-year-old son who luckily hadn’t woken up yet from his sleep; and Hades swore if nothing came from that mistake, Hadie would never know about it.

-

Welp…that was something that came from the mistake. 11 months after the incident with Maleficent-

-There, right in front of his gates to his underground lair; was a little baby girl, halfheartedly swaddled in a green blanket and set at his gate, a little note taped to the front.

‘your problem now -M’

Hades leaned out of the gates, looking around for any goblins or any sign of the mistress of evil herself. But there was nothing. Hades sighed and crouched down, gently picking up the baby girl and holding him to his chest, her cries quieting as her cheek pressed against the fabric of his shirt.

She opened her eyes, vivid green with sparks of gold and yellow. She laughed, reaching up to his hair with a gummy smile. Hades sighed again and turned on his heel, closing the gate with his foot.

At least he got another chance at raising his daughter, and he would do his best to do as he would’ve with Melinoe.

-

Hadie had asked a billion questions when Hades placed the new baby in Hades old crib, leaning over and peering down at his little sister. Hades had explained it the best way he knew how to a child; but Hadie miraculously understood, didn’t blame him. All he did was reach down towards his sister and grin as the baby took his finger.

“I like her! Are we keeping her?” Hadie had asked, his gap tooth making his little grin seem even bigger.

“she's not a dog Hadie, but yes that’s the plan. I don’t think her mother’s coming back.” Hades rubbed Hadie’s fluffy blue hair and then reached out to rub his daughter's bluish-purple hair gently, her two-month-old hair curling around his fingers.

“What's her name?” Hadie continued to babble off questions, his yellow eyes staring directly into his sister's emerald eyes.

Hades thought for a moment, pursing his lips as he looked at the note and turned it over. Nothing other than Maleficent's writing and initial. Either the fae hadn’t given the baby a name or didn’t care enough to tell him.

“Morana“ the pagan Slavic goddess of winter and death; he had met or once or twice, not enough to know her but the name matched the baby girl before him well enough. (in this world, gods of all religions/beliefs exist in the same universe, they usually keep to themselves and rarely interact.)

Hadie repeated the name, pulling his finger around with Morana still holding onto him. “I like it!”

-

Three months later, Maleficent returned and took Morana from him; not even letting him give her a damn thing to remember him by. “I need an heir, that evil queens been bragging about her little rat and I won't let her get the upper hand with it” Hadie watched from behind Hades legs as the fae walked away with his little sister, her blue-purple hair stark against the black of Maleficent's sleeves.

Morana cried the entire time, reaching out for her father with tears streaming from her sparking yellow-green eyes, her face red with the flurry of confusing emotions she was feeling.

Hades took a step forward, going to take his daughter back but was stopped by Maleficent's goons, all glaring at him.

He was outmatched.

He stepped back, glaring at Maleficent's back as she took back their daughter she had abandoned so heartlessly three months ago.

-

Mal. That was her name now. He had heard many talk about the newly revealed daughter of evil; the daughter of Maleficent. Mal.

Hades clicked his jaw at the thought of her name, Maleficent had been shellfish and named her own daughter right after her; Hades would bet his stash of chocolate that Mal’s full name was just Maleficent.

At least Hades had been original.

-

Throughout the next couple of years, as Mora-Mal. Grew up, Hades kept out an eye on her; just out of sight from her and just barely stepping in if any of the older people of the isle, who had…less than ideal moral compasses, got any ideas about his daughter.

A few times he tried to go up to her, but each time she saw him she either ran away in fear, or stared him down with no spark of familiar want or recognition.

So he kept away, respecting her non-verbal wishes and leaving Mal to herself.

It didn’t stop him from trying to keep her safe. He left her food on the nights Maleficent or her goons forgot, never charged her when she came into his restaurant, was never harsh with her. Some of the other villains got curious at his gentleness with Mal but quickly shut up with a spark of red in his eyes. He might’ve lost his magic but he was still a god.

-

Hades watched from the shadows as Mal and her three ‘friends’ climbed into the limo, the son of Hook and son of Gaston climbing in alongside them. Mal looked up at Maleficent, who did an odd gesture and Mal nodded, sliding in and closing the limo door behind her.

He followed the limo all the way to the bridge, watching his daughter leave the isle for the first time and go to Auradon. If she didn’t end up burning it down; he hoped she would have a good life away from her mother.

-

Over three years later, his son was chosen to go the Auradon by his sister, and Hades watched melancholy as Hadie packed his things; fiddling with the dull ember between his fingers. Hadie hefted his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his duffle bag, nodding at his dad; who stood and walked over to his son “stay safe” Hades muttered, pulling Hadie in for a side hug, his hand resting on the back of Hadie’s head. “say hi to your mother and sister for me?” Hadie nodded against him, using his free arm to squeeze Hades back, and turned on his heel, walking out of the mines.

-

Only an hour later Hades stood at the bridge plaza, ember in hand; pointing it at his daughter, who cried out in pain against the embers draining powers. He pulled back as much as he could, he needed to get out; he just couldn't do it anymore, the isle was hell and he needed to leave.

Mal screamed in pain again and Hades faltered, remembering her cries for him when Maleficent took her oh so long ago. But the girl besides Hook took his falter and rushed at him, slamming him back behind the barrier and walking back through it a moment later.

Hades growled to himself, he had failed his attempted escape and hurt his kid. He stood and walked away from the plaza, planning to stay in his lair for the rest of the week in shame.

-

It was just the next day when he saw his kids again, Hadie and Celia standing in front of him; giving the excuse of a forgotten bass and some delivered goods. But Mal wasn’t as quiet as she should've been, he grabbed her hand just as she grabbed the ember and pulled it from her grip, staring her down behind his sunglasses.

She meekly asked for the ember multiple times, and on the third time, he raised his brow, holding up the ember in the air as he looked down at his daughter “You’re only half Hades, the ember won't do everything for you that it does for me” Mal huffed and gestured to Hadie.

“Hadie’s gonna be the one to use it anyway, I just wanted-to…” Mal looked up at him wide-eyed and shocked, and Hades had a startling realization that Mal might have not known about him at all.

After a few minutes of Mal screeching about her mother’s lies and her not being able to understand how ‘she’ happened, she demanded the ember once more “if you wanna make up for being a lousy dad” ouch that stung, he didn’t mean to be one; he just was forced into that position “gimme the ember”

Hades gave Mal the ember and watched her walk out, sighing sadly as he realized he could’ve been there for Mal a long time ago if not for his stupid assumption. He warned her about the ember getting wet and she just pushed past him, Hadie sharing one last glance with him before following after her.

Hades sighed, collapsing back in his minecart turned chair and leaning his head back. So much for respecting her wishes as a child, she hadn’t even known he existed as her dad.

-end-

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[spencers-renaissance]

a touch that never hurts

Summary: a rewrite of the Tobias Hankel aftermath, in which Spencer gets plenty of cuddles and physical affection from his father figure

Tags: aftermath of torture, hurt/comfort, platonic cuddling, whump, protective hotch, dad hotch, fluff, angst TW: brief mention of the non-con drug use that occurs in the Hankel arc, as well as the physical torture Spencer underwent

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid; Platonic

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Happy bonus fic Thursday :) I wrote this because I noticed how gentle and kind Hotch always is to the victims he rescues, and I was in the mood for some good, mushy Dad Hotch fluff. Title from Charles Dickens' Hard Times: "Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts."

When Spencer Reid falls into Aaron Hotchner’s arms — his feet whipped and bleeding, his veins throbbing with dilaudid, his body bruised and aching — he decides that he never wants to let go.

He’s spent countless hours at the mercy of three different personalities, only one of them even close to resembling something kind, and all he could think while he was tied up in that chair was how much he ached to be held and comforted by the man he trusts most in this world.

So when Hotch saves him — and he does; he sent that message directly to him and it was heard loud and clear — he can’t help that he breaks down, that he cries into his shoulder in front of the entire rescue party, that he falls apart in the most painful way possible, until he’s not sure he can ever be put back together again. But when Hotch speaks soothingly into his ear, caressing his hair with the gentle touch of a father, he thinks that maybe he can be. Maybe he’ll somehow make it out of this in one piece.

He’s driven promptly to the hospital, of course. He’d anticipated an ambulance, but apparently it’s harder than you’d think to get an ambulance to a crime scene at 3am with absolutely no notice in deep, rural Georgia.

Derek drives, eyeing him anxiously in the rearview mirror, and Spencer sits glued to Hotch, refusing to be separated from him for even a second. He considers vaguely that he should probably be embarrassed of that fact, but he can’t find the energy. Not when Hotch is sitting just as closely; seemingly matching his need to be comforted with his own need to protect.

“It’s gonna be okay, Spencer,” Hotch murmurs, a little too quiet for Derek to hear over the noise of the car engine. “I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything. He’s not entirely sure he believes him. Instead, he just burrows closer into Hotch and hides his face from the soft illumination of passing car lights and the sporadic street lights of rural Georgian roads.

He accepts the wheelchair Derek runs in to grab from the hospital because his feet are suddenly screaming in agony. When he’d had to stumble through the graveyard behind Tobias Hankel’s cabin, the adrenaline had prevented him from feeling the true extent of his injuries, but now, with the adrenaline seeping out of him like a river through a broken dam, he can feel every single fractured bone, bruised patch of skin, abused and broken tendon.

Panic immediately arises when he sits down in the chair, though. All of a sudden, he doesn’t have that connection he’s had to Hotch since he was rescued, and he’s almost instantly on the verge of hyperventilation until Hotch crouches down in front of him.

“Hey, Spence,” he says gently, patient and soothing in a way the team doesn’t often get to see. “I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. How about I hold your hand?”

Spencer nods, and Hotch smiles at him encouragingly before giving the nod for Derek to push the chair towards the Emergency entrance. Hotch’s hand clutches tightly at Spencer’s, and he squeezes his eyes closed against the panic, against the memories, against the fear of what’s to come, and focuses all his energy on the firm, unwavering connection he has to Hotch.

It makes the minutes that it takes them to cross the parking lot bearable, and he’s grateful for that much.

As soon as Hotch explains the situation to the ER doctor that greets them at the door, Spencer is rushed into an examination room.

“I’ll wait outside, Spence,” Derek promises. “I’ll be right here.”

Hotch doesn’t let go of his hand.

They examine his feet first, using a portable x-ray machine to find three broken bones overall. Spencer cries when he hears that. Knowing they’re broken doesn’t change how much they hurt or how scary the situation feels, but it is a tangible acknowledgement of the torture he’s just been put through, and he thinks that that’s probably enough to make most people cry.

“It’s alright, Spencer,” Hotch soothes him, laying his palm on his forehead and smoothing it over his hair gently, slowly. “I’m right here. The doctors are going to help you out.”

“The good news is that most of the fractures are fairly minor,” the doctor explains. “You’ll need a cast for your right foot since the damage to the metatarsal bones is much more significant, but most of the damage overall appears to be torn tendons and bruised muscles, which means plenty of rest and a simple brace or boot on the left foot should do the trick.”

She smiles encouragingly at him, but he barely reacts. He’s so tired. It feels like he’s not even in the room; the only tether to reality being the soothing hand in his hair and the occasional whispers of support.

They treat his feet before sending him off to a CT scanner to check that the rest of his injuries are minor enough to heal on their own, and rule out internal bleeding. Spencer cries the whole twenty two minutes, because this time Hotch can’t hold his hand. He’s stuck watching through the observation window, trying not to cry himself as he listens to Spencer’s sobs over the intercom.

Thankfully, he manages to stay still enough to ensure clear enough images of his body to confirm that rest and pain medication should take care of the rest of his injuries.

A specialist comes round to talk to him about withdrawal. He’s been moved to a room on the assessment ward, which is at least a little more comfortable than the bay in the Emergency Room, but it still feels foreign and frightening, and he’s had quite enough of that in the last few days, thank you very much. At least Derek’s been allowed to join them now. He feels safer with both of them as close to him as humanly possible.

“The good news,” the doctor starts — and God, Spencer wishes they would stop associating any of this with the word ‘good’ — “is that you haven’t taken enough doses to become truly dependent on the drug, which should make your withdrawal easier. I’m prescribing buprenorphine, clonidine, acetaminophen, and ondansetron, which when combined, should make your symptoms significantly more bearable. We do advise that you stay with somebody—”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Hotch interrupts firmly, both of his hands clasped warmly around Spencer’s as he eyes the doctor with an unwavering gaze.

“Well, that’s perfect, then,” the doctor says cheerily. It feels grossly misplaced. “You’ll need to prepare for the coming symptoms and ensure that he has no way to get his hands on more dilaudid.”

