#tagging as suggestive because of skimpy clothing

[pupp0ccino]

He does NOT GAF ABT THE COLD !!

Imagine you get approached by the murdertime trio and this is the guy that's supposed to kill you

Killer belongs to rahafwabas

[sleepyhoon]

BAJA BLAST - S.JY

pairing. religious stepbro!jake x fem reader genre. drabble, porn w plot warnings. virgin perv jake, stepcest, religious themes, brief mention of alcoholism & death word count. 3.5k smut tags. degradation, dry humping (i guess…), handjob, jake sucks reader’s tits thru her shirt, p in v for like 30 seconds.

a/n. hmm trying to get into darker themes to expand my genres a bit more … not too sure how i feel abt it yet but it was interesting to explore a new trope! i understand darker tropes aren’t for everyone sooo feel free to skip over if this isn’t for you!! <3

———

“You’re disgusting, and you’re not gonna find a God-fearing husband if you keep parading yourself like a slut.”

Jake pries your legs open a little wider, further situating himself between your thighs as he smears his precum on the core of your panties. He glances up at you when you scoff, knees digging into the mattress as he drags the tip of his cock along your clothed cunt. “What?” he sneers, raising a brow at you.

“You have a girlfriend and you’re getting yourself off between someone else’s legs; you’re the slut,” Jake’s cock twitches in the palm of his hand at your insult, you take a mental note of this, “and, I don’t even want a God-fearing husband, whatever that is.”

“It means a religious husband, genius. None of them probably want you anyway, so the feeling is mutual.”

Degrading as it may be, this is the shit that gets Jake off; certainly not his prude, preacher’s daughter girlfriend who only allows him to kiss her for a few seconds at a time, because anything longer than that could be “too tempting”.

He didn’t hate Chaeyoung in the slightest, but he likely wouldn’t have made all that effort to court her had he known she was saving herself for marriage in every aspect. No lingering touches, no suggestive comments, and certainly no racy photos; the poor boy would’ve been fine with her sitting on his lap every now and then if it meant he’d get to jerk off from the weight of someone on top of him.

Much like Chaeyoung, Jake was on the treacherous path of saving himself for marriage, but even he allowed himself a bit of wiggle room. Saving himself entirely for marriage was beyond unrealistic, but he was willing to at least avoid shoving his dick in someone before there was a ring on his finger if it meant he could get off in other ways.

Jake didn’t have the heart to break up with Chaeyoung just because she wanted to stay pure until marriage, but he wasn’t planning on waiting that long to finally get his dick wet. Besides, breaking up with the preacher’s daughter for seemingly no reason was a bad look, especially considering that Jake was the youth pastor at the same exact church.

Aside from the pastor and his wife, Jake and Chaeyoung were the only couple treated as royalty in their church community. They were seen as devoted followers of Christ whilst showcasing what an appropriate, God-fearing, young, Christian couple should look like. From the outside looking in (or even just looking from his girlfriend’s perspective), they truly did resemble a perfect couple.

How Jake got into jerking off between his step-sister’s thighs was a long story.

His original plan was to keep his distance when he first met you a little over a year ago, a few months before his father was preparing to marry your mother. Jake didn’t take kindly to you at first, bewildered on how such a respectful, faith-driven woman such as your mother could produce a daughter the exact opposite of her. Your outfits were entirely too skimpy, you had a horrible attitude, and you had tattoos. In Jake’s eyes, you were the definition of sin.

And that’s exactly why he felt disgusted with himself when he realized he was desperately attracted to you.

It was horrible, the countless nights he’d spent jerking himself off to the thought of you sinking down on his cock and riding him until he passed out. He’s certain his stamina is low and would probably finish in under five minutes, but it doesn’t hurt to dream; and that he does.

Until you showed up to his apartment one Monday morning with a large Baja Blast from Taco Bell and a proposition.

“Taco Bell at ten in the morning, seriously?”

You hadn’t greeted him with a “Good morning!” or “Hey, how are you?” and instead jumped the gun and went straight into, “Hey, you know how my dad died?”

Jake held his front door open, running a hand through his messy, morning hair in confusion as he responded, “Wasn’t it from, like, alcoholism?”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Yeah, but I meant like… you know that he’s dead, right? Also, Taco Bell serves breakfast, genius.”

“YN, it’s too early for this.” Jake says with a frustrated sigh, prepared to close the door in your face because it’s way too early to deal with your bullshit.

“I’m getting his inheritance from my grandmother, a huge one.”

Jake tried his best at attempting to hide the look of shock on his face. From his knowledge, your grandparents were loaded; practically rolling in money since the moment they were born. Having your father’s inheritance transferred to you was a blessing, Jake didn’t even want to imagine the useless crap you’d waste that money on.

“Congrats, did you come here to rub it in my face?”

You sighed, slightly embarrassed and a little defeated knowing you’d need Jake’s help. You felt entirely guilty for even coming to him in the first place, the two of you weren’t close and hardly spoke outside of gatherings, the only reason you showed up to his apartment was because you didn’t have his phone number; only his address you had to scroll in your GPS to find from the one time you drove him home.

“No, I’m not here to brag. I need your help.”

Jake hesitantly opened his door wider, allowing you into his home that you nervously pace around in. “Help with what?” he asked, locking the door behind him.

“I don’t get the inheritance until after my grandma dies.”

“YN, are you crazy?! I am not helping you kill your grandmother!”

“What?! Jake, no! God, just let me finish.” An awkward beat of silence passed before you continued, “She says I’m not getting the inheritance unless I get into religion and be involved in church.”

“Yeah, can’t help with that.” Jake took a moment to look you up and down, eyes focusing on the fresh tattoo right under your knee, “You’re gonna need a miracle.”

You followed behind Jake like a helpless puppy as he entered his kitchen, nervously toying with your fingers as you set your drink down on the kitchen counter, “I know we aren’t really close, and that’s partially my fault, but I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out with this.”

“With what, YN? You haven’t said what you’d need me to do.”

“Just, every so often, tell my family that I’m involved in church and help out. Shit like that.”

Jake chuckled, powering on his Nespresso, “As if that’s gonna work. You know your family goes to church, right? What are they gonna think if they don’t see you there but I’m telling them you showed up? They’d see right through it.”

“They don’t go every Sunday! I’ll just check ahead of time and go with them whenever they do go, and on the days they don’t go you’d be able to cover for me.”

Jake sighed with a shake of his head, reaching into his cabinet to retrieve a coffee mug, “It’s not just Sunday service, YN. They also go to bible study and help plan church events. Your family is very involved in the community.”

“Again, they don’t attend every event, right? I’ll go when they go and you cover when I can’t! And, besides, it’s not like they’re expecting me to go to every single event; as long as they think I’m putting in effort I’ll be fine.”

You seemed proud of yourself and your plan, which only annoyed your step-brother even further, because you clearly hadn’t thought this through.

“What’s in it for me?”

You paused, quirking a brow at Jake, “What do you mean?”

“We barely even know each other and you expect me to do this big favor for you for free? Be realistic.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I want…half of the inheritance.”

“Jake, even you know that’s too much.”

Yeah, maybe he was being a little petty, but it was your own fault for asking for a favor like this and not offering him anything in return. He may not know the exact amount of your inheritance, but based on your reaction, it had to be a life changing amount of money; enough to give him a portion of.

“I’d rather not say what the exact amount is,” you start, looking down at your sneakers, “but it’s a lot, and I’m definitely willing to give you a fraction of it if you help me out. Just not half.”

“How much?”

“For you? Fifty-thousand.”

Jake dropped the ceramic mug to the ground, eyes widening as the cup broke and scattered across the kitchen floor. You flinched, jumping back on instinct while he remained frozen in place. “Fifty-thousand dollars?”

You wanted to tell him it’s truly nothing compared to the amount you’d have leftover, and that you’d offer him more if he insisted on it, but fifty-thousand seems to be enough for him. Instead, you nodded, carefully backing into the living room to avoid accidentally stepping on the ceramic shards.

“Does that work?”

It was too late to pretend your offer wasn’t more than he’d been expecting, but still, Jake had no reason to believe you’d hold up to your end of the deal; even if giving him fifty-thousand dollars would hardly make a dent in what you’d be receiving.

Jake shook his head, “I don’t know you, how can I trust you’ll actually give it to me?”

“You can’t just take my word?”

“The only word I take is the word of God.”

You should’ve seen that one coming.

Jake continued, “I want a down payment that I can receive now; something so that if you don’t pay me, I still got something out of our agreement.”

Intrigued, and a little frightened, you tilted your head at him, “Money?”

Jake shrugged in response, carefully stepping over the shards of ceramic, “Doesn’t have to be, your mom says you don’t have much of it.”

“I have money!”

Jake rolled his eyes, retrieving a broom and dustpan from the hallway closet, “Right, because your part-time barista job pays so much.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “I really don’t know what else to offer you.”

“Better think of something or you’re on your own.”

The sound of ceramic clicking together as Jake cleans filled the silence, leaving you to brainstorm on what he would accept as a down payment offer. Money wasn’t an option, and you didn’t know enough about Jake’s interests to offer him some sort of bribe.

However, Jake is a man. Yes, a religious one, but still a man. If you’re lucky enough, there’s one thing you could offer that no man, not even Jake, would pass up.

“Chaeyoung is saving herself for marriage, right?”

Jake paused, suspiciously glancing at you over his shoulder, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but yes.”

You nodded, “Are you?”

“Again, not your business, but yes.”

“What about loopholes?”

Jake fully turned around this time, narrowing his eyes at you, “YN, where are you going with this?”

You shrugged, defensively raising your hands, “What if I was your loophole? Like, I help you get off however you want without actually having sex, so it won’t count as sinning. And, trust me, I won’t tell anyone.”

Jesus Christ, you seriously wanted the inheritance that bad?

Jake immediately wanted to accept the offer and drag you straight into his room, but he couldn’t; he had to be nonchalant about this or risk you revoking your suggestion.

He faked a look of disgust, a confused, twisted snarl on his face as he responded, “But, you’re my step-sister; isn’t that wrong?”

You shrugged, “I don’t care if you don’t. Plus, we’re adults and we barely even know each other, it’s not like our parents married years ago and we grew up as siblings.”

Fair point, not that Jake needed any further convincing.

“I’m not offering you this again, by the way. You either accept it now or you’ll never get the chance again,” you warn Jake, taking a seat down on the edge of his couch.

After a few long moments of pretending to weigh his options, Jake extended the end of the broomstick in your direction, slowly using the handle of it to lift your skirt. You didn’t react, your eyes following the edge of the broomstick as Jake continued his actions. He lowered his head slightly, confused as to why he couldn’t see your panties, until he realized.

You weren’t wearing any.

He cleared his throat, quickly pulling the broom away before leaning it up against the wall. “Sure, whatever, I guess. As long as you don’t tell anyone.”

Easiest deal of his life.

Jake made sure you kept to your end of the deal, and maybe took some advantage of it.

The first incident occurred a few weeks after the agreement, when Jake had to cover for you upon missing Sunday service due to you being hungover.

“She was up all night designing flyers for the coat drive next week,” Jake addressed your mother’s concerns, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, “she really wanted to come to today’s service, but I told her she should get some rest.”

Your mother clutched her heart, staring up at Jake in complete awe, “YN? My YN?”

Jake nodded, a sheepish grin on his face as he responded, “The one and only.”

Your mother was skeptical, tilting her head at her stepson with her brows furrowed, “Just doesn’t sound like something she would do, unless there was something in it for her, of course. You’re not covering for her, are you?”

Jake faked a laugh, “The only thing YN is covered in is the blood of Jesus Christ.”

…And apparently Jake’s cum only a few hours later.

“…Now, guess who’s stuck designing flyers for the coat drive? Me!”

“I told you I would do it, you little brat,” your fist tightens around Jake’s clothed cock and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut at the new, uncomfortable, yet pleasant sensation.

You were slightly off-put and a little humored when Jake showed up to your apartment requesting, “A handjob but I, like, keep my boxers on. Like, just do it through my clothes.”

“Wouldn’t you rather…have your boxers off?”

“Are you nuts? I’m not letting you touch me,” he’d said, unbuttoning his dress pants as he lowered himself on your mattress.

You obliged his request, awkwardly rubbing him through his boxers, watching as his facial expressions changed so quickly and constantly. His brows would furrow then relax, lips would twitch before sinking his teeth in them, all while he tried his best not to finish embarrassingly quick.

Which didn’t work.

Jake was already on the edge of cumming when you lowered your head down to his groin, placing a small peck against the head of his clothed cock, the material sticky and wet from his precum.

His body jolts at the touch, arching off the mattress with swears spewing from his lips as his orgasm washed over him. He shoves his boxers down in record time, grinning to himself when you groan in agony when his cum lands on your cheek.

Had you been literally anyone else, maybe Jake would’ve felt bad that he came so quickly and didn’t have the energy nor interest to give you anything in return; but he didn’t. This was an agreement, and as long as the two of you held to both your ends of the deal, there was nothing to feel bad about. He didn’t owe you anything else.

Surprisingly enough, the arrangements weren’t happening as frequently as Jake hoped they would.

You immersed yourself into the church community, showing up to Sunday Worship and Bible Study as if it were a second nature. Jake should be proud, really, that you’re serious about being devoted; even if it was under the premise of obtaining your father’s inheritance, but he’s pissed.

He waited weeks for you to slip up, intentionally scheduling a Bible Study session or some church fundraiser at a time where he knows you’ll be busy and have no choice to skip, but you show up.

To every fucking event. Until you don’t.

Your younger cousin was getting baptized and you missed it, and if it weren’t for Jake making up some lame excuse and covering for your ass, your mother would’ve gone ballistic on you.

Jake’s happy to cover for you, though, knowing he’d be getting something in return not too long afterwards.

After weeks of feigning, that simple slip up was how Jake found him back between your thighs, pumping his cock along the outline of your cunt through your thin panties.

“Whatever,” you sneer, propping yourself up on your elbows, “marriage is the last thing on my mind right now.”

Jake rolls his eyes, pausing and grateful at the fact that he has a better of your tits. For some godforsaken reason, the air conditioner in your home is always on full blast, and despite assuring your guests that you don’t feel that cold, your body certainly says otherwise; if the way your hardened nippled poke through your shirt is anything to go by.

He licks his lips, pumping his dick a little faster as he leans down and traces his tongue along your clothed nipple. You’re saying something, maybe asking him what he’s doing or to keep going, but he can’t hear you; having you like this is new territory for him, nothing else in the world mattered at this moment.

His saliva stains your t-shirt as he continues, moaning against your chest as he flicks his tongue against your bud. Jake lightly traps your nipple between his teeth, tugging on it just enough to sting before releasing it once again, lapping his tongue against it as if to apologize.

Your hand moves to his hair, giving it a tight grip as Jake moans before shoving your arm away entirely. “Are you insane?! Don’t touch me!”

“But-”

“Wait.”

Fuck, that felt good. It wasn’t much but it felt so fucking good.

He needed more of you, fuck all this waiting for marriage bullshit. He tried his best for as long as he could, and he doesn’t want to fucking wait anymore.

“I wanna try something,” he mumbles, wasting no time in pushing your panties to the side. The sight of your glistening cunt is enough to make his mouth water, and Jake swears he can hear a choir of angels singing as he stares down at it in awe.

“Jake, I thought-”

“Fuck that,” Jake is quick to cut you off, already knowing what your next words were, “I don’t wanna wait anymore; show me how.”

“How to what?”

“The one thing you know how to do.”

“Oh, fuck you. You’re such an asshole.” You say, but it doesn’t stop you from maneuvering your right hand between your bodies and gripping the base of Jake’s cock, encouraging him to scoot forward as you guide him directly to your hole.

You don’t move him any further, making the choice of letting Jake decide whether he’s serious about this.

He is.

He presses the head of his cock further into you, squeezing his eyes shut as you wrap around him so snug and perfect. He stills his movements, head dropping to your shoulder with a groan.

It’s already too much and he’s not even halfway in. It feels too good, so wet and warm and tight, better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“Fuck…”, he mumbles into your shoulder, taking note of how none of this barely had an effect on you.

“It’s okay,” you assure him in an oddly sweet tone, “try moving.”

“I can’t, think I’m gonna come if I do.”

“You’ll be fine, just-”

Jake lets out a loud, frustrated groan as he raises his head away from your shoulder, “You wouldn’t fucking get it.”

Jake spent too many countless nights imagining this very scenario, and now that it’s finally happening he can barely even handle it. Everything feels too good and it’s all too much for him to bear.

He pulls his dick out of you entirely, giving himself a few hard pumps as his impending orgasm approaches. It looks almost painful, the way he’s gripping and pumping his cock, how red his tip is, you’re surprised a few tears don’t slip from his eyes when he finally does finish, painting your thighs with his cum as his body trembles.

He rests a shaky hand on your knee, grip on his cock softening as he makes a mess across your panties, thick, white ropes of cum staining your underwear.

“Fuck,” Jake mumbles to himself as he steadies his breathing. He’s never came this hard before, to the point where he feels exhausted and genuinely empty.

“Are you…okay?” You ask, cringing at the sticky feeling between your thighs.

Jake nods slowly, sitting himself up as he tucks his now-softened cock back into his boxers, “Let’s, uh, get cleaned up so we can go.”

His head his spinning as he rises from your bed, a dizzy feeling coming over him as he stands. Fuck, maybe this is why he should’ve waited for marriage.

“Go where?”

“Bible study is starting soon,” he explains, “if we leave now we can stop by Taco Bell beforehand, I need a Baja Blast.”

[koenigami]

let me love you. tags : fluff, fem!reader, suggestive, period, cramps wc : 1,1k synopsis : he's there with you, in health and in sickness... and during periods masterlist

-

“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?!”

The smell of Wriothesley's cologne, the blue in his eyes so bright, and the toothy grin on his face. Everything about him did unimaginable things to your body. To your goddamn hormone driven body. 

And the worst was, he knew very well where this conversation was going.

And then there were those incredibly thick arms. With light veins trailing along his biceps, and triceps shaped so perfectly that you really struggled to contain the urge to simply sink your teeth into his thick and corded flesh.

“Like what?” he chuckled and shook his head as you blocked his path, your index finger digging into his broad chest in an accusatory manner.

“Like that!” you stressed and plucked at the stretchy material of his tight black compression shirt. It clung to him like a second layer of skin, accentuating every single muscle in his torso in a way that made you, and unfortunately other fellow females, drool like goddamn dogs. “You don’t have to see your muscles in order to train them.”

Was a plain loose cotton shirt too much to ask for?

“Darling, you’re being ridiculous.”  he muttered with a raised brow before leaning down with a grunt to slip his trainers on. “It's just my training gear?”

It was futile. It always has been. Wriothesley has always been so passive about his looks that you sometimes even wondered whether he was simply unaware of his attractiveness.

“You're right.” He sighed at the overly saccharine and enthusiastic tone in your voice, because there was no way that you were actually agreeing with him. “I am being ridiculous, even miserable, over the fact that my husband is going out and getting ogled by other people while I can just stay at home and bleed to death.”

You deliberately stepped aside, stretching your hand out with a dramatic swing towards the door and shot Wriothesley a poisonously sweet smile. “There you go. Have fun, darling.”

As fast as it came, your forced smile dropped again as you stepped back and trudged with heavy steps past him and back into the living room. Of course, Wriothesley didn't miss the little sharp inhale that sounded from you as you briefly clutched your lower stomach. 

Now, that would explain why you were being so cranky the past two days.

With the thin throw blanket draped over your body as you were lying on the couch, you jerked your head up when Wriothesley’s fingers combed through your hair. About to make a blunt remark about why he was still there, you were quickly shut up by his suddenly soft demeanour.

“Does it hurt a lot?” He asked before he crouched in front of you, his hand tenderly cupping the side of your face.

You nodded, shyly gazing to the side as you suddenly felt a tinge of guilt bloom inside you while watching Wriothesley be so gentle with you, despite you being a moody bitch.

"Did your painkillers help at all?"

You shook your head.

Giving you a thoughtful stare before getting up, Wriothesley left the room as quickly as he had entered it. The sudden disappearance should have left you feeling dejected, disappointed even to be left back in such a vulnerable state. 

Yet as you sat up, blanket pooling around your waist, all you felt was curiosity. Because if you knew one thing about your husband, then it was that he would never turn his back on you while being fully aware of the fact that you were not feeling well. 