Spencer resents the doctor for saying that. He has no desire to inject more of that poison into his veins: it might have been a pleasant distraction when he was being whipped and beaten and forced to choose someone to die, but now that he’s back with his family, now that he’s safe, the last thing he wants is to keep reminding himself of that god-awful man in that god-awful cabin.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He just closes his eyes to try and smother the turbulent emotions threatening to show on his face.

“That won’t be a problem,” Hotch confirms.

They wait for an hour in relative silence, Spencer enjoying the solace of a safe, quiet room with the people he considers protectors both holding his hands and soothing him when panic threatens to overwhelm him, before the discharge doctor comes round. She checks him over one last time, before helping him into a wheelchair, handing him his medication, and wheeling him towards the entrance.

Derek goes ahead once they reach the airstrip where everybody’s been waiting to go home and herds them onto the jet first to give Spencer some privacy going up the stairs.

“Are you okay for me to carry you?” Hotch asks as he climbs out of the car first, speaking gently as he has done since he rescued him.

Spencer nods. Of course he is. It means he’s even closer to Hotch.

Hotch carries him the short distance between the parked jeep and the jet before ascending the stairs as carefully as possible, making sure Spencer’s feet don’t so much as brush the railing. He sets him down on the sofa, but Spencer clings to his hand, looking at him desperately as he tries to get him to understand what he needs. Thankfully, he’s obvious enough that Hotch simply smiles and sits down on the sofa with him.

They get settled in a horizontal position, Spencer resting his head on Hotch’s chest as he revels in the feeling of safety that having both of his arms wrapped around him provides. A gentle hand finds its way to Spencer’s hair again, and he closes his eyes against the relaxing feeling, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

He vaguely hears some quiet laughter in the background, and he’s been with the team long enough to predict the raised eyebrows and teasing expressions on their faces.

“You’ve gone soft,” Derek accuses warmly, making sure to keep his voice down, and the others chuckle in agreement.

“Wait until Penelope hears about this,” JJ teases quietly.

Hotch laughs, and Spencer feels the pleasant vibrations against his cheek. It makes him feel even warmer inside than he did before. “You wouldn’t dare.” Spencer imagines the smile on his face and burrows closer to him.

“It’s a good thing, Hotch,” Emily chimes in, her voice bright and easy. Spencer really likes her. “It’s nice to see this side of you.”

“Well, you’d better savour the moment because it won’t happen again.”

He must feel Spencer’s panicked tensing, the way his muscles go rigid and his breath hitches, because he rushes to add, “unless Spencer needs it of course.” His hands resume their gentle caresses of his back.

“I’d do anything if Spencer needed it,” he murmurs, and the team might hear, but the words aren’t for them.

Spencer hears them loud and clear, and somehow — when he thought only hours ago that he might never be put back together — he falls asleep feeling calm and safe, with a small, hopeful little smile on his face.

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[perriewinklenerdie]

Steam (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Claire Herondale

Word count: 2,3 k

Summary: OH3 Chapter 8 rewrite. Claire finds a way for Ethan to let out his frustrations and get some control back.

Warnings: NSWF, strong language, adult situations. By reading this you consent that you’re 18+

A/N: My relationship with the canon scene is complicated and I knew I’d rewrite it. Here are C and E at their finest, all about that teasing business.

Ethan stared at her with a complicated glint in his eyes. He barely heard a sound of his surroundings, blood rushing through his ears loudly. His one anchor, his one thing that kept him from drowning was Claire.

Her eyes were wide – they’ve been that way since the moment he told her that he was in a dark mood. Something shifted in the air between them; got heavier and more intense. She nodded slowly, an idea forming in her head.

“I think I know how you can let all the steam out of your system.”

Looping her arm through his, she pulled him with her away from the exit. He followed, albeit reluctant. Soon enough, they walked into the gym, empty due to the late hours of evening. Ethan went inside first, Claire trailing behind him, closing the door.

She turned the lock into place. Her white coat met the floor seconds later, exposing her tightly fitted shirt and a pencil skirt. Slowly, without a single care in the world, she moved towards the windows, closing the curtains, one by one.

“Strip”

“What?”

Closing the last curtain, she turned towards him with an enticing smirk. “Strip, Dr. Ramsey. You’ll damage your clothes if you exercise in them.”

He wanted to say something, but instead decided that it was futile to argue - she definitely had too much power over him - so with a huff, he began to lose clothes. Just as his pants hit the floor, he raised his gaze to her, eyebrow raised in question. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’ll be stripping too.” She dimmed the lights, creating an enthralling atmosphere in the room. “But the rate at which that will be happening is entirely up to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ethan asked, feeling his blood rushing faster through his body, already expecting what she had in mind.

“For each issue you work through, I’ll be losing one clothing item. Of your choice. How undressed I’ll get is in your hands.”

“And what happens after that?” He growled, ogling her through her clothes. Claire walked over to him, dropping her voice to a deep whisper.

„Whatever you want.”

Ethan nodded slowly, hesitation leaving his body. She gave him the gloves, watching him closely as he put them on, pulling on the straps with his teeth. His stormy gaze seemed to eat her alive, want evident in his every move.

He approached the punching bag hesitantly. The first hit was probing. It couldn’t have been his first time boxing, but something about this particular session felt different – most likely due to the emotional charge of it and the fact that Claire watched him very closely. He could feel her eyes on the skin of his chest, and he enjoyed that very much.

Letting go of his hesitation, he focused on his frustrations and it did the trick. The bag began swinging from the chain it was hanging on, loud sounds of protest created by each hit filling the room.

“What are you thinking about?” Claire asked, wanting him to externalize his struggles in hopes of helping him get through them.

“Bloom.” He barked, seemingly invigorated, hitting the bag faster. “His rules.” Hit. “His meddling.” Hit. “Him going back on everything he said.” Hit.

Ethan grabbed the bag, breathing heavily. His eyes strayed towards Claire, locking on her legs.

“Lose your shirt.”

She smirked, then slowly, button by button, took off the article of clothing, letting it fall to the floor with an innocent sigh.

Satisfied with the view before him and encouraged by it, more than he’d care to admit, he turned towards the bag again. Squaring his shoulders and digging his feet into the ground, he began punching again.

“Tobias.” This time, there was no experimenting with the strength of the blow. He began hitting the bag with fervor.

“His stubbornness.”

Hit.

“His smugness.”

Hit.

“This stupid competition between us.”

Hit. Hit. Hit.

Frustration rolled off him in waves, every strike sending the bag higher and higher. He went on until he couldn’t anymore, then steadied the bag again with a firm grip.

Claire’s eyes followed his every move, staring at the way his muscles worked. Her breathing quickened, chest moving up and down in no particular pattern. Having lost her shirt earlier on, there was nothing constricting Ethan’s view of her chest – the gentle rise and fall of it, gathered and held by the burgundy piece of lace that he longed to peel away with his teeth.

“Skirt” he grumbled, catching her gaze with his darkened eyes. His voice dripped of lust, face red from boxing and from all the ideas his mind was coming up with.

She reached behind her slowly, dragging the zipper down. Her heels clocked against the floor as she took a slight step forward. Dragging the fabric along her legs, she leaned down. Giving him a glorious view of her ass.

Taking her sweet time, she stood back up, smiling at him innocently. “See something you like?”

“I see something I want.”

“Keep punching, then. I still have some fabric to take off.”

He smirked, walking over to her. His voice dropped to a low rumble while his nose followed the line of her bra strap. “Or I could just take you like this.”

“Yeah?” She panted, biting her lip softly. Her hand wandered to his boxers, fingers dipping beneath the fabric so her nails could scrape against the skin of his hip. With a cheeky grin, she snapped the band of his underwear sharply. “Get back to boxing, Ramsey.”

Shaking his head after staring at her for a moment longer, Ethan walked back to the bag. She asked if he wanted to get something else out of his head and he didn’t even hesitate. His shoulders tensed and soon after, the room was once again filled with the sounds of angry punches, gloves hitting the bag, over and over again. Unlike before, he didn’t say out loud what got him so angry – not at first, at least.

“I should have found another way. We wouldn’t be in this mess.” He hit the bag so hard that the chain almost broke. “You wouldn’t be in this mess. It never even crossed my mind that the fault would fall anywhere near you.”

“You set the record straight – that matters the most.” She smiled at him reassuringly. Ethan steadied the bag one final time, taking a deep breath before he turned towards her.

“Panties.” He growled, rushing to get the gloves off, tossing them aside as he strode towards her in a hurry. As soon as she was within his reach, he grabbed the flimsy lace of her panties and pulled, the ripping sound filling the room.

“Ethan!” she scolded him, unable to fight laughter. He smirked.

“I never said I was a patient man.”

His hands grabbed her by the hips, using them as leverage to push her against the wall. With eagerness she’s come to expect from him, he stole a kiss from her, fitting his lips to hers. She grinned, looping her arms around his neck to pull him closer. With the tips of her fingers, she played with the hair at the back of his head.

The kiss was short-lived, as his lips left hers to wander down her neck. Foregoing their inhibitions, he bit and sucked on her skin, hard enough to leave a mark in a place that was visible enough to raise questions. Neither cared, however, because they were lost in each other, almost as though they were under some spell.

Moving further, he reached the valley between her breasts. With the tip of his tongue, he followed that invisible line, straying towards the curve of each breast, tasting her skin as though it was an aphrodisiac.

Ethan’s palms trailed up her sides until he reached her bra. The lace, as delicate as it was, felt coarse against the skin of his chest. He pressed his hands to the sides of her chest, gathering her breasts together. With his thumbs, he traced circles over her nipples, eliciting a breathless moan from her. She gripped his hair tighter, pressing his head closer.

His mouth closed over one of her nipples, licking and biting through the material. With his free hand, he dragged the straps off her shoulders, then reached towards her back and unhooked the clasp of her bra, flinging the garment far away from them.

Like a starved man, he dove forward, tracing non-sensical patterns over the skin of her chest with the tip of his tongue. His low hum sent vibrations through her.

“Ethan, please…” Claire sighed, her back arching off the wall when his teeth grazed her nipple.

“What do you want, Claire?” he asked, burying his face in her chest, taking a deep breath. She scratched his scalp before pulling his head away from her body, allowing her to place of ghost of a kiss upon his lips.

“I want you to take me against the wall.” She muttered, words slightly incoherent.

“How?” he asked, squeezing her breast with one hand while his other slid down her body, towards the apex of her thighs. His fingers dipped between her legs, running through her folds and then diving into her. “Should I squeeze your nipples and make you take my fingers until you can’t catch your breath?”

“Yes.” She whined, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the wall.

“Or maybe I should pin your hands above your head and wrap your leg around my hip.” He muttered, curling his fingers inside of her as he moved them in and out. Claire’s broken sigh was like music to his ears. “Bury my cock inside of you until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

“Please.”

Claire moved her hands to his hips, pushing his boxers down and out of the way. He kicked the fabric away, catching her hands by her wrists and raising them above her head, pinning her to the wall.

Meanwhile, Claire lifted her leg and wrapped it around him, pushing on his ass with her heel to press him closer. Ethan smirked at her eagerness, guiding himself to her entrance. Slowly, he slid inside, stopping once he was buried entirely. Their noses were touching, eyes locked in an intense stare. Mouths opened at the mind-boggling sensation, both breathing heavily.

Ethan palmed her thigh, stroking the skin gently. Neither moved nor made a sound, testing each other’s patience, seeing who would break first. She squeezed her inner muscles, smug at the way his façade broke.

“You ready?”

“Take me.” she flashed him a grin, moving her hips off the wall to further prove her point.

He wasted no time, his hold on her thigh tightening to grand himself something to hold onto as he retreated and then drove into her again. His hips snapped against hers, meeting her halfway, push for push, thrust for thrust. Her moans, at first subtle, were gaining volume, expressing the urgency she felt. Watching him work out aroused her more than she anticipated it would. Not having him right this moment would drive her mad.

Ethan adjusted his grip on her hands, pressing his lips to her neck, whimpering at the feeling of her walls engulfing him, taking him, and driving him wild.

“Say my name.” he growled, moving his hand to her backside. She sighed, swallowing heavily.

“Ethan.” Claire’s moan went an octave higher when his hand suddenly met her ass in an unexpected move. She flashed him a smirk. “Do it again, Dr. Ramsey.”

“Jesus.” His groan was the only thing on her mind. He spanked her again and she cried out, her hands twitching in his hold.

He drove into her, each thrust deeper than the last. He was getting close, very close, in fact, and the dark look she was giving him only pushed him further towards the brink.

“Harder.” Claire demanded, squeezing him again. Ethan’s head fell onto her shoulder with a primal growl, hips snapping faster and rougher against hers. Room was filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, punctuated by their moans.

Her sighs were getting higher, her lungs taking in so much air that she was getting lightheaded.