Your curiosity was even further piqued when Wriothesley came back with one layer of clothes less, solely clad in underwear, and a clean towel draped over his shoulder. 

“You know what? Maybe I do like your skimpy black shirt.” A nervous chuckle escaped you as you tried to press yourself further into the cushions of the couch, hoping that it would allow you to make yourself disappear. You had an idea what this was all about, and you weren’t sure whether you liked it or not. Your body definitely did, however your mind was screaming at you to run and hide. 

“Here or the bedroom?” The way he tilted his head so innocently almost made it seem as if he asked you if you preferred to dine here or in bed. Though the activities he had in mind had definitely little to do with consuming food, and involved more… intimate matters. “Although, I believe it would be more comfortable for you in bed. That way you won’t have to strain yourself while I-”

"Okay, okay, I get it.” Hell, why did he always have to be so straightforward? Whether the heat that suddenly overcame you was from the immense pain that you were in, or due to your lover’s very, very attractive offer, you weren’t sure. 

But your heartbeat which you could all of a sudden feel in more than only one place, was proof that he definitely was partly responsible for your body’s reaction. “Wriothesley, my love. No. It always gets messy, and I don't want you to feel obligated to do anything just because I-"

"Hey, when have I ever minded? And besides-" The couch dipped as his large form took a seat beside you, his scent and warmth enveloping in a blanket of comfort that magically seemed to ease the cramps. You felt him settle his hand on yours which you had been desperately pressing against your lower abdomen to dampen the pain. Obviously, without success. 

As his thumb traced your knuckles and the little dips between them, you noticed the small crease on Wriothesley’s forehead which made it seem as if your state was aching him more than you. "It helps, doesn't it?"

The mix of determination and fondness that you could discern in his soft blue eyes easily made you cave. So with a deep inhale and exhale, you timidly nudged his thigh with yours as you gazed to the carpet beneath your feet and spoke quietly. “T-The bedroom then.”

You let out a soft gasp when his hand grasped your wrist, pulling you up and throwing the blanket that you’d been covered with haphazardly over the armrest of the couch. You had a feeling that he was about to enjoy this more than you were.

“I guess it will be a different kind of workout today.”

“Oh my god, baby. You didn’t just say that-”

[fluffytsukino1009]

ONEUS reaction to see you wearing a bralette.

Summary: ONEUS members reacting to coming home and see you wearing a skimpy bralette.

Warning: Suggestive... Like it was supposed to be smut but you know I'm quite stupid.

A/N: Is it Y/N and Hwangwong or is it me and my boyfriend? lol + All the smut/suggestive content won't have the group name tags to respect people who don't feel ok with it.

Masterlist

Seoho

Thinks he can dissimulate but no. Takes a lot of time to take off his jacket because he's making time to stare at you a little longer. "How was your day?" says casually. You play the game for a while, share a few gossips heard from your friends, pretending not noticing he continue biting his lips. "But what about your day, love?" your smile wided when he walked at you slowly. "Hopefully... If it's ok for you... it's about to get better" holds you close by the waist and place a kiss to the edge of your lips.

Leedo

Wants to stare but doesn't want to stare. "I'll wait outside if you want me to" you had to laugh because it never crossed your mind he could be so shy. "C'mon, nothing you haven't seen before" you joked but he still turned his back at you and continue saying whatever he was supposed to say when he crossed the door. You fixed your clothes and let him know, he stared at you cutting off the talkin "You know, I kind of liked it better when you were just wearing that tiny top" Giggled and gained confidence before keep on talking.

Hwangwong

Burns in laught inmmediately and hates himself for it "Oh damn, I'm sorry". You try to cover yourself and he cover his eyes with both hands, apologizing to each other once and over again. "What are we doing?" you could hardly say through the laugh "I don't know, it was so unexpected" You joke about the weird reaction to such an casual scenario for a few minutes before breathing deep and calm down. "Anyway, I just came to say I bringed dinner… And feel free to come to the table wearing that"

Keonhee

"I'm kind of tired but if you gonna ask it like that" He joked as soon you crossed the bathroom door with your hair still wet. Hugged you tight and kisses both of your cheeks "You look so good" "I was just getting ready for bed" you took of his watch and rings before unbuttoning his shirt. He looked genuinely tired but still insisted in kissing your neck while you took off his belt. "You know I still gonna look pretty much like this tomorrow morning" tried your best to convince him to take a rest "Then I'll kiss you all over tomorrow morning too"

Xion

Delighted but chill, could and wants to stare at you for hours when looking that way but doesn't want to be creepy. "What are you wearing?" You had to wonder if that question was coming from a negative or positive impact "It's just... Leggings, socks, bralette... What's wrong with it?" He smiled playfully "Nothing wrong. I like the bralette, you should wear it more often." Hard to tell but he even seemed to blush in excitement "I have a blue one too. Wanna see it?" Answered with your favorite dirty grin.

🌑🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕

Ravn

"Oh, well. Oh, well. What a view I found" Honestly he made you blush a little but tried your best to keep the cool "What is that you like about the view, huh?" He sat at the edge of the bed and called you over "Is this new" touches the strap gently still smiling and you nod, takes a such a long time to stare at you that the heat started to crawl your body, preparing you for a make out session. "It's sexy but it looks so uncomfortable that even my chest hurt just to see it" He's also ready to get dirty but his priority is you feel comfortable.

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

Luckiest Girl In The World – Preview

When Max found out that Kyla's summer plans had amounted to "I don't know, hang out in the city I guess, avoid Kate's constant questions, go back to being boring until school starts up", he had called her tragic and told her that instead she would be spending the summer with him, first in Monaco and then the Caribbean, wrapping it up with Labour Day in the Hamptons. It hadn't been a question, so she'd just nodded and let Luna take over her packing.

Now, a few weeks into the best and most torturous summer of her life, Kyla had found one glaring mistake in her plans. Instead of getting over her feelings for Max – the huge, embarrassing crush that she was determined not to have because Max Wolfe would never feel the same way about her – a summer of hot weather, skimpy clothing, and very close proximity had only made them that much stronger.

(AKA an excuse to write gratuitous smut that got out of hand, so for now have 2k of exposition leading into the first smut scene)

notes: rated T – suggestive but not graphic so read at your own discretion (lmk if I should add any warnings or change the rating); title comes from Pretty Woman: The Musical

Tag List: @airwolf92 – want to be added?

“I like being in our super secret bubble,” Kyla said, looking up at Max through dark lashes.  “Even Gossip Girl doesn’t know where we are.  It’s like... I don’t know, like we’re actually free.”

Max looked back at her, face as unreadable as ever.  His cheeks were flushed pink from the alcohol they’d been drinking, bringing out the blue of his eyes, and even the sticky humidity hadn’t been enough to destroy his artfully messy hair.

God, she could have stared at him forever.  She probably would have, if he hadn’t pulled her out of her thoughts.

“I like it too,” he said.  “There’s a freedom here that New York doesn’t have, even before Gossip Girl made a debut.”

It was the most open she’d ever seen him and it was magnetic.  She couldn’t look away, could only gaze up at him with wide eyes, leaning just a bit closer —

DING

The elevator reached their floor, and Kyla jumped slightly.  Max wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, the combination of alcohol and high heels still giving her difficulty, and she couldn’t help but shiver when his fingertips brushed lightly against the side of her breast.

He guided her down the hall to their suite, his hand burning on her bare skin in a way she knew that she would never be able to forget.  

It’s not that Max was never sweet in New York — everyone knew just how charming Max Wolfe could be — but their trip had loosened him up and she would always love this beautiful country for giving her this side of him.

He unlocked their door, following her into the dimly lit living room.  The suite was, in a word, ridiculous.  In another word, extravagant.  It took up two floors, each one with a bedroom, living room, and terrace, all glittering opulence and incredible seaside views.  Max had told her, back on the first day, that it wasn’t actually the most expensive room in the hotel, but he’d insisted that the jacuzzi — the only thing lacking in the princely suite — was non-negotiable.  And really, after weeks of spending her evenings sitting in that jacuzzi trying not to stare at Max, shirtless beside her, she could understand the appeal.

Max had claimed the lower floor for its large office, but spent most of his days working in the upper floor’s living room instead.  Kyla liked it better that way, it meant that while she spent most of her time out on the terrace or in the pool, sunbathing or swimming or reading, she could look over at the wall-to-wall windows and see him glancing back at her.  She always found herself thinking of Pretty Women, privately thinking of herself as the Vivian to Max’s Edward as she accompanied him on his trip, Max paying for almost an entirely new wardrobe and teaching her the ins and outs of high society.  The prideful part of her hated the comparison, but another, secret, part of her almost envied Vivian — at least Edward had wanted her.

Kyla had promised herself that she would get over him.  Being together all summer was supposed to officially cement him into the friends category, not add to her stupid, embarrassing crush.  But day after day in the most beautiful place she’d ever seen, spending almost every waking hour together?  It would have been torture no matter what.  But in Monaco?  Where they spent hours lounging by the pool, where she could watch water drip-drip-drip down the flat planes of his stomach?  Where they spent half of their dinners at beautiful, expensive, intimate restaurants and the other half on their quiet, peaceful, isolated terrace?  Where Max was bringing her to casinos and yachts and operas, dressing her to the nines and keeping an arm around her all night, showing her off like she was somehow impressive?  Where he flew them to other European cities if Kyla so much as mentioned a passing interest, where he didn’t utter a single complaint when Kyla wanted to visit tourist attractions that he’d undoubtedly seen a hundred times?

Kyla had always known that Max Wolfe was nothing like any other boy she’d known, but Monaco had shown her a brand new side of him.  A side that was, somehow, even more captivating than she could have imagined.

There had been a time, once, where she thought he might have wanted her.  When she was first pulled into their group, unrecognizable even to herself as Luna and Monet dragged her into Dumbo Hall.  She’d been in a short gold dress, almost the same shade as her hair, with gold Louboutin heels that she could hardly walk in.  She’d stumbled as they entered, and Max had been by her side instantly to catch her.  His arm around her waist, a suggestive smirk on his face, his interest had been obvious even before Monet had told him to “fuck the blushing virgin out of her.”

But nothing had ever come of it.  He’d gotten her back to his place, pushing her against a few walls to make out along the way.  But once his shirt was off and her dress was pooled around her feet, she froze.  His gaze had been intense, heated in a way that she’d never experienced, and without even realizing it, she’d wrapped her arms back around herself and started to shut down.

To his credit, Max had been incredible.  He’d immediately grabbed a robe for her, and another for himself, gently guiding her away from his bed and towards a couch instead.  He’d told her that they didn’t have to fuck, he wasn’t into sleeping with anyone who wasn’t willing, and he’d have no problem lying to the girls to keep them off her back.

At the time, it had given him a certain Prince Charming allure, cementing his position as possibly the only person in the Upper East Side that she could actually trust.  But as time went on, as she found herself more and more curious about the Max Wolfe Experience, as he never gave her another look, it had begun to sting.  How was it that Max could be interested in every single person he met except for her?  She hated to care so much about one boy’s opinion, but his lack of interest left her constantly doubting herself.  Was she not attractive enough?  Was she so undesirable that even the biggest playboy in the city didn’t want her?  Or had her initial panic locked her into his mind as just a stupid little girl, someone he needed to babysit, not someone he’d want to fuck?

Usually, after a late night out, they would return to the upper living room together, where Kyla could kick off her heels and Max would remove his tie, sharing a bottle of champagne and a platter of chocolate covered strawberries, before eventually retiring to their respective rooms.

But as he closed the door behind them, Max looked down at her.  There was something heavy in his gaze, something heady, intense in a way she’d never seen him.  She stared back at him, barely breathing as she waited for — whatever was coming, she really didn’t know.

Kyla had no idea how much time passed, just staring at each other, breathing in each other’s air, chests rising and falling in sync; it might have been an hour, maybe only a minute.  Then, Max brushed a finger beneath her chin, tilting it up ever so slightly, and pressed his lips to hers.

The world vanished in a primal haze.  All Kyla could do was melt into his touch, gasping softly when he slid his tongue into her mouth, parting her lips and letting him take whatever he wanted.

That seemed to encourage him.  He fisted her hair, tugging gently, tipping her head back to bare the soft flesh of her neck, and trailed bruising kisses down, down, down to her collarbone — teeth grazing her skin, sending a jolt of heat through her body. As he did, his other hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, slipping beneath the fabric of her backless dress.

She was on fire, burn-burn-burning under his ministrations.  Every touch felt like white hot needles pressed against her sensitive skin, too much and not nearly enough. He moved down to the jut her collarbone and Kyla finally came to her senses enough to move, tangling a hand in his hair, the other finding a place on his chest, curling into a fist around the fabric of his shirt.

“Max,” she whined when he pulled back, humming contentedly when he pressed another kiss to her swollen lips.

“Bedroom,” he said, voice rough in a way that made her knees shake.

She stumbled, catching herself with one hand on the wall and the other still gripping his shirt.

Max smirked at that, the same smug smirk that had always made her feel like a particularly cute pet, equal parts hot and condescending.  But where it usually left her frustrated, irritated and wanting to prove herself, this time it only added to the heat in her belly.  And this time, she could use her hold on his shirt to tug him down and kiss it right off of him.

When she pulled back, it was her turn to smirk at the look of shock on his face.

“Menace.”

“What are you going to do about it?” she retorted.

It was the wrong — or very right, really — thing to say, and before she could quite realize what was happening, he’d lifted her up.  She wrapped her legs around his waist, certain that the heels of her shoes had to be digging into his back, but he didn’t seem bothered as he carried her down the hall towards his bedroom.

Kyla hadn’t known that he was that strong, but god, if it wasn’t doing something to her.  She definitely wouldn’t be forgetting how it felt, his arms wound firmly around her and his abs flexing against her stomach. With Max focused on opening the door, Kyla dropped her head down to latch onto the crook of his neck; if he could cover her in bite marks, she could give him one too.

He groaned, and Kyla could feel the vibration all the way through her body.  She tightened her legs around his waist, punctuating the hickey with another bite.

He set her down on the edge of the bed, standing in between her legs.

“Menace,” he repeated.

Kyla smiled up at him innocently, before taking advantage of his tie to pull him down for another kiss.  He was quick to reclaim control — really, Kyla could definitely have predicted that Max Wolfe would be the type to take charge in bed — and she was happy to let him.  

Max pulled back first, silk tie slipping through Kyla’s fingers as he did.  She sat, frozen, watching him.  Was he about to leave?  Going to call it a mistake, call it a night, pretend it never happened?  Had she been an idiot for ever thinking—

Oh.  Oh.  She’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed him unbuttoning his shirt until it was hitting the floor along with his blazer and the oh-so-tempting tie.

She had seen Max shirtless before.  Several times.  When she’d crash with him after parties, when they’d all spent New Year’s in Hudson, and every single day since they’d landed in Monaco.  Safe to say, she was familiar with the view.

But she’d never been able to appreciate it before, not really.  She’d never been able to just look, to stare unapologetically at the flat planes of pale skin, or to touch, to reach out and trace her finger over the faint lines of muscle, to place her palm flat on his stomach, sliding it up-up-up over his chest until she could feel his heart beating fast against her hand.  She could feel his nipple stiffen under her hand, and couldn’t resist the urge to tweak it lightly.

He gasped.

[askshivanulegacy]

People have been getting their blogposts marked as mature even when they weren´t. And some of those blogs got deactivated/deleted afterwards.

Hey! Yeah, I'm just wondering about the actual content of those blogposts. They mentioned "women," so like ... are we talking photos of women going shopping, like something normal? Or are we talking about hugely suggestive images of some lady in skimpy underwear which is definitely NSFW if you were to pull it up at work?

Idk, I got the vibe that the complaints were obscuring the context for a reason, because that is exactly tumblr's M.O. Maybe that's not the case here and the complaints are totally justified. But if we're talking suggestive images and skimpy clothing, and the post wasn't tagged or under a read-more, than I think the indignation is misplaced and you're gonna get people suggesting a mature label for very understandable reasons.

And you don't even have to be following blogs to get that kind of NSFW content shoved at you. If you stare cross-eyed at the wrong random post, suddenly you'll have a whole string of NSFW posts shoved at you without warning in the "For You" section, which I've experienced multiple times, and I don't even know what the triggering post was. So the real issue might be the recommendation algorithm that's shoving these posts at people who never displayed interest in that material.

But either way, it really depends on what the problem posts were. If they're normal, then some people out there are being malicious. If they're NSFWish then the mature label is specifically meant for filtering that stuff out of people's feeds.

But also, idk why blogs getting a mature label would be deactivated. That's not what the mature label does, I don't think? Like, it's supposed to be a tool for the viewers AND the blogger.

[beverlychills]

Introductory Post

PLEASE at least skim through the tags. Navigating this autism castle I've built may get difficult if you don't.

Also see below: Guide for takedown requests

Hi there, call me Taffy! (Any pronouns)

I'm a neurodivergent fella obsessed with Lethal League. I'm also obsessed with archiving things, and I have a dedicated personal server where I collect all the LLB fanart I can.

For a while I've been wanting to give other people easy access to all this old and new content, but I don't want to invite people to the server, and booru-making is closed right now, so this—an account made to reblog every LLB post I can find—is the next best option.

For now I run this account alone, and my archiving only encompasses things on tumblr, this may change later but I can't say for sure.

I plan to keep this archive going as long as possible.

IMPORTANT STUFF FIRST!

Despite my wants to preserve everything Lethal League, there are some artists I refuse to archive due to personal convictions, or being personally asked not to archive their work.

The amount of these people is presently in the single digits, and probably won't impact the rest of the blog much.

If you want a particular post(s) taken down, or would like to be blacklisted, please DM me. Please note you may have to prove your identity to do this, in whatever way you can (so long as it does not compromise your safety or super-personal information).

If you have a Lethal League post to contribute that I haven't found yet, send me the link. Even things from deactivated accounts can still be preserved if someone else reblogged them. Or I guess if you have a screenshot.

If there's something down the list you don't wanna see, just filter the tag

Warnings: #suggestive Including but not limited to - Discussion of NSFW, off-camera lovemaking, skimpy clothing or poses... whatever you older internet denizens might call "sin." NSFW jokes are judged on a case-by-case basis Overly graphic stuff, minor x adult, or straight up p0rn if there's any left, will not be included in the archive for obvious reasons #thirstposting Any rare case of people getting a bit too excited over a given LLB character. If hypothetically seeing people talk about how much they want to bone their favorite dapper googly eyed fuck wouldn't be your jam, you might wanna filter out this tag. #nudity Tasteful nudity. Think the Statue of David. #blood For when insides become outsides, but it's not straight up gutspill. #feels Because some of us don't wanna deal with angst. #emeto Vom. #eyestrain Ouchie ow oof bright colors. ^ #aberration Chromatic aberration #gore #bugs #death #eye contact #dereality #drugs #weed #body horror #loud #flashing

-

Please note; Despite my headcanons, character interactions will be judged through the LLB story at face value. This means ships involving Switch will not be counted as minor x adult, because he is a robot, 5 is only how long he's been manufactured, and his mental age is not entirely clear (beyond him obviously not having the mind of a toddler). This also means things like Raptor x Switch will still be archived, since although some headcanon them to be found brothers, this is not canonically confirmed.

-

Content type: #art Including but not limited to - Drawings, physical crafts, music, etc. #fanfic Fanfiction, whether linked offsite or posted directly to tumblr. #animation Encompasses gifs, animatics, animation memes, PMVs, the works. #modding Stuff like retexturing, 3D model editing, or even Mung Daal in Room 21 #gameplay #shitpost #textpost #cosplay

-

Characters: #raptor #switch #candyman #dice #jet #doombox #grid #nitro #latch #sonata #dust #ashes #toxic #dummy #mc inferno #safety league

Unlockables: #ballhead #strait jacket #zoot suit #l.2 full mecha #domino #dynamic #detective nitro #jumper cabler #safety weapon #chain engine #iron grip

DLC: #galileo #firefighter max pressure #volt (Neopolis Devastator) #ivory puppet killer #insectoid loneriding mechranger #stereo overdrive #shining gold winner #gigahertz visualizer x #nuclear nourishment #late stage illmatic #heavyduty r evolution #master of the mountain

Fandom culture: #headcanon #theory #review #ship #ship neg #oc x canon #oc #au #askblog #humanized #crossover #fusion

Archived posts will not be tagged as #ship unless the OP states so, or it is very explicitly intended to be ship art—flirting and kissing and stuff. Ships will be tagged as the involved characters' names in alphabetical order, in lieu of affectionate shipnames. This is to avoid creating extra things for you poor soul to memorize. Also, negative content about any given ship will have "neg" tacked onto the end. ❌ #candylatch ✅ #candyman x latch 🔘 #candyman x latch neg

For OCs, search their name, and for specific artists, search their blog url. ie: #cue #klayfruit Furthermore, fanon interpretations of LLB characters may be tagged like this: #henry #candyman

OC x canon shipnames will not be tagged, despite how few there are in retrospect, because I think doing that would drive me nuts.