“Come.” Ethan ordered, sinking his teeth into her lower lip and pulling on it. She shattered around him, gasping his name. He still moved, chasing the release until he followed her, sinking into her with her name on his lips.

He let go of her wrists, her arms falling heavily onto his shoulders as they reveled in the bright aftershocks. They remained intertwined for a long while, breathing heavily and stroking each other’s bodies with gentle hands. When they finally separated, they took care of each other, helping each other get dressed and smoothing each other’s hair.

Claire looked at him sheepishly – he noticed, blushing furiously as he asked. “Something on your mind?”

“Are you feeling better now, Dr. Ramsey?” she grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Jesus, Claire, I- yes. I do feel better.” He shook his head, realizing that it was a battle he wasn’t going to win. “But I’d feel better if I could take you home.”

“So we could cuddle?” she joked, grinning at him softly.

“Among other things.”

With a nod, she hooked her arm around his for the second time that evening. Just as they were about to leave, Ethan turned to look back at the room behind them.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to look at this gym the same way ever again.”

“Have fun working out with The Boys the next time you’re here.”  

Notes

I almost forgot this fic even existed, my head isn’t really in it right now. But I really enjoyed writing it and thought you guys should get a chance to maybe enjoy it too.

Thank you so much for reading! <3

Tagging separately

[pomegranates-and-blood]

With our veins running fire

My Masterlist  

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “May I please request a fluffy one shot with Ivar’s first time? I’ve always wanted a better rewrite of that one scene in 4B, besides his insecurities were fully fledged and he just deserved a nice lover to help him along the way.”

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: 18+. Smut and fluff, soft!Ivar, and again, there’s a top and it ain’t him.

A/N: Title from the Charlotte Brontë quote: “...soothe him; save him; love him; tell him you love him and will be his. (...) I am insane—quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs.”

I am so sorry it took me this long to get this request out, I have nothing to say in my defense. Sorry sweetheart, hope you like it!

The blond Prince nudges your foot with his, demands your attention as Hvitserk walks around the room somewhere behind you.

Sigurd lowers his voice, and tells you, “You can still back down. Say the word and-…”

“Thank you, but no,” You interrupt, lifting your eyes to his, “You can stop offering that now.”

“I’m just-…”

“I know what you’re doing.” You interrupt again. You know there’s kindness in his gesture, when it comes to you there’s kindness in all Sigurd does.

Doesn’t mean he can’t be cruel.

“She made her choice, brother.” Hvitserk states, standing tall across from Sigurd and leaning his shoulder on a wooden pillar. His eyes remain on his younger brother for a few moments before turning to you and offering you a smile.

You narrow your eyes, slightly unsettled with how the two just…linger here.

“Surely you aren’t planning on staying.”

Hvitserk offers you a lift of his eyebrows, and a playful smile.

“Why, are you offering?”

You throw a pillow at him, but there’s no anger behind it. You know he does it to make you laugh and he manages to ease your nerves a bit.

Because…this is a strange situation, there’s no way around it. Your family and theirs have always been close to one another, with your father being a earl under Queen Aslaug’s jurisdiction, and it is true you’ve always been interested in the youngest Ragnarsson. A couple of weeks ago, sitting with Ivar outside while the feast raged on in the main hall, you dared close the distance and kiss him.

Still, none of that made being visited by Ubbe and asked if you’d want to have sex with Ivar any more normal, or expected.

“I want to talk to you. About Ivar,” Ubbe states, eyes piercing but warm as they gaze into yours. He sits in front of you, elbows on his knees, and even reaches with one hand to put a hand on your knee, a smile on his face, “I know you care for him, I know you like each other.”

You stay silent, because there really isn’t anything you can say, and this doesn’t really sound like him questioning about it.

He offers a smile. It is polite, but strange.

Past the extremely strange interaction you had with the eldest Prince, or the incredibly odd situation you were asked to be a part of, you didn’t think much of it, until earlier today, when you were approached asking if you were free tonight.

Though you did question at first why it wasn’t Ivar the one who approached you with these questions -would have certainly helped make everything much more normal if he had been the one to ask you-, you know him well enough to know why it was Ubbe the one to ask.

The door to the cabin you are in is kicked open, and Ubbe walks in with Ivar thrown over his shoulder. It is foolish, but you feel a ball of nervousness tighten in your core.

You have been with a man before, it is no secret for you what awaits you know. A few months before your father first brought you to Kattegat, almost more than a year ago, the son of a family friend and you fooled around and stumbled into having sex with each other.

But it is completely different now, even if you tell yourself what you ought to expect is the same. Ivar is different, and how you feel about Ivar is different.

His brother drops him on the edge of the bed, Ubbe has that odd smile on his face as he remains bended at the waist, his hands on his knees and his eyes on his brother.

He relays some silent message to Ivar before he straightens with an exhale. Why Ubbe looks as nervous as you feel is beyond you, but he still smiles at you and nods his head, before signaling with his head for his brothers to leave, and doing the same.

And you are left alone with Ivar, who still sits on the edge of the bed and refuses to even look in your direction.

Knowing it is up to you to take the first step, you walk to stand before him, resisting the urge to fidget with your fingers.

Ivar spares you a glance but almost-wide and somewhat unmoored pale blue eyes fall from yours after but a breath, and he leaves you with no choice but to crouch on the ground before him, trying to find his gaze but not succeeding.

So, with a hand on the side of his face, a hand that you surprise yourself at seeing not shake as much as you thought it would, you gather your courage and lean up to press your lips to his.

It isn’t too unlike the first kiss you shared with Ivar. He remains unnaturally still as you cup the side of his face and guide his face to yours, he lets out the faintest of sounds when you press your lips against his, and he seems to want to chase after the faint touch when you pull back but is stopped by the way he holds his body so tightly under his control.

Your free hand lets you find purchase on the bed, and Ivar jumps a bit when the place your hand rests is right beside his thigh.

There’s something to the way he holds himself, still yet jittery, uncomfortable yet longing, scared yet wanting.

Which is why you kiss him again, not giving him time to think or speak. If he starts thinking, you know his thoughts will chase themselves in circles and one way or another he will end up angered or biting, and that is not what you want. The side of him they all know, the side of biting wit and wrath and dangerous edges; that is not what you want.

You want the side of him you and a few others are fortunate enough to have stumbled upon, the side of small smiles that seem to surprise even him and vulnerability and hesitant softness.

You want the side of him that you saw bare of any lies the night you kissed him, when he watched you with wide eyes and parted lips, asking questions you didn’t want to answer yet.

So you press softly against his mouth, willing him with gentle touches of your hand and careful movements of your lips to relax and let go of any thought that isn’t this.

But, of course, how could you hope Ivar would let anything be easy.

He pulls back, turning his face slightly down, you do not know if either to hide his expression from you or to give you a silent command not to kiss him again.

“Y-You saw Ubbe bring me here, didn’t you?” He asks, startling you. Ivar scoffs, but it sounds tremulous, “I bet it was quite a sight, him carrying his crippled brother for you to have sex with.”

His older brother meant well, even if he was a bit overbearing. You have a feeling Ubbe would have carried you here if you hadn’t arrived earlier.

You search his eyes, your hand on the side of his face trailing slightly downwards, resting at the side of his neck. Though you think of something to say, Ivar doesn’t give you a chance to, because he just…keeps talking.

“Maybe this was all for nothing, and the Gods really made me boneless. Thought about that when you said yes?”

You pull back, crouched on the floor in front of him, looking up at Ivar’s uncertain blue eyes that seem to want to look everywhere except in your direction.

“What is going on, Ivar?” You ask. It is the easiest way you can voice the turmoil of questions inside you. Do you not want this? Do you not want me?

“You said yes.” He states, but you know it is a question.

“I did,” You tell him, offering a soft smile, “It is no secret how I feel about you.”

His eyes fall from yours, and he offers a small hum, but it dawns on you like a weight in your stomach that he thinks you to be lying. Or worse, mocking him.

“I know how you feel.” He tells you, but he still doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I thought you knew I liked you,” You say quietly, leaning closer. He seems to tense up even more at your proximity. If he didn’t know… You continue, “Ivar…we’ve kissed before.”

There’s a twitch of anger in his expression, a tell of gritted teeth. The anger is familiar, but it speaks of no less fragility than his hesitance.

“Sigurd told me.” Ivar bites out, voice low, words almost a growl.

“Told you what?”

Now, he meets your eyes. A storm of rage and pain and so many more things.

Accusing eyes and cutting words leave his lips like a curse, “That he dared you to do it.”

“What?” You frown, your heart feeling cold on your chest, “That isn’t true!”

When his eyes search yours, you dare think for a moment he believes you, you dare hope he sees you for who you are and not who his insecurities make out of you.

But he holds on to the anger, to the resentment, to the bitterness and the vitriol. ‘It is easier to be angry’ he told you once, and you think the meaning behind the words becomes a tad clearer for you just now.

Ivar presses,

“You agreed to…to this,” There’s a faint tremble in his mouth that speaks of jagged edges and embarrassment. “Why? To say after that you had sex with the cripple out of pity? Just like you kissed me as a joke?”

To all his chaos what you can offer is certainty, and so you do, and so you remain unwavering, straightening your back and meeting his gaze, “I did not kiss you as a joke. No one ‘dared’ me to do it. You know me better than to believe that.

His eyes threaten to fall from yours, and at your truth you see the resolve his anger gave him crumble, and there’s a battle between holding on to the anger and surrendering to the vulnerability.

“And I did not agree because of pity. There’s nothing to pity about you, Ivar,” Your voice is certain even as your heart beats wildly in your chest, and after a breath of hesitation you confess, “I agreed because I want you, I have wanted you…ever since I met you. I thought…I thought you asked this of me because you wanted me too.”

And over the conflict and angry hesitance that were clear I his expression wins something softer, something awed and hopeful and vulnerable. His eyes soften as he looks down at you now, and his lips are slightly parted as Ivar takes in your words.

Still, silence reigns between you, for a few breaths but long enough that you feel exposed and uncomfortable, with your words, your confession, hanging in the air between you.

You offer what you hope is a smile and not a grimace, and your eyes fall from his, partially afraid of rejection and partially humiliated.

Ivar seems to realize you were waiting for him to speak, because he sucks in a sharp breath and stutters out,

“I did, I-…” He stops himself, but the words are still as rushed when he speaks again, “I-I did, I…do, um, want you.”

At his words relief mixes with the foolish hope and joy that make your heart flutter, and you smile around a sigh.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

Ivar’s eyes jump to your lips, and he swallows thickly before nodding his head.

“Y-Yes. I, um, I liked that.”

You close the distance between you slowly this time, lingering when your lips are but a hair’s breadth away from one another so you can admire the way his eyes flutter shut as he awaits the touch of your mouth on his.

You kiss him for long enough your nervousness dissipates, is lost in the shaky breaths you draw out of him, is drowned by the soft little sounds he lets out when you deepen each kiss.

But Ivar pulls back. Again.

“I don’t…I don’t really know what to do.” He confesses, not at all what you were expecting.

It’s not that you were expecting him to know what to do, or have any experience; it’s that you weren’t expecting for him to admit it, for him to be pulling back to offer unguarded truths instead of accusations or something else.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

He grits his teeth, petulant, “I told you already, I want you,” He tells you, and even if the tone is biting it still sends a thrill through you. Ivar’s nose furrows a bit in anger, “Why would I ask you here if I didn’t want to, hm?”

You bite back a retort about how he could ask you here just to spend time with him, he has before, but you know this isn’t the time to try your hand at irking him.

So you kiss him, and between murmured words you move further back on the bed. And in between kisses Ivar murmurs the words that steal your breath,

“I want to see you.”

There’s a war between thrill and fear within you, a war that makes you demand the same if you are to offer yourself.

“And I you.” You tell him, the deal you ask for in exchange unsaid but understood. Ivar nods his head, eyes roaming over your face before venturing lower, tracing with his eyes a path over your clothed figure.

A deep breath, and you stand up, undoing the loose laces of your dress and letting it fall on the ground.

He doesn’t say a thing, but the way he looks at you, the slightly parted lips, the big blue eyes taking in your form in the low glimmer of the candlelight, it makes you feel beautiful, strong. Powerful.

You take another deep breath, and move closer to the bed.

“Your turn.”

Ivar forces his eyes to leave you and faces ahead again, a choked little hum leaving his lips as he accepts your words.

He takes off his shirt first, and the sight of the muscles of his arms and back moving as he lifts the shirt over his head makes your mouth run dry.

You know you are probably staring at him like a ravenous woman, and…you are. Gods.

He hesitates only for a moment before tugging down his pants, leaving himself completely bare to you. Almost, since he hasn’t fully taken off his pants, but there’s time for that, you tell yourself.