If two OCs happen to have the same name, the name will be followed up with the creator's username depending on which OC is being referred to. This also applies if an OC name overlaps with a warning tag;

#ember sampleusername - #ember gridsbignaturals #bugs sampleusername

Other: #official Involving a Team Reptile account or one of its developers. Including but not limited to: Dev logs, headcanons from individual team members, outdated lore, threads involving them on other websites, etc. #tim #dion #yinyin #andy #kittomatic #sem

#merch Official merchandise designs and such #deactivated OP's blog is hacked or deactivated. If the URL was changed, the old URL may be tagged; for the sake of preserving the era it was posted, and so people can more easily find things if they know an old username but not the new one. #[year] Year something was posted. ie: #2015 #mod taffy

Posts with captions like "not tagging this" or things that seem personal will probably not be archived unless the OP says it's okay

[thetempleofnyx]

birthday girl | mikasa ackerman

wc: 676

cw: suggestive, little smacks to the butt, reader is a little bossy, biting, kinda. i can't think of anything else. if i missed anything, pls tell me and i will add it!

summary: it's mikasa's birthday but instead of telling you what she really wants, she decides to be a a bit of a brat.

:)

mikasa has become more free-spirited as she's grown older. in fact, she’s so free, that she has no problem waltzing around the house in next to nothing when she's fresh out of the shower like she is now. like she has no clue how affected you are by how good she smells, the scent of her shampoo drifting behind her as she passes by you. like she has no clue how enticing her soft her skin looks, stray droplets of water travelling down her neck, under the strap of her bra only to peek back out and trail down her back as she ties up her wet hair, like it's beckoning you to come over and catch it before it disappears into the waistline of her shorts. and god, her shorts. if you can even call them those. they are so short, just barely covering her ass but they frame hers so nicely, plump tissue peeking out from underneath as she leans over the island in the kitchen, mindlessly tapping away at her phone. she must know what she's doing. she has to know. there is no way she doesn't. she is such a menace, such a fucking little tease, beneath that coy smile of hers.

so, you decide to show her just how affected you are. you watch that coy smile disappear from her face with a yelp as you appear behind her with a smack to her ass. "you're such a fucking tease you know that right?" you roughly whisper in her ear, harshly squeezing one cheek as you push her further into the kitchen counter. "you think i don't know what you're doing, hmm? wearing such little clothes in the house." you grit, biting her ear and sliding your hands into the waistband of those skimpy shorts before letting it snap back against her skin. all mikasa can do is groan as she tries to push back against you, but you push her back into the counter with your hips and slowly slide your arms down hers, before intertwining your fingers and leaning in close. “it’s your birthday angel. if you wanted more attention, all you had to do was ask.” you say, nuzzling into her neck, “i would have happily given it to you but you wanted to be a brat.” you lament, biting the junction of her neck and shoulder, knowing she is extra sensitive there. you feel her body shudder against yours, watch her rub her thighs against each other, shuddering a quiet “oh god." you smile against her neck at how affected she is from your ministrations, “i’m not god but for you…” you breathe, “i am close enough.” your tongue licks at the bite mark, an attempt to soothe the reddening area blooming so prettily for you.

“go upstairs and wait for me. do not touch yourself and i will give you what it seems you really want for your birthday. if you can’t follow those simple instructions i will leave you there needy, wanting and leaking until tomorrow.” you say as one hand pushes those flimsy shorts to the side, playing with her folds, with how wet she is, because of course, she wasn't wearing any underwear. mikasa whimpers and eagerly nods her head, before squeaking out a breathy “yes" as she tries to pull away from you. you slowly lift yourself off of her and take a step back to let her go before you quickly spin her around so you can see her face to face. you take in the reddening of her ears, how her chest heaves with deep breaths, how swollen her bottom lip looks from biting it in an attempt to hold her moans. you pull her in for a quick kiss and give her another smack on the butt. “go on then. go get pretty for me.” you smirk as you watch her saunter away up the stairs, slowly stripping and leaving a small trail of discarded clothes in her wake.

tagging: @dearbraus and @babietopia i hope u guys like it!

[imagine--if]

Hey! I have a request! What about some hcs of Keoghan!Joker with a really attractive reader , she often likes to dress herself in designer clothes and skimpy dresses which make her look even more expensive 😏 I bet he’d be pretty possessive of her hoho

A/N: Hehe okay 💚 as always, requests are still open if you’re okay with joining the queue 😂🃏

Pairing: Keoghan!Joker x reader (The Batman 2022)

Warnings: Suggestive fluff n stuff 😜

• First off, it doesn’t matter how you look, you’re always gonna be a beauty to J and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take any chance to show you off

• It’s kind of funny and confusing to the Joker that you’ve chosen to be with him, because he sees his scars as frightening and ugly and uses that to his advantage, but he you are being your gorgeous self and love of his life🖤

• If you think for one second that he’s not gonna spend so much money on getting you the best clothes, triple digit price tags and all that

• 🙄😂

• Get used to it bestie, J’s going to do it, he just can’t not

• I can see him setting you up for magazines to do with fashion for modelling and stuff and then keeps so many copies displayed at his place lol

• Like “Ah, that’s my queenie. Beautiful little thing, aren’t they? Uh- you might not want to answer that… no right answer…” *giggles*

• You’re his, so the Joker likes you being admired, but not when it’s overdone or sexualised

• He’ll go big mad 😅💕

• This guy’s a hella protective, so BaCk OfF pEoPlE, tHeYrE tAkEn 🥰

• He’s whipped, so you’re spoiled spoiled spoiled 💰

• Expect a ton of compliments and stuff from J, because you’re going to get a lot of them 😍

[rulerofstars]

overheat

you lose focus on an online class because first, it is boring, and second, you would rather chat with your friends. until eren decided to steal your attention and make the class it a little bit different and fun, in his own little way.

pairing: eren yeager x reader

genre: modern! au, college! au, smut

smut tags: friends with benefits, roommates with benefits, cunnilingus, fingering, teasing, orgasm denial, grinding

warnings: extremely suggestive themes, nsfw, smut

song: electric by alina baraz (ft.khalid)

word count: 1776 words

A yawn escaped your lips for the millionth time today. Physics just is not your type of subject, you don’t even know why you took it. Oh, Sasha and Connie decided to tag you along signing up for it, that’s why. Plus, the professor’s voice sounds like a dull lullaby that would suck every form of energy that resides within your body. And, who the fuck cares about how much energy Johnny uses upon lifting a chair up?

How ‘bout calculating the force that Johnny exerts while he rails his step sis? You snicker, biting your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling and catching the professor’s attention while she talks about the solution to a certain problem. The joke kept you giggling to yourself as you send it to you and the three eggs’ groupchat. The three eggs that consists of Sasha, Connie, and Jean.

“Whatcha gigglin’ about?” You instinctively looked up to the sight of your roommate, fresh out of the shower, his laptop on one hand as he flops onto your bed. Ignoring the man, you continued sending memes to your friends while occasionally writing down formulas that you hear through the earphones. While everyone is scared of being called for a recitation, you remained unbothered. Armin helps everyone in your other groupchat, so, why let fear ruin the day?

Eren stood up, leaving his laptop on your bed. You guess, he only entered the meeting and turned his microphone and camera off, you could have done that too, but the professor requires everyone to turn their cameras on. Ugh.

You turned your camera off for a while, sensing that Eren is now approaching you, you turned to him and removed your right earphone.

“Yeah? Why?” You ask, noticing how he slightly turned your office chair around. His hair is still quite damp, and based on the fresh scent that radiated from him, you could easily conclude that he just had a quick shower. His grey sweatpants had a few water droplets that probably came from his body, and you looked up to him, noticing how his abdomen’s just a few inches from your face. Your heart thumped faster for a while when he inched closer and grabbed something from your desk.

‘He might be getting something from my study table drawer’ you thought.

You fucking thought.

Every part of your body tingled upon his fingers’ sudden and harsh contact onto your clothed pussy. Yes, you have classes so had to wear decent tops, but no one said something about wearing pretty decent bottoms, too. So along the white shirt that you are wearing are skimpy panties that make you feel like you are wearing nothing. And, yes, it feels that way. Especially now.

“Eren! What the fuck? I have a class!” You stifled a moan, stopping yourself from moaning because of the sensation that his fingertips press on your clit. Eren knows the power button of your body too well, you are starting to hate it. But how could you?

You love it when he does you.

“What? You aren’t even listening,” he mutters, kneeling in front of you and lifting your shirt up, exposing your navel and abdomen to him, close to his face. He tied both of your hands with the fucking spongebob necktie that rested inside your drawer just a few minutes ago. “So. . . just focus on me? What do you say?” He grins, showing you his boyish smile.

“Miss (L/N), please open your camera so I could monitor you.” The voice rang in your ear like a fire alarm.

“Eren!” You reprimanded him halfheartedly because you know that you like what he does. Hell, you would rather have him do you than doing problem sets in a subject that you do not even like. Your fucking roommate remained kneeling in front of you, his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties, slightly pulling the garter away then letting it go, softly hitting on your skin.

Reluctantly, you turned the camera on after giving Eren a dagger look, lightly swatting his hands and telling him that you have time for it later.

“But baby, I want it now,” you could hear his pout through the voice he is using, and the pornographic thoughts about Johnny railing his step sister completely fled your mind, and is replaced with the wild imaginations that will soon leave you not so sober. “Want this little pussy now,” he whispers, pressing light kisses on your smooth skin, leaving every single spot loved.

“Want my little pussy now.”

Every word that your professor says seems to flow out of your ears as you stare at Eren’s eyes. The lust that made his emerald orbs look pine green, and the radiating heat that is pooling in between your thighs is growing faster than how light travels. Physics.

“Ma’am please excuse me for a while, my laptop is overheating.”