You let your eyes trail over the whole of him, before returning to his face, and meeting his wide eyes that now hold a silver of uncertainty you thought you’d banished.

Instead of saying anything, you return to your previous place on the bed, straddling him and claiming his mouth, your hands eager as they trace over his heated skin, as they find purchase on his chest and become witnesses to your effect on him as you feel his chest rise and fall in uneven breaths.

It doesn’t fail to make your heart skip a beat in your chest, the way you feel him gradually relaxing under your kisses and your caresses. The way his shoulders drop, his muscles loosen the tension they held, his hands don’t shake quite as much and start exploring your curves.

You lose track of time in all the breaths you share, and in all the sounds you are able to draw out of him, and in all the different ways he says your name.

The electrifying press of his half-hard cock against you is enough to draw a few shaky breaths from you, to make the daze of lust that envelops you take you under.

And hungry lips trail down his chest just as your hand reaches down. When your fingers wrap around him, you lose your breath at the moan you draw out of him, the mindless and unashamed sound you earn for yourself before he bites his lip and grits his teeth.

Your core tightens at the thought of what delightful sounds of pleasure you can draw out of him when you take him in your mouth, and so you continue exploring, and your hand keeps moving over him, feeling him harden more and more under your touch.

When you reach far down enough, Ivar stops you with a call of your name, and a hand on your hair. You look up, but don’t move.

“I want…I want to be inside you.” Ivar tells you, resolute even if his voice wavers and his chest trembles with yet another shaky sigh when he looks down at you, so close to his cock.

A stubborn part of you wants to insist that you want to pleasure him with your mouth, eager and starved for the moans and whimpers you may earn, for how you could make him quiver and surrender.

But you silently comply, moving back up his body and searching his gaze carefully, half hoping and half dreading he sees in your eyes everything you are too afraid to say out loud.

And you keep your eyes on him, you keep him trapped in the spell of your gaze, as you lean a bit back and ready to take him inside you.

Because he might be able to see all you cannot say in your eyes as they gaze into his, but you are also able to see all he doesn’t say. And you don’t want to miss a thing.

Your nails claw slightly at the skin of his shoulder as you take him inside you, and if having him watch you as you bared your body to him made you feel powerful, there isn’t a word the Gods have granted you to convey what it feels like to have Ivar underneath you, gasping your name in a choked moan as you move over him.

There isn’t a word for the thrill and the need that courses through you at the sight of him, there aren’t words for what each sound you draw out of his perfect lips does to you, there aren’t words for how each twitch in his expression and each quiver of his body reduces you to something that only wants to admire him and claim him yours.

He doesn’t last, and you certainly didn’t expect him to. Regardless, you lose a bit of yourself -a bit if your heart, maybe- as you watch Ivar’s face contort in pleasure. Head titled back, eyes screwed shut, and almost-painful ecstasy written in his expression.

Your breaths are still as heavy as his as you watch him fascinated as he comes down from his high.

His eyes remained closed for a while, but he doesn’t let go of you, hands firm -even if gentler than they were before- on your hips. You settle against him, unable to keep yourself from pressing a few kisses against heated and sweaty skin and whispering your praise in between those kisses.

Ivar sighs your name, and a shiver runs down your spine.

“That was…” He loses his breath again, as if breathless just from the aftershock of it, from the memory of it, and your smile widens.

Ivar’s hand on the back of your neck brings you closer to him, and he kisses you breathlessly, half a man starved and half a man that lost all his strength.

And you kiss him back, hoping he has found in this something he is as insatiable for as you have discovered you are.

When you pull back, and darkened blue eyes search yours, lips parted and breaths heavy, you find your answer.

You were asked to remain in that cabin for a night, you end up not leaving for almost two days. You were asked to be at Ivar’s side for one night, and you willingly give him all of your nights and days.

____ ____ ____

Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed! Ik this isn’t my best work, but holy hell I am so unimaginative when it comes to smut, sorry! Love ya!!

Btw, I don’t think Ivar would be so comfortable being completely bare on his first time with someone, but I debated with myself whether that particular insecurity is deepened by the events of 4x11 or if it was there from before, because he does go fully nude in canon, so idk. Anyhow, I wanted to keep this somehow related to canon since the person who requested asked for a rewrite of sorts, so completely naked it is.

Taglist: @flokisdaughter​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​ @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​ @chibisgotovalhalla​ @fae-sedai​ @zuxiezendler​@crazybunnyladysworld​ @stupiddarkkside​

[pptheshort]

The leap chapter 2 Albert wesker x GN reader

❗⚠️Warnings: Toxic behavior, possessiveness, slightly decision of death/being killed. Please read with caution if any of these things are triggering to you. ⚠️❗

A/n: Hello bitches and bros and nonbinary hoes! Little A/N here so I had to rewrite chapter 2 because I was satisfied with the original one. I may publish it as a later chapter or publish it as a alternative chapter 2. But I don't think it would make much sense since the original chapter 2 is very fluffy best to say. It had a kiss scene and everything 😳

Summary: Instead of Jill jumping out of the window to save Chris you take her place. Unaware of the things that will take place in the future. One simple decision has now completely changed your life for the better or worse?

Word count: 1,906

Chapter 1:

___________________________________________

It's been two weeks since your last encounter with Albert, the only form of human contact you had was with your doctors and nurse and that wasn't enough. The doctors came in for an hour while the nurse was coming in to check vitals and give you food so it was for maybe a couple of minutes. Then you would be alone, being alone by yourself made you think about many things. Escaping was one of the things you thought of but you could barely walk and the door in your room was always locked but that didn't stop you from forming a plan. It was a decent plan at best.

You had slightly memorized the time when the nurse would come in. Today you wanted to make a slight attempt to escape or maybe get another object that would benefit you in this plan. Over the course of a week you managed to steal a bobby pin. It wasn't much but it was something. 

But the constant fear of getting caught by Albert was what you feared the most, you could only walk with a cane and you couldn't run yet and you could barely stand for five minutes. So if you did escape and the people who worked in this facility found out, Albert catching you would most likely happen. The thought of him running up to you scared you so much. You were pulled back into reality when the sound of the door unlocking filled your ears. It was 12:45pm a bit early for the nurse to come in, you stared at the door. When it opened you saw Albert walk in, he was wearing his normal attire and trademark sunglasses. You stared at him not saying a word, when Albert closed the door the sound of the door clicking once again filled your ears.

"Why hello there Mr. Wesker." You wanted to get him on his good side so that if you did escape and he caught you maybe he wouldn't kill you. You decided to refer to him as Mr. Wesker to try to get on his good side. You almost cringed when you said Mr. Wesker.

"How nice of you to greet me." Albert responded he had a smirk on his face when he said that.

"How are you today?" You began to ask hoping everything is going accordingly.

He began to sit on the end of your bed, Albert opened his mouth to speak: "I would say it's going very accordingly."

"That's good." You nodded your head in response to him.

The two of you sat in silence, you looked down at the bed sheets while Albert was looking at you. You felt nervous, scared is the best thing to say. You didn't want him catching onto you, you ripped his thoughts when Albert cleared his throat.

"You've been here in this room and I'm surprised you haven't made a big fuss out of it, you know if you keep up this good behavior I'll maybe allow you to walk around the facility with supervision, of course." Albert said as he moved closer to you.

'This is going to be easier than I thought, huh?' You thought to yourself. You nodded your head and put on a smile for him: "Thank you."

Albert once again moved closer, his face now inches away from yours. He grabbed your face and pulled it closer to his. This made your heart race, Albert had let out a chuckle: "You know you are a very good specimen so why not take you out on a little walk. Wouldn't you like that, hm?"

You felt so embarrassed and slightly humiliated you could tell he was toying with you like how a predator toys with their prey. Instead of saying anything you decided to nod your head.

"Now what do we say?" Albert said in a mocking tone. At this point you knew he was toying with you, trying to get under your skin.

"Thank you."

Once again Albert started to speak but this time he had let go of your face and stood up: "That's a good specimen."

You couldn't help but almost cringe when he called you that, you are already running thin on patience so one more thing out of his mouth is going to be the end of you. Albert offered to hold your hand, without thinking you took his hand.  Albert pulled you close to him, you almost fell down due the sudden movement but Albert caught you.

"May I grab my cane, to help me walk. Please?" You asked

Albert nodded, you reached for the cane that was near your nightstand. Once you grabbed your cane you followed Albert who was waiting by the door.

'This is my chance to escape. But what if it doesn't work? Fuck it if I die here it will be better than being here.' When you reached Albert you heard the sound of the door unlocking, you noticed he was holding a key in his hand. When he proceeded to open the door without thinking you jabbed your cane into Albert, this caused him to fall over and drop his key. You took this opportunity to take the key and leave the room. When you left the room you slammed the door behind you making sure you locked it. Because you couldn't run you ended up speed walking through the empty hallways. Entering some rooms here and there to find any weapon to help you defend yourself against Albert.

When you entered what you assumed was a supply closet, you heard footsteps running pass the door and a familiar voice saying "You can't hide forever!"

Your heart began to beat fast, you had to compose yourself. This wasn't the time to panic. Standing for such a long time puts a strain on your legs, walking becomes harder to do. So staying in the supply closet was a must do. You sat in there for what seemed like 30 minutes once the pain died down a bit you stood up and started to head back into the hallway. Once again you walked the seemingly endless hallways, and you almost got caught by Albert a couple of times. You managed to not be seen by the workers in this facility.

You reached an area where there were no workers, you explored through it and found a door that could possibly lead to the exit. You began to walk faster with your legs once again in agonizing pain. You almost reached the door when you saw a familiar figure near the door.

'Shit!'  You thought to yourself you began backing away when Albert began to approach you. You ended up trying to back away, unable to hide your emotions anymore fear ended up controlling you at this point. When Albert was now in front of you he began to chuckle a bit.

"This was such an entertaining game, it was so fun seeing you run around the facility thinking you were going to get out. You should see the look on your face, y/n." Albert cupped his hands on your cheeks.

"Let me fucking go." You spotted him.

"Hold your tongue, if I could I could kill you right now. Once again you probably want that."

"Why are you doing this?" You asked your voice slightly cracking

Albert had paused to think about his answer. He ended up ignoring the question all together. Albert began to change the conversation back to this whole fiasco. 

"I'm having so much fun that I'll allow you to continue this game we are having but y/n get a little more creative next time, dear heart."

You hadn't heard that name in a long time. Albert would call you dear heart when the two of you dated. You almost cringed when he said that name again, you tried to back away from him but he didn't let you.

"Remember when I would call you that? Or you begged for me to call you that." 

You didn't want him to say another word, the Albert you fell in love with died back in July 1998 now that's left is a sick power hungry man who only wants to change the world to match his expectations. Albert noticed how this was seemingly getting under your skin now, reopening old wounds. A part of him wanted to stop but he ended up counting to 'tease' you.

"Remember on that day, when we went to the Spencer mansion? It was the day before our anniversary, you seemed so excited to give me your gift but th-."

Before Albert could finish his sentence you had shouted at him to shut up. Seeing how you reacted he felt bad. This was out of character for him, he was soon snapped out of his thoughts when you had pushed him away. You had ended up falling backwards.

"Why am I here? What do you want from me?" You asked, your voice slowly rising.

Albert walked next to you and squatted down next to you. "Y/n, you are here for many reasons. But one of the reasons is because I want you by my side once again. I want you to be mine again, after all these years I thought my feelings for you would've died off but my dear Y/n they haven't. It only got stronger after all these years. '' Albert's tone was now more gentle. He was regretting the things he did, he made sure you didn't catch on. 

"But-."

Albert had shushed you before you could even say your sentence. "Allow me to finish. Why don't you join me, if you do we can be together once again or you don't. Nothing is stopping you from refusing my offer." Albert had ended up pulling you closer to him.

You thought about it for a moment but joining him would increase your chances of escaping and getting out of here. A part of you couldn't completely understand what he was saying to you, just a moment ago he was trying to play with your emotions so why did he suddenly have a change of heart. It was a high possibility he was lying but you wanted to believe him because similar to him you still had feelings but at this point they were so 'dead'. You made your decision, you were going to join him.

"Fine, I'll join you."

Albert's face lit up and it was noticeable too. Albert said anything else he picked you up, grabbed your cane and started to walk to your room. On the way over there he began to speak.

"From now on I'll be coming into your room to come see you more often my dear."

That's all he said you nodded your head in response to him. Once the two of you reached your room Albert placed you down on your bed but before he left he asked for the key back, you gave it back to him. When Albert left the room he locked it behind him, after waiting a couple of minutes you couldn't help but slightly cry in what you assume is frustration. You wished you never jumped out of that window but if you didn't Chris would've been killed and who knows what would've happened to Jill. 