You wasted no time the moment you sent the message and did not mind waiting for the response as you completely turned the chair around and faced your horny fucking roommate. His hand rested on your thigh, pressing you down while his other hand fondled with the lever.

His fingers slowly traced your exposed skin, letting you feel goosebumps until an electric current seem to run through your veins when his middle finger slipped in your panties and glided it up your slit, spreading the wetness that pooled in your core.

“U-huh, you are fuckin’ wet.” He chuckles, bringing his finger close to his lips and sticking his tongue out to lick the trail of wetness that you left on him, “Fuck.” His warm breath soothed the chill that presses kisses onto your skin.

“May I?” he asks, gripping on the waistband of your panties, asking for permission if he could totally remove it.

You love it when Eren asks. It makes you feel more special, hotter, hornier.

Nodding your head, you lifted your hips up, letting him slide the panties off from you and revealing your glistening cunt. Just the way he loves it.

“Do you like it when I do this?” His finger traced the middle of your slit and he applied more pressure upon reaching your sensitive clit, and you look at him as if you were begging. With heavy eyes and parted lips, your appearance speaks for what you want and how you want it.

Please, play with my pussy.

“I love it.” your sensual whisper pulled the throbbing trigger inside of him, making Eren dive directly into your core, playing with your eager pussy using his entire mouth. You felt waves of overwhelming pleasure inside your stomach, almost making you convulse with every lick and every suck. The way he spreads your pussy lips away from the other just to taste you better made you feel very different things.

The sound of your drenched pussy, fucking on his tongue is the only sound that could be heard while the heat in between the two of you grows into a bigger flame. With half closed eyes, you stared at him, only to find those green orbs staring right back into your dazed ones.

“F-fuck!” your breathy moans were heaven to his ears, Eren could feel his precum spilling from his head, wetting his sweatpants. He flatted his tongue out and gave you one huge cat lick from your hole up to your clit, and it made you shiver.

You almost shouted in protest when he stopped licking as he stood up, removing your panties completely, as well as the white tee that you stole from his closet, giving him access to your hard nipples, and he immediately sucked on them like a thirsty baby.

His lips came in contact with yours after he left hickeys on your chest, you know he’d give you more later, but the man loves tasting your lips, he’d feel so intoxicated just by making out with you. “Fuck, you taste so good.” he whispers, pulling the waistband of his bottoms down, revealing his throbbing, angry cock.

“Don’t move,” he says, knowing that you are too eager and that you’d immediately push his dick down inside of your cunt, “good girl.” Your lips parted when you felt his length rubbing on your wet pussy, coating him entirely with your juices, and his precum mixed with yours, too.

You’re both hot, needy, and wet.

“Eren, I want. . .” you whined, thrusting your hips towards him, hard, trying to make him lose control and fuck you senselessly.

“Be a good girl,” his hoarse voice echoed in your ears. You are yearning for his moans! You want to hear his grunts, his growls, his fucking curses while he pounds into you.

His girth was enough to stretch you up, and it’s all you could think about while he’s busy grinding into you. You are well aware on about how he loves grinding because he thinks it is erotic, but right now, you need him inside of you, deep.

The familiar knot formed in your stomach as he continued rubbing himself onto you, your mouth let out an involuntary moan when he pushed his fingers inside your mouth for a while, only to pull them out and used them to finger your hole.

It’s no longer about the class anymore, this day is no longer about learning, but fucking hard until the both of you collapse and surrender into your weary stamina.

You almost cried when you felt how he inserted his head inside you for a second, immediately taking it out to tease you. “Fuck you, Eren,” you slapped his butt, pushing him harder on your pussy while your legs wrapped around his hips. “I was close, fuck you.”

“Alright,” he grunts, removing his sweatpants completely and tracing your neck, with his whole hand, occasionally cupping it all to see how  you’ll look like once he chokes you.

“I wanna fuck, do you wanna fuck?” he asked, caressing the insides of your thighs, staring at you intently while waiting for your answer. You want to scoff as you nodded at him, how could decline his fucking offer? “Alright now, leave the call, beautiful.”

“Bu-” His lips cut you off, sticking his tongue in your mouth and making you moan. The hint of your own taste is present in his tongue as you suck on it, his cock pressing aggressively on your clit, spreading his precum all over your sensitive bud.

“Just tell her,” he whispers, pushing his entire length inside of you without any kind of warning, staining your velvet walls with his warm precum, “that your laptop exploded.”

[stranger-nightmare]

hello hope lovey!!

ok question: what are some of your favourite one shots of Rooster & Hangman? i’m in dire need of some to read…

and also another scenario i thought of…

It’d been a hard day flying, you’d been tagged multiple times by Maverick and you just weren’t having it. You decide to cool off by hitting the showers, also because it got way too hot in the suit and the cockpit. You’re shower wasn’t brief, it lasted longer than Admiral had suggested, but you needed it. After, you wrap yourself in a towel that was a bit risqué, it was pretty short. As soon as you step into the changing room, Rooster stands there, suit half off revealing his bare but chiselled chest, taken aback by what stood in front of him. You. Barely clothed and soaking wet…

Then Hangman walks in, a smug look plastered on his face, his day was relatively good considering he didn’t get tagged, but it got a whole lot better after seeing you, steamy in a skimpy towel before him.

Both their eyes searched each and every part of your body, and what they couldn’t see, was left up to them to discover

LIKEEEEEEE CMON DUDE I NEED THESE MEN

- 🍓

okay okay so I know I’m biased but also genuinely my favourite Rooster and Hangman content (and top gun content in general) comes from my two loves @mothdruid and @siempre-bucky! both go their writing is just absolutely *chefs kiss* delicious, I 100% recommend you go check out all of their stuff tbh!! <33

also ashdkldldkj yes I love this idea, you just know Hangman would shamelessly flirting and gawking at you and Rooster’s like ‘come on man’ getting a lil defensive and protective over you, like I feel like they’d end up close to squaring off against each other and you just have to get between them and tell them to chill

ahsldldkjs honestly I just need both of these men please and thank you

- hope

[mandos-sluts]

The Visit

This is Part One of a three-part series

The Visit Part Two

The Visit Part Three

The Mandolorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Smut, dubious consent, fingering, dirty talk, mentions of sex work

Summary: You are Luke Skywalker’s Padawan, training directly under him at his Jedi Academy. Din Djarin is staying at the compound for a few days to visit Grogu.

A/N: Please message us or comment if you want to be on our tag list!! Also we love feedback <3

“What does he look like?”

“He’s a Mandalorian. Big silver shiny armor. Can’t miss him.”

*************************************

Boy was he right. You spot Din as soon as you step into the cantina. He’s standing at the bar, leaning over it slightly. His visor catches your eye from across the room, and he stares at you for a while, looking you up and down, before turning his head back to the bar. He’s never seen someone so beautiful in this parsec before.

Your Master, Luke Skywalker, told you to meet Din at the cantina and escort him to the Jedi Academy. Luke had similarly informed Din that he was sending his Padawan to rendezvous.

You know all about Din Djarin. You know his whole deal with Grogu and the Darksaber, and his run-ins with the Empire and the Guild. The story of his miraculous rescue of Grogu made its way around the school after Luke brought the child back to the Academy.

The cantina that you’re at is located in the town that lies right outside the Jedi Academy compound. It’s a place that many students go to blow off steam and hang out.

You find yourself surprisingly nervous as you walk up to the tall intimating Mandalorian. “Excuse me.” You say.

“Not interested.” He says shortly without even looking at you.

”What?” You asked, confused.

“I said I’m not interested.”

“Not interested in what?”

”Your services.”

”My services?” You don’t understand. Is he wanting to travel to the grounds by himself? That’s not an option....he wouldn’t be permitted on the estate without an escort. Didn’t Luke tell him of this arrangement?

Din exhales, clearly annoyed, and finally turns to look at you. “Do I need to spell it out for you? I’m not looking for a whore.”

You stand there, completely dumbfounded, your mouth slightly open from shock. A whore? What the fuck?!!

In his defense, you are wearing a rather skimpy-looking outfit. You have on what is essentially a tennis skirt and a bandeau; it’s the hot season on the planet. Even so, this guy is an asshole.

You take a breath and put a fake smile on your face. “My apologies….Din Djarin.” You say in a suggestive manner. Turning around to leave, Din whips around and grabs your upper arm tightly, yanking you closer to him.

“How do you know that name?” Din loudly whispers in a demanding, low voice.

You’re not stupid, you know that his name is known only by a few. “My industry has very skilled people.” You respond, hoping he will get the hint that you are in fact not a sex worker, but actually the person he’s supposed be meeting.

”Are you telling me your brothel somehow got a hold of my name?” Din is pretty pissed. Is this what he gets from doing dealings with Jedi? His name gets leaked to brothels?

You let out a sigh as your eyes roll. You snatch your arm out of his grasp and move swiftly out the door into the street. What a jerk. This guy can find his own way to the compound.

Din tries to follow you, needing to know how a random whore got his name, but the streets are pretty crowded.

”Oh, Mr. Djarin!” Din hears someone say. He looks over his shoulder and sees Luke Skywalker approaching him.

“H-hi, Master Skywalker.” Din says, deciding to give up on his pursuit of you, after all, that’s not the reason he’s here.

“I’m surprised to see you here, did my Padawan not pick you up?” Luke asks.

“No. He never showed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that. Let me take you to the Jedi Temple.”

************************************* You hear your Master’s voice and footsteps nearing the empty lounge you’re sitting in. It’s a pretty big, dark lit room. There’s a conference table on one end, and an arrangement of couches and chairs spread across the place. It’s always empty, and you often use the area to meditate or exercise or just hang out. You pretend to look busy, eager for what’s about to occur.

“It is strange that my Padawan did not show up to greet you.” You hear Luke say behind the wall. He pokes his head around the door. “Ah, here she is.” He says walking into the lounge.

She? Din walks a few feet behind Luke. He turns the corner and walks through the door, freezing in his footsteps as soon as he lays eyes on you. There you are, the woman who approached him at the cantina….Luke’s Padawan.

You stare into his visor with a smug half smile on your face and slowly rise from your seat. You’re reveling in how taken aback he clearly is.

“Y/n, this is Din Djarin. I thought we discussed that you’d meet him at the cantina and escort him to the Academy? He says you didn’t show.” Luke says innocently as he stands between you and Din.