'I'll make sure I get out of here, no matter the cost I will.'

[eleanorbloom]

From the very first day (Bryce Lahela x F!MC)

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x F! MC (Eleanor Bloom)

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: N.S.F.W. Cursing.

Prompt: Day 19. Begging | Lingerie | Ass Worship

A/N: Hello! In simpler words, this is a mix of rewrite of ch. 17 with some Kinktober stuff.

I know chapter 17 was pure perfection, it was romantic and sweet. But there are some things that I missed, and as I’m a hopeless romantic and intense I’ll fill those missing parts with this fic. I wrote this without intending to be a kinktober fic, but as yesterday the prompt was lingerie, and this fics has lingerie, I decided last minute that this will be kinktober fic.

I hope you enjoy it!

Taglist:   @romewritingshop @utterlyinevitable @starrystarrytrouble @lahellacute  @lahamseiroshoe  @princesslahela @mckenzie-bae @choicesficwriterscreations @lucy-268 @interobanginyourmom @bratzlahela@mckenzie-bae @mercury84choices​

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Eleanor is proudly looking at Ethan and Naveen on their way to get more donations when a warm palm takes her by the waist. She turns around and meets with the amber eyes of her favorite person in the world.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you”

“Oh, yeah?”—She asks, tugging the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer to her body. He instantly wraps his arms around her waist as his body is flush to hers.— “Had your fill of donors?”

“For a lifetime. What I haven’t gotten my fill of, however, is dancing with you.”

“We can fix that.”—She states with a smile on her face, parting a few inches so Bryce can lead her onto the dance floor.

A slow dance is playing, and it takes them nothing to pull each other closer, Eleanor clinging onto his neck as Bryce presses his fingers into the small of her back, caressing her around her waist in soft and soothing circles. Their bodies move in perfect synchrony with the gentle beat of the melody. 

“How are you holding up?”

He looks at her golden eyes with inquisitiveness, not giving her space to hide anything from him. Since she was back at work, he had taken as a sacred duty to check on her every once in a while to make sure she was okay, and the gala wouldn’t be any exception.

“It’s been a strange night.”—She answers, shrugging for a moment.— “I don’t know whether to think of this gala as a victory or defeat, either way, I’ll always think I could’ve done more.”

As he senses the anxiety is stiffing her movements and affecting her features, he lifts a hand and tucks a wavy strand of hair behind her ear. His light touch makes her closes her eyes for a second.

“Don’t think about that right now, okay? This very second, it’s just you and me, together, enjoying the music.”

She nods with a sweet and peaceful smile, like his touch and his words had worked like a charm on her. She leans on him and both keep swaying to the music.

“This is nice.”—She whispers after several seconds as if she’s in a trance and only has a second to express something in coherent language.

The soft melodies are still playing, the soft murmurs of the people fill the air, but at that moment, just the two of them exist. Nothing else matters.

“Being nice with you is always nice.”

Bryce pulls her back and gazes at her with a look of intense longing and tenderness. She still feels numb, but his eyes just make her feel dizzy. Drunk. Drunk of happiness, of peace, of tenderness. Even of desperation. She could never understand what power he had to always make her feel that good with just so little, just with his presence. Since the very first day.

She looks into the iridescence of his amber eyes, where she never gets tired of looking at. Where she would always discover a different tone or a new freckle. Where she wouldn’t mind getting lost in forever. Where every time she looks at them, the earth stops spinning and everything's alright.

And as if an external force is possessing her, she tightens the grip around his neck, tugs him down her face, and closes her eyes, just as her scarlet lips brush his gently, following the delicacy of the melody.

It doesn’t take him a second before he returns the kiss, as if he had been thinking the same but Eleanor had been quicker. He tilts his head to one side giving her free access to his mouth. His grip around her also tightens, making their hearts beating next to each other, mere inches away. Eleanor opens her mouth briefly at first, tasting his lips into hers, but then her tongue invades him, and she identifies the sweetness of the peach and the vodka in his breath, vestiges of the sex on the beach he had drunk earlier.

Bryce then cups her cheeks with both hands and intensifies the kiss even more, his tongue swirling and caressing hers gentle enough to not make an improper scene in front of the whole hospital, but not as timid as a first kiss. He knows the perfect balance between restraint and eagerness.

After a while, Eleanor sighs when they part to catch some air. They stare at each other, smiling, his eyes like two golden orbs radiating the most exquisite warmth towards her, and his lips curving in the most dazzling grin that not even Beatrice Hornsby could resist this time.

And she can’t resist to kiss him again, and again, and again, like is never enough. And he can’t resist her, either. He could never.

They had been deaf this whole time, secluded from the world, but after a while, the began to notice the murmurs around them, especially the mumbles from  very familiar voices a few feet away from them

“Oooh”—Sienna squeals.

“Finally. I don't know why it took them so long to come out of the fucking supply closet they have been in since day one. ”- Jackie mocks, feigning a tired tone.

“They look so cute.”

“You didn’t think the same in Vegas.”

Eleanor and Bryce tried to ignore the chatter but couldn’t help but burst out in laughter at the reminder of that night in Vegas.

“Jackie, please! I had managed to wipe that image out of my mind and now…”

“Poor Sienna”—Eleanor laughs and then shrugs.— “Well, what she saw it’s nothing that she hadn’t done before, right?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Please, no.”

“Because right now I have a couple of ideas.”—He whispers in a sultry voice as he plants soft kisses on her earlobe and down her neck.—“What do you say?”

“I say yes, but only if you don’t make Sienna find us.”

Bryce chuckles.

“I’ll be waiting for you on the emergency staircases on the fifth floor.”

He kisses her cheek and leaves her all flushed. By the time he disappears around the corner, she’s grabbing a glass of champagne from the bar and drinking it in three sips. The kiss had left her thirsty, but what she was about to do could leave her dry. She had to be cautious.

When she confirms that nobody is paying attention to her, she walks toward the elevator. Once on the fifth floor, she finds Bryce behind the door with both hands on his pockets and leaning casually against the wall.

“So, what do you have in mind?”

“Room 501 is empty. Sarah’s supposed to do rounds in an hour so it’s now or never.”

As soon as he stops speaking, Eleanor takes him by the hand and drags him to the hallway. They both walk quickly through the linoleum floor, glancing around like two adolescents sneaking out of class to make out in the bathroom.

Her story with Bryce had always been like a teenage dream, and tonight, with this sort of Prom for adults, couldn’t be any different.

When they enter the empty room, Eleanor leans against the door giggling.  She bites her lips as she feels her heart is pounding faster and faster inside her, like she was fifteen again.

“So?”—She asks.

As he realizes all the restraints he used on the dance floor are gone, he cuts the distance and kisses her fervently, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her up in one swift movement.

“Bryce!”—She titters as she embraces him around his neck and places her legs around his waist, taking off her stilettos on their way to the bed.

Once she scrambles onto the mattress, Eleanor reaches for his collar and pulls him down until he’s on top of her and their lips meet again, his mouth hungry against hers.

“I’ve been imagining this moment all night”—He breathes, evidencing how true his words are.

“Oh, yeah? What else have you been imagining?”

“Well”—He smirks—“for one thing you’re wearing… a lot less clothing.”

Grinning, Bryce slides his hand around her back, tugging the zipper of her dress down a few inches.

“Who am I to disappoint.—She replies sultry. 

Then she stands up in front of Bryce, smiling mischievously as she grasps the zipper of her dress and slowly pulls it down the length of her back. Bryce traces her with hungriness as she tugs the fabric down her waist and exposes the carmine lace bra that adorns her breasts.

“You’re killing me.”

“Don’t worry, if anything happens… I’m a doctor.”

Her hands continue working on the fabric until she strips off her dress completely and reveals the carmine garter belts and matching panties that complete the masterpiece of her body.

“Hot damn.”—He groans as his eyes roam every inch of her bronze skin deliciously shimming against the moonlight filtering through blinds.

“The things is… I’ve been imagining this moment since I put this on.”

Bryce takes one hand and draws her against his body, his eyes now starving of her.

“You have?”

She nods.

“You’re incredible.”—He moans dizzily as she straddles him and then shuts him up with a kiss.

Without parting from him, she tugs off his jacket and blindly unbuttons his shirt, until her lips go down his jaw and his cologne intoxicates her, leaving her craving more of him. She continues planting a trail of kisses from his jaw and down his chest.

Soon she is stopped, as Bryce takes her firmly by the hips and pushes her against the bed. She looks at him surprised for a moment, but then her eyes turn seductively as he’s getting rid of the rest of his clothes.

Once he’s done, he climbs back on top of her and bends to kiss her passionately.

 “Every…part…of you… is… incredible.”—He mutters as his lips travel down her collarbone.

“You’re not so bad… Oh!”

A moan interrupts her words. Bryce had moved the fabric of her bra and was licking and sucking her nipple with the always welcome expertise and eagerness, while his other hand was rubbing and pinching the other breast.

She runs her hands over his shoulders and buries her fingers in the nape of his head, completely taken aback by the sensations.

His mouth then moves lower, over her stomach and down her belly button, where the pretty lacy garter belt is circling and accentuating her waist.

“You planned all this for me?”

“Why not?”—She gives him a playful smile that he returns instantly, just a moment before kissing her hipbone and sliding his hand under the lacy fabric of her underwear.

Her nub is warm and wet, and the moment his fingers move over her folds, he realizes she’s dripping. Dripping for him.

“Oh my god.”

Eleanor releases a moan as she feels his fingers rubbing her clit, alternating a slow and quick pace, just as she liked.

“Looks like I’m doing something right.”

“So don’t you dare stop”.

Her voice is a gasp, and Bryce can’t help but give her a smug grin.

“I wouldn’t dream.”

His expert hand keeps moving gently against her core, with the perfect balance between firmness and speed. He watches while Eleanor is shuddering against his touch, her skin sweating and liberating the most complex scents from her perfume. Coconut and, maybe, sandalwood.

“Fuck, Bryce, yes…”

She’s growing desperate. Sweetly desperate.

He continues to caress her, slowly increasing the pace of his movements as her hips are pressing against her hand, anxiously looking for the most desired relief.

But just as he notices that she’s nearing it, Bryce stops.

“Fuck”—She groans.

She knows exactly what he’s doing, and she doesn’t care.

Still completely blushed and excited, she moves to one side, pushing him down her place, effectively switching positions with him in the bed. She kisses him as she drops her hand past his waist, sliding her fingers beneath the band of his underwear.

“I know what you did, and it’s only fair that I do the same with you.”—She whispers as her hand moves up and down his length, feeling his warm desire pulsing against her hand now wet with his precum.

Bryce’s head tilts back and he moans her name like a prayer between his ragged breathing. 

She takes speed as the seconds pass, stopping just before he reaches the apex of his pleasure. Then, she retracts her hand.

“Now, you ready for more? Cause I am.”

Unable to restrain herself, she kisses him furiously, sliding her hands over the sharp contours of his sculpted body and pressing her core against his crotch.

Bryce parts from her for a moment, his eyes tracing her body once more: her chest pounding fast, her nipples growing hard under the lacy of her bra, her eyes darkened with lustful desire.  Perfection sitting over him and mere inches away from his mouth.

“God, Eleanor, there is no one in the world with you.”

He’s not even touching her sensitives spots, but she feels like he’s doing it all at once. His words trigger an unknown pleasure inside her. Is warm and sweet, and makes her heart beating fast.

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

Because he’s pure perfection too. His caramel skin is warm against her, his soft hands gripping her tight feels like fire, and his lips now plump for so many kisses, are ready for a thousand more. 

She rolls onto her sides as Bryce runs his hand up her back to cup her neck, drawing her mouth to his.

"Come here"

Moaning at the feeling of his body flush to hers, she unleashes a flurry of urgent, but soft kisses, brushing her lips against his heated skin. Then she returns to his mouth, biting his lower lip, then his upper. Then his neck. He’s absolutely addicting, and she knows she’ll never get enough of him.

Bryce guides her against his mouth, his lips grazing hers, their tongues meeting instantly, making her release a moan as his kisses are now sloppy and desperate.

“Bryce… take me”— She begs.

Bryce doesn’t answer. He just pushes her against the bed and traces her body with his hands. When he feels her nipples hardened under her bra, he can’t resist the urge to take them in his mouth again, feeling like her skin is the only thing that can satiate his thirst. Her sweet smooth skin, his favorite place in the world to get lost, along with her beautiful golden eyes.

She moans again, her body shivering against his mouth.  Soon she starts to jerk her hips against his, growing in desperation as she’s not having him completely.

“Bryce, I want you… Please.”

Eleanor begs again, but this time, Bryce concedes.

“You have me, Eleanor. You always have.”

And she feels it again. That sweet and unknown pleasure. That warmth.

Her mind races fast, trying to comprehend why this is happening again, what does it mean, until she understands.

He’s right. She has always had him. From the very first day, he had been for her. From the very first kiss, he had had her heart and she had had his. That’s why she only needs his presence to feel alright, that’s why she would lose in his eyes for eternity. That’s why she chose him to spend her last night on earth.

She loves him.

“Bryce…”—She says in a tiny and desperate voice, as he pulls the fabric of her underwear to one side and connects his body to hers and starts rocking gently against her.

Everything feels different now that she knows.

The pleasure building bigger and bigger inside her is hot like fire and sweet as chocolate, melting everything inside her. She closes her eyes for a second, feeling every nook of her body tickling with satisfaction.

Bryce accelerates his thrusts, his motion in perfect sync with her body that only asks for more.

Eleanor opens her eyes again, now shimmering in tears. Bryce looks at her and cups her cheek, worried at first. But he knows her, he can read her like a book. He identifies the yearning in her eyes. The desperate sweetness that’s coming out of her chest with every moan. Why she’s trembling that way when she hasn’t even reached her climax.

He knows.

“Eleanor…”

His whimper lets her know that he feels it too. He loves her. It’s all over his body, his eyes, his words, his kisses. Has been there since the first day.

“Bryce!”—A tear escapes her eyes as the ecstasy burst and flows through her body, from her head to her tiptoes, every inch buzzing and shuddering. And her head is numb and drunk again. Numb of pleasure and drunk of love. 

“Fuck…”—She sighs, completely overwhelmed with the sensations.

Bryce finds his release seconds later, the pleasure knocking him off like never before. He’s satisfied, so satisfied, but also happy and complete. He feels like his chest is about to explode with so much warmth and happiness. With so much love.

When he manages to catch up some breath, he traces a hand over her glistening body, making her shudder at his very touch.

She turns to him.

“Was that everything you were imagining?”

“Almost”

He gives her a tender knowing smile before leaning in slowly until he reaches her lips. He had had more than he could’ve ever imagined, but he would never resist a kiss.

“There. Now it’s perfect. What about you?”

She cups his cheek and caresses him with the tip of her thumb.

“Just as the first day. Perfect.”

_____

Thank you for reading! ❤

[13atoms]

Deep Focus: Chapter 1 [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Summary: Tom’s a successful porn director with a romantic streak which proves very popular with his female audience. His resident porn actress and business partner has been with him through thick and thin, the two of them growing completely inseparable, even as her own career starts taking off.

But working in such close proximity is intense, and burgeoning feelings threaten to complicate their professional relationship.

Mature, smut, porn director!AU, ethical porn production discussion, porn-star-and-coworker!reader. Friends to lovers, slow-ish burn. [7.7k]

________________________________________________________

There was such a style to everything Tom wrote, everything he directed. A sincere passion that you suspected was always meant to be used elsewhere. You wondered if his craftsmanship was ever appreciated, on the other side of the screen, as strangers got hot and bothered watching each meticulously designed frame of his vision come to life.

Sure, it was porn. But Tom directed it like he could win an Oscar for ‘hot lifeguard pounded poolside’. This was his livelihood, his passion, and it was a damn shame he wasn’t award-season eligible.

The names would make you wince, as you saw them uploaded to the site, thumbnails and previews drawing in viewers by the million with their shots of heaving bodies and glistening sweat. Tom never called the videos such crass things. Not in his scripts. You would get copies titled ‘Romantic Night In’ or ‘Office Love Affair.’ He was a fan of sugar-coating what would be inside those innocuous white pages, a veneer of respectability which Tom insisted upon, regardless of how obvious the true nature of the videos was. But once the videos were sold, it was out of his hands. Your face contorted mid-faux-orgasm would be plastered across the site, and everyone involved would try and forget what happened.

Ignore the comments.

Keep moving.

You often wondered how Tom wound up in this place, with his sharply tailored suits and polished shoes, eloquent and educated, his words almost poetic as he directed mid-budget porn in hotel rooms and his studio day-in, day-out.

Then again, he never seemed particularly bothered by it. He gave each shoot his full attention, his full boundless enthusiasm and all the professionalism he could muster. You wondered how he balanced it, sometimes, the creative drive to press on with trying to be creative and shoehorn romance into films knowing that, ultimately, it was porn.

He had interviewed you like a real director might, talking about your life and experience and ambitions, almost apologetic when he had finally choked out ‘could you undress’, barely glancing at your naked form before he hired you as his first employee.

You asked him early on, while watching him try and assemble a fake restaurant-date set in the studio, complete with faux windows and an extra playing a waiter, why he bothered when three-minutes of good quality fucking footage would make him the same amount of money. He’d given you a strange smile, the wrinkles beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes, and shrugged.

“I make what I’d like to see.”

The words haunted you later, as your rather attractive co-star bent you over the white-cloth covered dining table and you allowed mewls and groans to escape your mouth without a second thought. Trying to avoid the muted blue of Tom’s eyes behind the cameraman.

Despite your reservations when you first started to work for him, Tom had won you over. His gentler, more romantic approach to pornography had a loyal following. Both of your pseudonyms garnered huge numbers of views across various platforms, and Tom was keen to cultivate a collection of female-friendly porn. Against all the odds, it was working.

And you loved working with him. He was a great director, and inspired writer, and a genuinely brilliant boss. He made sure you saw royalties, good pay, that everyone you worked with was screened and tested, always keeping you safe. Always.

Each time he called a wrap, passing you a robe and offering a meek congratulations on your performance, you found yourself more and more pleased you had wound up working with him.

“You really do have a talent,” he’d told you one day, distracting you as you discussed a new script in his office.

You were sat opposite him, Tom’s glasses perched on his head as he watched you read, your feet resting against the leg of his desk. You’d come in to your shared workspace to try some costumes out, to discuss new scenes, still recovering from a thoroughly exhausting shoot the day before. There were still light bruises around your wrists, and you caught Tom glancing at them worriedly each time your long-sleeved shirt slipped.

“I love that you’re such an actor,” he continued, hands tapping the desk as he spoke, “like, a real actor.”

Your eyes drifted across the script, scanning it with your bottom lip between your teeth. He always appreciated your input, wanting the ‘female fantasy’ in a lot of his work, and he’d timidly shown you some ‘student-professor’ script he’d been working on. He was like that, embarrassed in a way which you wouldn’t expect from a man with his considerable experience in adult entertainment. He was assertive, certain, even stern where it counted. But with just the two of you together, dancing around what was sexy and what wasn’t, he seemed desperate to avoid saying anything you might perceive as too ‘crude’.

“What do you mean?” you’d chuckled, still flicking through the first draft.

He only entrusted you with such early versions of his work – but that made sense. Your careers were symbiotic, tied to one another with an unspoken pact. He directed everything you were in, and you were in everything he directed.

It made sense.

“You don’t just… I don’t know. You never make my scripts seem silly. Or cheesy. You… you really try and make them feel real. I could write anything, and you’ll deliver the lines well. I was overseeing auditions earlier and... I just kept thinking none of them were you. I think you might be the best in the business.”

You rolled your eyes, offering him a disbelieving smirk, and he scoffed.

“I’m serious! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The weight of his words settled heavy in your chest, and you turned back to the script, frowning as you flicked through the loose-leaf pages. Tom fidgeted behind his desk, unhappy with losing your attention, but you ignored him.

“Here. If you want the fantasy to be believable, I think he needs to lock the office door. Make a show of it, you know. Cover my mouth,” you comment dismissively. Tom already has as pen in his hand, making notes. “It could be hot, maybe ‘Don’t make a sound or you can’t cum’, something like that. As if there’s other students in the corridor outside.”

Nodding, Tom dutifully wrote down your words, mouth slightly open in realisation as he listened.

“Don’t make a sound…” Tom repeated, and you felt yourself blush.

“Not… not that exactly,” you backtracked, “you’re the real writer! I just think, there needs to be some build up. A remind of the power dynamic. Him going straight to oral is a bit… fast. That could happen in any old plot, you know?”

You felt his eyes on you, looking up from the paper to spot Tom leaning back in his chair, a distant smile on his face.

“You really are the best,” he praised, “that’s great. I’ll do rewrites tonight.”

For a moment, you let his words hang heavy in the air. Then you blinked back at him, a slight frown pinching your forehead at his strange mood. He was calm, for once. Tom was usually a ball of enthusiasm, and you wondered if your dismissal of his words earlier had done something to hamper his spirit.

“It’s always easier to critique,” you dismissed, “I love the script, it’s great. I really think it’ll be good. Hot. Maybe I can wear a Britneyschool girl costume, or something?”

He frowned a little, pinching the bridge of his nose at the thought.

“No, weird. We’re going for University student, just… a nice pair of jeans or something.”

“Don’t they wear suits where you went, posh boy?” you teased, loving how it riled him up. “I’ll try and dress like a smart person.”

“You are smart, don’t give me that.”

You rolled your eyes, loving how you managed to fluster him, putting the script back on his cluttered desk as you reached for your bag. This was how your meetings always went, a few hours of notes, some teasing, and a hasty retreat once Tom told you the next shoot day you had to attend. You still had a few hours of social media to do for the last video you’d shot together, notes from Tom, and you lamented the sight of the sun setting outside of your shared office. You’d hoped for at least a bit of natural light today.

“I’m serious, you are!” Tom asserted, and you ignored him purposely as you shut down your laptop, preparing to take it home.

“Yeah, I know, whatever. Don’t work too late!”

“Rich coming from you,” he sighed, “it really doesn’t matter if we send that last edit late.”

“It matters to me! I’d quite like to get paid this week, you know?”

Tom sighed. The two of you tried to produce a couple of videos a week – one for Tom’s site and another to sell to a third party. It didn’t leave either of you with much free time, both of you left in the tiny office at all hours as you worked to keep up with demand.

“Very true. But I’d rather you got some sleep, you know I can help if you’re short on money,” he offered, shuffling papers on his own desk.

He was always quick to jump to an offer to help, and you tried to ignore the fondness spreading through your chest at his eagerness to look out for you. That gentle protectiveness which coursed through Tom was enough to make you melt.

He was one in a million, that was for sure.

“I’m fine, Tom. Thank you though, I’ll ask, if, y’know –”

“Do! Any time. Actually…”

Tom cut himself off, typing something into his phone, and your pocket buzzed with a notification.

“Get yourself a nice dinner.”

You checked your phone to see a transfer from Tom. It wasn’t a crazy amount, but too much for just dinner, and you huffed performatively as he grinned at you.

“No! Don’t be ridiculous –”

He barely made more than you, and you were certainly doing perfectly comfortably.

“Royalties are really good this month. That old break-up sex video is trending again, apparently.”

You smothered a smile. It was hate-fucking, as you’d told Tom a hundred times. That was the title. You could still remember the look on his face the day you’d filmed it, his twitchiness, the unknown male actor who had slightly scared both of you with his sheer size as he stepped into the studio. The male star had fucked you like you’d broken his heart, hands on your neck and hips bruising yours as he pounded into you, and you’d be a little alarmed at how little you had needed to act in his domineering presence. He’d been muscular and tall and assertive, almost injuring you with his enthusiasm, and the shoot had ended with you a sweaty mess, struggling to walk, eyes watery.

You had ached from the moment Tom helped you up from the bed, a protective body between you and your costar as you watched the man collect his clothes and his paycheck. The footage had been great, you’d watched Tom edit it, but it had been your first taste of Tom’s protectiveness. The actor had never returned, and Tom had bought a hot water bottle for the office, pressing it into your lap as he brought tea for the pair of you, loathing how you winced as you moved.

He’d taken you out for dinner that night to celebrate a good edit, but you knew the real reason. That neither of you wanted the other to be alone. It had been a lovely evening, a restaurant then a bar, without a break in laughing conversation the entire night. It hadn’t been a date, but if it had been a date, it would’ve been the nicest date you’d ever been on. In those moments, you wondered if Tom was really cut out for the industry. If you were.

As much as Tom hated the film, it was hot. It had propelled your studio into the spotlight, and it paid a significant chunk of your rent.

“Thank you,” you smiled to him, wracking your mind for anything else that needed discussing before you headed home.

Maybe you’d get takeaway. That would be nice.

Tom cleared his throat.

“What are we shooting tomorrow, by the way?”

You looked up at his words, frowning a little at the realisation you hadn’t been given a script yet. It was unlike him, to be so unprepared. Usually everything was organised weeks in advance. With a glance at the shadows under his eyes, you decided not to tease him about it.

“We’re shooting tomorrow?”

“This week… we’ve only got one video. I was just thinking something simple, I haven’t called a costar yet, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to –”

It was your paycheck on the line as much as Tom’s, and you wondered how the hell you’d forgotten.

“Do we have a camera crew?” you frowned.