“Oh. I did go to the cantina. I guess I missed you.” You say slowly with your eyes locked on his helmet. “My apologies, Din Djarin.”

Din clears his throat. “Um n-no worries at all.” He chokes out. Shit! Din can’t believe he called you a whore. How did he not see the laser sword on your hip?

“Alright, well I’m gonna get to my meeting. Y/n, show Din around, alright?” Luke says.

“Of course Master.” You say with a slight bow of your head. You plant your gaze back on Din’s helmet as it rotates to watch Luke exit.

He slowly turns his look back to you, staring at him confidently with your hands on your hips.

“I’m sorry.” He says flatly through his modulator.

“For being such an asshole?” You say tilting your head.

“Yes. And assuming you were a prostitute.”

“There’s nothing wrong with sex workers. I’m not offended that you mistook me for one.” You say. But….why does it kind of turn you on that he thought you were a whore? Ugh and why does it turn you on that he is such a jerk??

There’s an awkward pause as you both stand there examining each other.

“So, you’re also a…Pawa-don?” Din asks, trying to fill the quiet. He has never been uncomfortable with silence before, in fact, he more often than not preferred it. But right now for some reason he feels different.

“Padawan.” You correct him. “And yes.”

“So are you doing the same training as the kid?” He further probes.

“Kind of. Grogu is more in the elementary stages of training. His focus is mainly on developing and fine-tuning his sensation with the Force. Most of my training nowadays centers around my lightsaber mastery and combat.” You inform him.

“Hm. Wonder when you’ll be good enough to battle me.” Din says casually as he takes a breath.

“What?” You ask.

“I said I wonder when you’ll be good enough in combat to put up a fight against me.”

Is he serious? Is he trying to provoke you? Even after the predicament he just found himself in with you? “Ha….um….I was good enough to fight you years ago.” You declare

Din looks at you for a moment. “I’m a Mandalorian.” He says simply.

“.....”

“The Mandalorian who wields the Darksaber. So you’re either overestimating your own ability or underestimating mine.”

You take a deep breath and take a step closer to him. “I know most people think that Mandalorians are the greatest warriors in the galaxy, but that’s because they don’t know of the Jedi Order. My connection with the force gives me strength that you will never know, that you will never be able to comprehend.”

Din takes a step closer to you. “That may be, but I have decades of combat experience that is simply unmatched by you, not to mention the most imperishable armour in the galaxy.”

“So what I’m hearing is that you would like to duel.” You say as you remove your saber from its holster and activate its blade. It’s a light lavender color, thin and sleek.

“That’s cute.” Din says. “Just a reminder, little girl. You were given that light saber. I won mine in battle.” He proclaims as he detaches his saber from his belt. *see gif*

“I made it. But fair point. Now enough talk, Mandalorian, are you ready to duel or what?” You say as you get into a battle stance.

Din holds his hand out. “If, by some miracle, you do happen to overpower me, don’t touch the saber. Bo-Katan is already mad enough that I have it, I can’t imagine what she’d do if a non-Mandalorian gets their hands on it again.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m well aware of the bizarre way that the ruler of Mandalore is chosen.”

“Alright then, princess, I won’t hold back.”

You feel heat rush through your core at those words. Princess. He won’t hold back. Uggh... focus! This guy has been demeaning you since the moment you met him, show him how powerful you are!

*************************************

You and Din battle for a good seven minutes, the two of you are pretty evenly matched, neither one of you gains the upper hand for very long. Just as you’re feeling your strength falter, you’re able to knock his saber out of his hands, and you push him onto the ground. Din tries to get up and reach for his saber but you plant yourself on top of him, straddling him. He looks up at you in defeat.

He takes a deep breath as you stare down at him. That’s when you notice the tent in his pants. You’re sitting on his legs so that his bulge is right above your crotch.

Adrenaline is pumping through your veins from your victory and a smile stretches across your face. “I have another quality that puts me at an advantage that I forgot to mention: your attraction to me and your primal desire to fuck me.” You say as you slowly place your hand on top of his clothed erection. You lean down and bring your face close to his helmet. “I bet your face is just bright red underneath this helmet of yours. Not only did you lose the battle, but your urges got the best of you.” You say in a condescending tone.

Din stares up at you, his chest moving up and down as he breathes.

“That’s where you and I differ.” You say. “A real warrior has self-control and self-restraint.”

Din moves his hands to your thighs and runs them up to your hips. “Who said I was trying to restrain myself?” He says in a raspy voice.

You’re a little caught off guard. You were teasing him, and this was not the reaction you were expecting. You thought he’d be embarrassed, you thought he’d want to get out of this situation as soon as possible.

“Face it.” You say after a pause. “You can’t repress your arousal, and your lack of self-control is a disadvantage to you.”

Din’s hands are still on your hips, and he pulls you up his body ever so slightly. “So since you have such great self-control, your panties wouldn’t happen to be wet right now, would they?” He inquires in a low, sultry voice.

You’re taken aback at his shameless words. “O-of course not.” You stutter as your confidence recedes.

“Let me see.” He demands flatly.

“What?” Did you hear him right? Your heart beat is pounding, you can’t tell if he’s joking around with you or not like you were doing with him.

“I said let me see.” Din says moving his gloved hands to the bottom of your skirt. “C’mon, pull this short little skirt up just a tad more and show me that your panties are dry.”

“N-no I–”

“Fine.” Din cuts you off. “I’ll do it myself.” He says as he removes one of his gloves. He then moves his bare hand under your skirt up to your pussy, easily pushing the thin panties you're wearing aside and planting two fingers inside your sopping wet folds.

You jerk at the contact of his soft skin on your sensitive pussy. “Din!” You exclaim. You grab his hand, but don’t move it.

Din chuckles. “Looks like you don’t have as much self-discipline as you claim.” He brings his other hand and cups your cheek. “Awwww, your face is just bright red right now.” Din mocks.

“W-whatever, you still lost.” You say out as you’re overcome with humiliation.

“Mmmmm. Congratulations.” Din says lazily as he removes his hand from your cunt and grabs your hips once again. “So, y/n. You showed me how Jedi fight. Let me show you how Mandalorians fuck.” He says as he pulls your hips and grinds you against his bulge.

Your panties are still pulled aside and the friction of his clothed erection against your clit makes you whimper.

“You– you wanna fuck me?” You ask hesitantly.

“Ha. Of course I wanna fuck you. Look at you.” He says as he lifts you off of him to stand up. Standing tall, he towers over you and brings his non-gloved hand to your chin, pulling it up gently to meet his gaze.

The unexpected and prompt shift in the power dynamic has you all turned around. Just moments ago, your confidence was through the roof. You were giddy claiming your victory against him, making fun of him for getting a boner during a duel. But the tone between the two of you has completely changed. He has you weak and timid, he’s looking down at your wide doe eyes as if you’re his prey.

“Come on, little Padawan. Practicing self-control is great, but let me show you what it’s like to lose all control over yourself.” Mando says as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. “Cuz I would just love to tie you up and have my way with you.” He mutters. Dins hands slide down to your butt as he gropes your flesh, pulling you flat against him. “Let down your guard for just a moment and let me show you how rewarding it can be.” Din slips his bare hand back under your skirt to find your cunt even wetter than before. You let out a whimper and bat your eyes at him.

He starts slowly circling your clit, and moves his other hand up to caress your cheek softly. “Come on.” He whispers in your ear. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

High-pitched breaths are escaping your lips as he gently runs his thumb up and down your cheek bone.

“Can– can you not–” you breathe, sliding your hands up his chest.

“What. What is it?”

You pause for a moment. “Can you not be so gentle with me?” You say with slight embarrassment.

Din scoffs, “Oh baby girl, you’re gonna regret saying that.” He says as he grabs a fist full of your hair and roughly pulls your head back, exposing your delicate neck to him.

This harsh action sends shocks to your pussy. “Didn’t you say something about tying me up?” You purr with a slight smile, looking up into his visor.

“So I was right about you being a filthy fuckin whore.” Din spits as he shoves a finger inside of you, his thumb rubbing against your clit.

“Y-yeah, but only for you.” You whine as your eyes fall closed and high-pitched moans begin escaping your lips.

“Ohh that’s right baby.” Din praises. He’s so turned on by the way you’re speaking and responding to his touch, and he loves the impact he has on you. How you so quickly went from a confident fighter when he lost to you, to a shy little girl when he started teasing you, to a dirty slut once he got his hands in your panties.

He starts pumping his finger faster and you can hear the lewd noises your obscenely wet pussy is making. Your mouth opens even more with your moans becoming more pronounced and your back arches. You’re standing pressed flat up against him, he’s basically holding you up on your toes with one arm as his other hand drives into your cunt.

You can feel your orgasm just beginning to climb when you suddenly hear a beep on your watch’s intercom. It jolts you back to reality.

“Y/n, are you at the lounge? I’m heading back there now.” Your Master says through the intercom.

“Shit.” You say as you push Din’s chest, pulling yourself off of him. “I should have shown you to your accommodation by now.” You say as you frantically start looking around your feet for your saber. By the time you grab it and look up for Din, he has already made his way out the back exit.

You attach your saber to your hip as you try to steady your breathing, disoriented from the abrupt conclusion of whatever it was you were doing with Din. You hear Luke’s footsteps approaching as you quickly try to put your panties back in place, growling at how soaked they are. You’re praying that your Master doesn’t notice the wetness that has been smudged on your inner thighs.

*************************************

You cannot believe what you did with Din. No one has ever done anything like that to you before. You get hit on all the time— you’re gorgeous— but you are almost never interested enough to give them the time of day. But Din? He had his fingers in your pussy after knowing you for ten minutes. How did he do that!?

It’s the early evening. You lie in your bed visualizing the events over and over again, heat pooling in your core as you replay the dirty things he said to you.

While it fuels your arousal, you also feel uneasy about the interaction. He left so quickly, and he left without saying a word to you, almost like nothing had happened. You hope that Din doesn’t think less of you, that he doesn’t think you’re some hussy who is easily persuaded into letting guys she just met finger fuck her.

You are pulled away from your anxious thoughts when you hear your intercom going off. It’s your friends talking about what they’re doing tonight. You don’t really care to pay attention, but you sit straight up in your bed when you hear something about that “Mandalorian who’s visiting the Academy,” and how he’s “at the cantina in town.”

You jump out of bed and without even thinking, you grab a sweater and head toward the parlor.