“No, not yet. I can call though. Or I could just do it myself, if we’re not doing anything too complicated?”

You thought for a moment, leaning against the open doorframe as Tom started to pack up his own desk, nimble fingers tapping across his keyboard.

“Solo?” you suggested, stifling a laugh as Tom blinked and tilted his head to face you.

“I missed that, love?”

“Solo. Like ‘hot female solo’ or something?”

He smiled slightly, closing his laptop lid.

“That’ll do well, I’m sure. Do we need anything costume-wise? Props?”

Toys. He meant toys. You smiled at his refusal to call a spade a damn spade.

“I’m sure we can find everything here. It’ll be nice to do a simple shoot for a change,” you enthused, holding the door for Tom as he moved to turn off the lights, lingering nearby as he locked up the office.

“Yeah. Single-shot, no camera-man either.”

“Cheap,” you sighed, as though it was the sexiest thing in the world.

You did the books, and avoiding having any more costs this month sounded great.

“Yeah,” Tom smiled, falling into step beside you as the two of you left the warehouse studio.

He looked ready to say something else, but changed his mind. For a second the two you stood by the exit, words trapped beneath your closed lips as the early evening air enveloped you.

“Do you need a lift home?” Tom finally offered.

“No. No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. Usual time. Twelve?”

“Perfect.”

He reached an arm out, ready for you to walk into his embrace, and you froze. The moment was over as soon as it started, his arm retracted, and you could only stare. His hand found the curls at the back of his head, scratching there, a blush dusting his cheeks in the harsh fluorescent lights of the car park. You could kick yourself as you watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clench of his jaw. He felt awkward. You contemplated hugging him, but the moment had passed. Instead you rocked on your heels for a second, before turning to leave.

“Bye, Tom!”

“‘Night! Look after yourself, don’t forget dinner. I’ll see you – ”

He cut himself off as you walked too far away, and you could have kicked yourself for the sadness in his final syllable. You sighed as your feet fell against the pavement, your whole walk home haunted by the awkward shuffle of Tom’s hands as he went to hug you goodbye.

*

You were surprised by how difficult it was to brush off that awkward memory. As you ordered and ate dinner, you were reminded of Tom with every bite, that he’d snuck aside part of the company’s petty cash budget to give you dinner. That both of you had gone home, separately, to separate empty houses and empty beds.

Had he wanted to go for drinks? Wanted company? You had come to accept a long time ago that the man was your closest friend. He would be the person you called in an emergency, a shoulder to cry on. You liked to think he’d lean on you the same way.

Despite that, you spent limited time together outside of a professional context. You never met up on weekends, or casually called. Of course you didn’t. He made a career out of seeing you naked, watching you fake orgasms for other men. As you readied yourself for the day, you reminded yourself that of course, he would be nice to his only full-time, very lucrative actress. To his business partner.

As you’d queued up the company’s social media posts the night before, you could only think of Tom behind the camera, orchestrating each photo and clip you uploaded.

You couldn’t help the grin which split your face as you walked into the studio, bag flung over your shoulder, overpacked with everything you thought you could possibly need. Tom greeted you, emerging from his office with a smile.

Before you could overthink it, you walked into his arms, giving him very little choice in the matter as you greeted him with a hug. In his surprise you felt his body stiffen, his arms slowly wrapping around you, and you were momentarily gobsmacked by the muscular form he seemed to hide behind those suits.

He was a little more dressed down today, smart black jeans and a button-up white shirt, unruly hair sticking up like it did when he forgot to brush it. He looked better than yesterday, like he’d had a good night’s sleep.

“Good morning,” he chuckled, bemusement clear in his voice.

You pulled back from the hug, a little embarrassed at the affection until you saw the smile stretching across his face, reaching his eyes. Suddenly the previous night, worrying you had inadvertently rejected him, seemed to be erased.

“Morning! What have you got for me?”

The studio space was cleaned, but empty. The camera stood in the corner as Tom lead you further into the room, his office door open to the side of it, and you frowned at the emptiness of the space.

There were tape marks on the floor where sets were usually assembled, conspicuous without the usual hive of activity buzzing around some piece of furniture you would be thrown onto or fucked against. There was nothing.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to do,” Tom was saying, his gentle voice booming in the empty space, “we don’t have a script or anything so… I’ll leave it to you.”

You bit your lip.

It was more freedom than you were used to, less direction, less to build the fantasy where you could forget you were ultimately in a warehouse with just your business partner. It was… nothing. Tom said your name quietly, and you nodded, stepping back to assess the space.

“I’m just thinking,” you reassured him.

Had the studio always been this quiet? You tried to remember a shoot day where it had been this silent, this calm, without the stress of lighting people or cameramen or scripts being thrown around. You could hear every step Tom took as he walked towards the camera, the wheel-mounted tripod creaking as he moved it across the floor, checking batteries and SD cards while you stood in place, your bag still hanging from one shoulder.

Noticing your frozen stance Tom frowned across at you, nothing but gentle concern in his blue eyes and the fine lines around them.

“I was thinking something kind of minimal, maybe cosy?” he offered, “Maybe an armchair? Something like that?”

You thought about it for a moment, crossing to the corner of the room to finally set down your bag.

He was finally getting into ‘director mode’, growing more energetic by the second.

“I’m thinking we just frame it on you, no distraction. Single take, if we can.”

You nodded silently as he crossed to the storage cupboard he’s overeagerly labelled a ‘props department’. It was stacked high with fabric and furniture and lingerie, tubs of various exotic sex toys near the door. Tom stepped straight past them.

There was a mattress in the props room, materials to build a bed, and you pondered on the idea for a moment.

“We could keep it really simple, maybe?” you suggested, “Find a warm background. Or just use white. Try and get one twenty minute shot, or something.”

You reached for lube without thought, collecting the near-empty bottle of body oil beside it too, as you perused the options in front of you.

“Remind me to buy more of that,” Tom mused, sparing a glance to the bottles in your arms before standing beside you to peruse the options.

You nodded silently, your free hand rifling through bagged silicone toys, slightly in a daze as you picked out a few options. There was a slight blush dusted across Tom’s high cheekbones as he turned to see your arms full of dildos. You smiled as it took him a second to find words, and wondered how the hell he’d chosen to start a porn studio in the first place.

“Colour co-ordinated,” he commented, and you smiled, picking out yet another pink toy from the pile.

“Naturally,” you smiled, “I think that’s everything? Could we drag a mattress and pillows out?”

He nodded silently, already moving to manoeuvre the double mattress leaning against a wall in the props room. You rolled your eyes before helping, knowing he was being a gentleman, or whatever he called it. You called it putting his back out.

He rejected your help, so you grabbed as many pillows as you could, following him back into the main studio, privately smiling at the dramatic grunts he made trying to move the mattress. He tossed it to the ground with a grunt, shoving it into the corner of the room, before pausing again.

You dropped everything down on to it, toys, lube, pillows and all.

And then both of you waited.

It was so strangely intimate, just the two of you in the room, the strange nature of your relationship weighing heavy after last night’s miscommunication. Suddenly there was nothing you wanted to do less than take your clothes off.

“White sheets?”

“Hm?” you hadn’t processed what Tom said, too wrapped up in your own world, frowning down at the bare mattress.

“I was thinking white sheets.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He was off, assigned another task, and you almost envied his distraction as you slowly sorted the pillows how you wanted, gathered the toys absentmindedly. Before Tom came back from the props closet you made yourself scarce, catching sight of his slim outline through the doorway. Facing away from you as he rummaged.

In the single bathroom of the studio you cleaned anything that would be going inside of you, avoiding your reflection, trying to shake off the odd nervousness coursing through your veins.

Why? It had been years since you felt this way before a shoot. Before you’d met Tom, even. Sure, shoots could be exciting, exhilarating, intimidating, but this self-consciousness, this self-doubt… it had come from nowhere.

You pressed your forehead to the mirror, closing your eyes, breathing deeply. The tap running sounded like a waterfall, the silicone under your fingers felt alien, the air almost claustrophobic as you wondered what the hell was wrong with you.

Tom was done making the bed when you got back, frowning at his phone until he heard you re-enter the studio space, quick to look up and see if you were happy with his set. You felt hyper-aware of him, of every movement he made, a clean towel and toys cradled in one arm as you took in the space. It was a simple premise, just a clean fitted sheet pillows in a corner, a clear space for you in the middle. You knew it would look good on screen. You knew this was an easy job.

You felt sick to your stomach.

“Do you want to face the camera? Or kind of, not acknowledge it?” Tom asked, speaking again as you forgot to reply, too caught up in your own mind. “Maybe if you ignore it that’s more… voyeuristic?”

“Sounds good,” you responded, kneeling to prepare your space. This was autopilot, your day job. You could do this.

“Right.”

He sounded a little put out by your response, but moved the camera anyway, switching to a knee-height tripod. You stood, stepped back to give him space, and frowning at the sudden headrush. You blinked, catching yourself staring at the flex of his arms as he moved the heavy equipment. You didn’t realise how long you had been staring into space until Tom called your name a second time, crossing into your personal space.

“Are you okay?”

Tom’s voice was so soft you wanted to cry, fingers hovering beside your bicep, his gentle eyes demanding for you to meet them, daring for you to lie while his face is so close to yours.

Somehow, the guilt of his worry made you feel worse.

“No, I’m…I’m being stupid. Sorry, just tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

“No, I, uh, I slept fine. I’m not sure. Just not really feeling it.”

His face fell, but you knew he wasn’t disappointed in you. He thought he’d done something wrong. Immediately you were talking, doing anything you could to soften his guilt.

“It’s my job, though. I can do it. This is great Tom, I think it’ll be a good shoot.”

“Sweetheart –”

You sighed, eyes falling to the mattress, before forcing a smile.

“Let’s get this over with!”

He looked like he wanted to argue with you, but you forced yourself to move, pulled your feet from the floor with far more effort than it ought to take. There was some comfort in rummaging through your own bag, that piece of home, something private from the studio. You found the vibrator you’d brought, a pink bullet you used almost exclusively at home, fully charged that morning. Behind you, Tom snorted in amusement.

“Nothing here is ever charged,” you shrugged off his stare, knowing damn well you didn’t have to explain yourself.

You wanted to explain anyway though. Just in case, Tom thought anything he did wasn’t enough. He seemed perfectly fine with the criticism, though you knew he was making a mental note. He always did, then you had something to say.

Trying not to make a big deal out of it, you stripped to your underwear, folding your clothes neatly and being careful not to show any self-consciousness in your posture. You’d never been ashamed or embarrassed before now, and you weren’t about to start. Even if it was just you, and a very well, fully dressed Tom. Vibrator clutched in your fingers, you finally sat on the damn mattress.

He was the other side of the camera now, somehow both distant and a few feet away. You found yourself staring at your body in the monitor, just watching. Tom’s voice broke you out of yet another daze, and you wanted to pinch yourself. Why couldn’t you do it today?

“We don’t have to do this today, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay I just… I forget it’s just us sometimes, you know? There’s such a production and so many people and at the end of the day…”

Tom smiled, a relief on his face that told you he had been feeling it too. That this was weird.

“I know what you mean. If you’re uncomfortable…”

“Just give me a second to warm up, we need to make something, after all.”

You stretched, not really sure why, moving a little around the nook Tom had created, shuffling pillows and practicing where you wanted to lie back, watching a monitor as Tom played with a soft lighting, twisting and turning to find the most flattering angles you could.

As he shuffled things around, Tom nodded to the spread of toys you’d set out. You’d added your vibrator to the pink line up, perfectly organised on the white towel.

“Do you want those in shot?”

You shrugged.

“Might be hot?”

He nodded silently. You moved the toys in to the frame, trying to blink away the cloud which had settled in your mind. The world felt foggy, your arms like they were moving through treacle, and you knew Tom had noticed.

As he prepared two directional microphones, you tried not to feel claustrophobic. The audio from the microphone he was pointing towards your pussy would be almost grotesque, and you fought not to shuffle further from it as you imagined Tom listening later, headphones in, as he balanced the levels between your moans and the wet sounds of you fucking yourself.

Fuck.

Why was this so different to a regular shoot?

You’d done solo shoots before. With Tom. And half-a-dozen other crew, you reminded yourself.

You caught sight of his curls above the monitor, face serious as he set everything up.

“Speak?”

“Testing, testing,” you spouted off nonsense until he offered you a thumbs up, happy with the audio.

Then there was nothing else to do.

He stood, looming over the equipment. And you looming over you.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, smiling at your frown. “You’re in charge here, I’m just the camera guy.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was trying to put you at ease.

“You’re the director,” you reminded him, knowing how he preened himself under the title.

You were impressed that his eyes had only roamed down your body once as he took in the shoot, glancing at the indulgent layout of toys, double checking the monitor, one headphone in. He had that stance he always adopted when he was directing, and you knew it was his favourite moment in any of this. The moment everything was pinned on him.

It happened so quickly you almost missed the moment he knelt down, blinking in surprise as his face remerged at your level beside the camera.

“Then my direction is: enjoy yourself. Forget I’m here. Let’s show them something real.”

He must have seen your shock, because it made him smile.

“Real?” you questioned, and he nodded firmly.

“I’m serious.”

For a beat, both of you were silent, his eyes meeting yours over the body of the camera.

“If you can,” he offered, “I understand it’s not always…”

You interrupted him with a hand, smiling your understanding of what he was saying, and dismissing it in one motion. The silence dragged on, and you decided to push this forwards. If you were done by lunch, Tom would probably insist on taking you somewhere nice.

“I don’t know if I should use – ” you ghosted a finger across the biggest toy, worrying a bottom lip between your teeth, “Simplicity might be key.”

“Do what you want, darling. What feels good.”

You nodded mutely, and for just a second you saw doubt flicker across his face. This was new territory, and even you weren’t sure if this was a step too far.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah. If I’m… actually… it might take a while. Let me know if I’m taking too long.”

“Take as long as you need, darling. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Tilting your head at him a little, you realised abruptly just how intimate this was. Moreover, that you wanted it anyway. That you were about to make him watch you cum. Make him hear you, smell you. He couldn’t touch, but he could watch.

And that was enough for you to perform.

Tom gave you a countdown, red lights peppered your field of view, and he was recording. He had taken a seat on the floor behind the camera set up, one headphone in to monitor audio, waiting.

You stayed sat up, back arched a little as your hands began to caress you own body, keeping on eye on the monitor while your face was out of the shot. You rubbed along your thighs, across your stomach, teasing at the lace of your bra and the elastic of your underwear each time you passed them, trailing your fingertips. It didn’t really feel like anything, doing this to yourself, but you knew to tease the camera. Tom would cut out anything too slow.

Your gaze remained firmly on the screen as you began to make your touches firmer, more deliberate, dragging lines into your skin and flirting with the camera. You admired the soft skin of your breasts as you started to shift your bra, enjoying the stiffening of your nipples in the monitor until –

The screen went black, and you immediately glanced at Tom, frowning as you lost the visual of yourself. He met your questioning gaze sternly, eyebrows furrowed, and you remembered his direction.

“Enjoy yourself.”

With nothing left to look at you closed your eyes, feeling the blood rushing to the surface of your skin, the sensitivity of your breasts as your fingers idly danced across them. You shoved your bra down unthinkingly, wanting to feel more, rubbing at the heaviness of your breasts and wincing as you enjoyed the pleasure and pain of pinching at your nipples, teasing them to attention. You glanced your nails across them, feeling it in your core. You didn’t want to wait anymore. Fuck the cameras.

It was hard to let to, to stop the delicious feeling of your fingers on your own breasts, but you forced yourself to free one hand, shoving off the bra, desperate to feel yourself without it. You knew you were grimacing, it wouldn’t be sexy, but you didn’t care. That was Tom’s problem.

You needed to touch yourself.

One hand reached below the waistband of your underwear, seeking out your clit, guided by a familiar ache. It was all you could focus on, your other hand forgotten, cupping your breast, the sensation vague and lost as your fingers found your clit. The sensation overwhelmed you as you shifted the hood, your body beginning to produce wetness. The room was a little cold, the air relieving against the heat of your bare skin, making your nipples peak as you leant back into the nest of pillows behind you.

You felt your stomach tense, a bolt of electricity tensing the muscles up and down your body as you brushed across your clit a little too hard. Your middle finger probed your pussy experimentally, slipping inside of you, quickly joined by a second as you played with the wetness there.

One, two, three pumps of your fingers inside you was enough for you to gasp, your eyes still closed against the bright lights as focused on nothing but feeling. No more fucking around.

You reached for your vibrator, hand knocking against the thick silicone toy lined up beside it, writhing as you pressed it against the fabric covering your clit. You cycled through the settings as fast as you could, still desperate for more stimulation.

More. It was on the highest setting. You wanted more.

Without moving the vibrator you shoved your underwear off, huffing as you kicked them away, not caring where they landed. The tip of the toy nudged against your clit exquisitely, and you froze.

There.

There.

You thought about Tom watching you. The hot blood coursing through your body, the line up of toys just waiting to be shoved inside of you. The sensitivity of you clit as you held it against that perfect point. The air against your dripping, aching pussy. The muscles starting to clench, the rhythm of your body. Building, building, you didn’t fight the feeling.

This was what you wanted.

That warm familiarity of the vibrator on your clit, the runaway train of your thoughts, it was enough to drive you over the edge. You hadn’t realised the keening, groaning noises you were making until you heard them, pleasure leaving your lips as an afterthought.

You felt empty.

Blindly you reached out, sticky fingers finding the shaft of a toy you wanted, a smaller one you could take right now. A dollop of lube in the palm of your hand was all it would take, a few pumps of the toy enough to coat it, the excess lubricant smeared on the sheets. You didn’t care. Not your problem.

Without conscious thought, you were still rubbing yourself, two fingers absently making circles against your clit as you fidgeted to be able to take the dildo. You didn’t bother preparing yourself anymore. You were wet enough, and you wanted the stretch.

Needed it.

Needed to feel full.

You shoved the toy into yourself, gritted teeth and your spare hand grasping at your breast, giving the nipple a sharp pinch to interrupt the overwhelming feeling of that silicone pushing inside of you. Your walls were stretched open, a gasp reaching your ears as you felt a nudge against your cervix.

It wasn’t enough. You felt wild, desperate, as you sloppily pulled the toy from yourself and shoved it back in, clenching down and still needing more.

Your fingers found a larger toy, arousal and lubricant smearing across your body as you discarded the dildo which you had just been fucking yourself with, leaving it somewhere on the mattress, forgotten in favour of the bigger option. It was thick. Maybe, in your right mind, you wouldn’t have considered it. But instead you coated it in lube, squirting the clear liquid on to the tip and rubbing it down the toy, focusing on nothing but the need pulsing through your pelvis.

On the emptiness inside you, begging, pleading to be filled. It hurt, how much you wanted to be stretched out, to feel something pounding into you. You felt animalistic, desperate for anything. The last of your conscious thought was occupied by the need in your clit, the demand for friction, and you just didn’t have enough hands. It was impossible to think. When you finally sank down on the fake cock, leaning back, legs apart, gaze focused on nothing but your own swollen pussy, it was a relief. You gasped, then sighed, pushing another inch of the toy inside you. You felt stretched already, split in half, but you kept going. With each thrust, you took the silicone further inside of you until you felt the dull ache of the toy going too far.

Finally, that emptiness felt sated, and you stayed still, too stuffed to risk moving and too blissed out to care.

But you needed more.

Each bear down made the toy threaten to shift, and you didn’t have the brain power to thrust and pay attention to your aching clit. You moved gingerly, grabbing a pillow to straddle, holding the toy inside you as you hunted for your vibrator.

You couldn’t even lean too far to reach it, you were so full it ached. And it was delicious.

With the smooth plastic finally in your hand you leant back, ready to bring yourself to another orgasm. With a blink, you realised there was a tear tracking its way down your cheek, and you smiled to yourself.

And then you accidentally looked forwards. Your eyes met Tom’s. The camera. The lights. The switched off monitor.

You wanted to cry.

He was watching you directly, with those sharp blue eyes, one finger resting along his jawline, his usual calculating, wide stance replaced with one knee hugged to his chest as he sat on the concrete floor. He was watching you.

You. Stuffed full, straddling a pillow on the bed Tom had fucking made, covered in a mix of lube and your own arousal. That strange feeling from earlier came back full force.

God. He had seen you actually come. Without acting or cheesy lines or clever angles to hide the worst of your O-face. You could pretend to come, tell your male co-stars what a good time you’d had, follow direction, anything. But this was too real. And it was just you and Tom. In the corner of a huge studio, bright lights and cameras and –

Had he called cut? You wouldn’t have heard. Did he realise you’d lost control? That you had forgotten you were supposed to be acting and been so desperate and –

“You’re doing amazing.”

You smiled at him weakly, gasping as the toy inside you nudged your cervix as you fidgeted. You didn’t realise that you were awaiting direction until he spoke.

“Another one?”

His voice was a little throatier than usual, though you supposed he’d been quiet for a while. His eyes kept drifting from your face, and you wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as you did.

You nodded silently, closing your eyes, listening to the increasing pitch of the vibrator as you turned it up to its maximum setting.

The minutes stretched on as your orgasm built, little raises and falls of your hips accompanying that insistent buzz of your favourite vibrator, the toy inside you starting to ache as it stretched you apart. It was impossible to forget that Tom was watching you now. That his piercing gaze was on you. As a matter of professionalism, you tried to avoid looking up. You ignored the camera, fucked your body in the way you knew it would respond to, only half-faking it as you came a second time.

You moaned and groaned and gave the camera an indulgent few seconds of overstimulation, the vibrator pushed against your clit to make you writhe and shake. You pulled yourself off the dildo in a mess of arousal, played with yourself, showing off how stretched out you were.

Fingers swirling in the arousal inside of you, you sighed in relief when Tom called, “cut.”

Dropping the toy, you pulled your legs together, ignoring him for a second as you took deep breaths. Taking stock of your body, the residual pleasure and pain and stickiness. A lot of stickiness.

Tom took pity on you, shifting a softbox so you had a clear path out of the corner you were hemmed into.

“Go and have a shower,” he told you, the most softly-spoken command you’d ever heard.

Nonetheless, you followed orders. On weak legs, you indulged in as long as shower as you dared, cleaning up and then just… waiting. Trying to avoid the real world. When you finally opened the door, wrapped in a robe, you found your clothes folded outside. Tom was nowhere to be seen, but you thanked the universe for him anyway.

When you re-emerged you were fully dressed and feeling a lot more like yourself again. And, actually, quite proud of yourself. Tom’s busyness told you everything had been recorded properly, equipment moved and the mattress bare, leant against the wall.

“All good?” you asked, more to announce your presence than anything. He stopped moving, offering you a gentle smile.

“Perfect! I think it’ll be great. Do you want to go get lunch somewhere? To celebrate?”

Predictable as anything. The thought made your heart swell with fondness for him, his head tilt and excitement, his strange place here.

“I think I’ll just go home,” you tried to smile apologetically, but you could still feel the ache inside you, the dull oversensitivity of your clit against your underwear.

The embarrassment and excitement fighting in the fit of your stomach.

Tom nodded, clear understanding on his face. He held the door for you on the way out.

“Are you coming in tomorrow?” he asked, quietly, like you might run off if he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

*

Your bedroom fell silent as the vibrator stopped, the battery finally flat. You whined in disappointment, desperate for another orgasm. Your fingers replaced it instantly, rubbing, desperately pulling more wetness from the arousal weeping from you, but you were too oversensitive.

Panting, vision blurry, your thighs aching, you blinked away tears. You glanced at the nightstand. Tom hadn’t text you.

*

When you woke up the next morning your phone was dead. You’d forgotten to charge it last night, and leaving it in your room to charge offered a strangely peaceful morning. You had a few hours before you would be expected at the studio, and no work to do before then.

You indulged in spending time getting ready for the day, making a decent breakfast, doing a few chores you’d been putting off.

Processing what had happened yesterday.

In the clear light of day, you wondered if you ought to be embarrassed for the way you’d completely lost yourself at the shoot. The more you thought about it, the more you thought about it, the more you rationalised at you’d just followed Tom’s direction. Done what he’d asked. It had been intense, for sure, but you’d done what he’d asked. If anything you regretted the moment he’d had to speak, losing your nerve. You hoped he didn’t want pick-up shots today, you weren’t sure your body could take any more.

You thought about the night before, clearing up the scattered clothes and charging the vibrator you’d left strewn beside your bed, more ashamed of the images which had been conjured by your overactive imagination in the late-night privacy of your bedroom. You hated that everything you imagined was involved blue eyes. Distinctive curls. Pulling buttons from smart shirts and kissing along sharp cheekbones. Poor Tom. He didn’t need you overstepping that mark. And yet when you had closed your eyes, imagined you were under those lights again, all you could imagine was Tom. His creative gaze. Listening to the smoothness his voice leant to everything he said as he instructed you even more intimately than usual.

As you switched your phone back on, you forced the thoughts from your mind. They couldn’t follow you to the studio. The two of you had built something good. Something successful. The studio was doing well, you were both saving money away for the future, building your brands. You couldn’t screw that up now by imagining him like that. He trusted you. You trusted each other. Relied on one another.

You wondered if he ever fucked other actresses.