Your heart is beating on the chilly walk there. You hope he’s surprised to see you, you hope he’s excited to see you. You’re gonna act casual, yeah, like you didn’t even know he was there. No big deal! You’re just going to the cantina to hang with your friends. And then you see eachother, and bing bang boom, you guys are back in your room fucking while he calls you his little slut. Yes. This is gonna go great.

It’s a Friday night and the cantina is bustling. People are dancing, drinking, and gambling. It’s so loud that you can barely hear yourself think. As you make your way through the rowdy crowd, you spot Din’s helmet over the hordes of people. He is sitting in a somewhat secluded booth in the corner of the restaurant.

You proceed a few steps forward, lightly pushing people to get through the crowd, and then, your heart drops. He’s not sitting alone. There’s a girl, a woman, a sex worker, wrapped in his arm.

You stand there for a moment as everything goes quiet, you stare at Din and the beautiful woman in a tight short dress sitting beside him. She’s talking to him, saying things into the side of his helmet as he sits there looking forward with his arm casually draped around her, man spreading and all.

Din’s head turns and that’s when he notices you, standing there among the crowd of people in that same short high waisted skirt and a cropped sweater of the same color.

You feel something fall deep in your chest as you realize that he sees you. You blink a few times as the rest of your senses come back, humiliation and embarrassment overcoming you as you quickly turn around and stumble out of the bar.

You make your way into the dark street and take a few deep breaths before running back to the Academy. You're fighting off tears as you feel the cold air pinching every bit of your exposed skin.

You can’t believe that you let yourself become smitten by someone who was such an asshole. He mistook you for a whore, he insulted your combat skills, he pressed you to let him fuck you! You should have expected this.

A tear rolls down your cheek. Why did you think he liked you? He didn’t. He didn’t like you. And he didn’t want to fuck you, he just wanted to fuck someone, and you were the closest one to him. You let him use you. He must do this kind of shit all the time with women, you were nothing special.

You get back to your room and bury yourself under your covers, wanting to escape so badly from this reality.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Visit Part Two

The Visit Part Three

*************************************

Masterlist

*************************************

Taglist:

@pinkninja200 @raspberrymama @stevie75 @tacticalsparkles @kenoobiwan @shark-s @theamuz @blackrose8425 @beskarboobs @beskarboobs @smutslutz @princess-djarinn @spideysimpossiblegirl @riot-rotten

[fromthedeskoftheraven]

Visions of sugarplums

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x female reader

Content: Pining, workplace romance, fake dating if you squint, oh no we’re snowed in, mention of food, kissing, making out, mostly-non-explicit sex (under-18s, jog on), so many sweet pet names you’ll get cavities, romantic Jack because apparently I'm a sucker for that

Word count: ~4800 (yeah. Jack is a demanding muse)

Prompt: “Hoping one day you’ll make a dream last” (Let Her Go, Passenger), for @yespolkadotkitty‘s follower celebration writing challenge 🎉

Note: I said canon Whiskey who? This cowboy drinks respect women juice.

Part two: Kentucky welcome Part three: Just say you will

Taglist (if you’d like to be tagged, un-tagged, or make a request for future fics, feel free to let me know): @writemessystarwars @keeper0fthestars @flightlessangelwings @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @songsformonkeys @beccaplaying

-----------------------------

A whirl of snow stings your cheek like a slap as you hurry through the grounds of the posh ski resort that sprawls across the valley, dotted with cozy cabins and million-dollar chalets.

Your sheer stockings, low-cut dress, and teetering heels are no match for snow bursts and the wind that cuts through you like a  knife. Inwardly cursing your alter ego and her penchant for skimpy fashions, you tug your thin coat more tightly around you.

This mission was supposed to be a piece of cake. A few days at a luxe resort, posing with your partner as an arms dealer and his girlfriend to get close to your target, and everything was going swimmingly...until your search of the target’s study during a cocktail party was interrupted by two of his security staff making their rounds ahead of schedule. The adrenaline rush of your narrow escape is still humming in your veins.

Beside you, long strides making quick work of the path, Jack Daniels has transformed himself from intelligence agent to wealthy gun runner with the world on a string. The cashmere overcoat that cost more than your first car is the perfect finishing touch to his sharp suit, and his dark good looks stand out even in the hazy moonlight.

Rounding the corner of a chalet, Jack slows his steps to a stroll. A strong arm pulls you flush against his side as he walks, letting an easy laugh float on the wind like you’ve said something witty. Before you have time to wonder what’s going on, another couple materializes in the pool of light from a lamp, squinting against the gusts that throw fresh powder into the air like confetti.

“Evening,” Jack says with a tip of his hat and a winning  smile, the very picture of a genial Southern gentleman. “This weather sure is pickin’ up, ain’t it?”

The couple mutter their agreement  and hurry on their way. Once they’re out of sight Jack’s hand slides to the small of your back, guiding you as you both quicken your strides again. Your teeth are chattering by the time the wind blows you onto the porch of your own cabin, and in a fumble of hands on the doorknob you step together into the blessed stillness of the spacious room.

A  cheerful whistle pierces the air and you turn to find Jack brushing snow off of his black Stetson and favoring you with a lopsided smirk. Even damp with melting snow he manages to be striking, all sultry eyes and dashing mustache and wayward strands of dark hair curling over his  forehead.

“Nothin’ like a little skirmish to get the blood pumping.” He carefully sets the hat on the fireplace mantel to dry. “I feel like...”

“...A tornado in a trailer park,” you finish with him, earning one of those wide, dimpled grins that always dazzles you a little in return.

“Just so,” he says.

“That’s another one in the ‘win’ column.” You try to suppress a shiver as you pull the flash drive that might as well be a smoking gun from the cleavage of your dress. “A few bumps in the road, but we got what we needed.”

Jack ignores the congratulations, stepping close to take your chilled hands between his large ones. His hands aren’t much warmer than yours, but the thrill that trickles down your spine has nothing to do with the cold.

The frown lines between his brows deepen. “Darlin’, you’re colder than a well-digger’s belt buckle. Go on and have yourself a hot shower while I get a fire started and check in with HQ.”

“I can wait, I’ll help you,” you offer.

He shakes his head, already moving toward the fireplace. “Don’t you worry, sugarplum, ol’ Jack’ll have this place snug in no time. You just get comfortable.”

Helpless against the lure of hot water and fuzzy socks, you rummage in your suitcase for a change of clothes. Still, you stop at the bathroom door to look back at Jack where he’s stacking logs with the same determination furrowing his brow as when he’s reviewing dossiers or cleaning his guns.

The two of you have been almost inseparable for the year that you’ve been working for the Statesman agency. Even your code name was assigned with your partnership in mind, a little inside joke Champ never gets tired of telling when he introduces the two best agents in the New York office: “...Because you can’t have a Manhattan without Whiskey and Vermouth!”

Jack comes on as strong as his namesake liquor, but you’ve seen the  steely nature under his flashy Southern charm, the practice behind the effortless shows of skill, the tender heart he hides with bravado.

And he has no idea you’ve fallen in love with him.

As though he can feel your gaze, Jack looks up, his stern expression relaxing. He gives you a wink and waves one hand to shoo you along before getting back to his task.

With a sheepish smile, you duck into the bathroom and turn on the shower before you can do something stupid.

Like asking him to join you.

***

"Mission report, Agent?”

Champ’s projection flickers into the armchair across from Jack, looking like some kind of Halloween effect with the flames dancing over the logs in the fireplace behind him.

“We’ve got all the intel we need.” Jack adjusts his glasses, stretching his legs out in front of him with a sigh. “Agents ready for pickup.”

“Glad to hear it. Where’s Vermouth?”

Jack glances toward the sound of running water. “She’s just showerin’ to warm up. We got caught in a snow flurry coming back to the cabin.”

“That so?” The ghost of a smile flits over Champ’s face. “I thought you’d want to be the one warmin’ her up.”

Jack’s not sure if he’s more annoyed by the teasing, or how quick he is to take the bait. “Champ, this ain’t a Fourth of July picnic. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m on a delicate mission with my partner.”

“Now, don’t get your feathers ruffled, son,” Champ says mildly, reaching for a highball glass. “You confided in me about your feelings, and I’m just givin’ you a little nudge of encouragement.”

“I did not confide in you.” Jack leans forward to jab a finger at the hazy image of his boss. “You tested Ginger’s new truth serum on me.”

Champ’s grin is distinctly unrepentant. “Well, you looked like a man who needed to get somethin’ off his chest. ‘Sides, I won twenty bucks from Tequila for being right.”

Jack only grunts, slumping on the couch again. “Your granny’s special mint julep recipe, my ass.”

“Jack, she’s a pretty girl. Smart as that whip of yours. You think you’ll be the only one to notice? Anybody can see Vermouth thinks the world of you, but one of these days she’ll be wearin’ another man’s ring if you don’t stop pussyfooting around and make good on all that flirtin’ you do.”

That idea settles in Jack’s stomach like a bad oyster.

Of course, Champ has a point.

You are pretty. No, scratch that...beautiful. You’re a hell of a good agent -- the quickest route to Jack’s bad side is to suggest otherwise -- but you’re so much more than that. Your sweetness and spirit are more than a man like him can hope to deserve, but damn if the way your eyes light up when you smile doesn’t thaw something long dormant in his chest.

If he’s been hell-bent on keeping things professional between you, his dreams are anything but. When he closes his eyes he sees you, soft and yearning and his. His to have and hold until he wakes up aching, with your phantom touch lingering on his skin.

He’s starting to forget why professionalism was so important to him in the first place.

“Champ, you got anything else related to this mission? Been a long day here.”

“Matter of fact, I do.” Thankfully, Champ has the grace to go along with the change of subject. “That storm’s kickin’ up too much snow to get a jet in there. You’ll have to hunker down and wait for a pickup in the morning.”

Well, if the universe wants to hand Jack another night in your company, who is he to argue?

“Copy that,” he says out loud. “We’ll await contact in the morning.”

Champ smiles. “Plenty of time for any long-overdue conversations you might want to have.”

“You’re startin’ to break up. Whiskey out.” Jack pulls off the glasses and tosses them unceremoniously onto the coffee table, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Sparing a glance at the darkening sky outside the window, he hauls himself off of the couch to put another log on the fire, trying not to think about how Champ just might be right.

***

When you emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, Jack is lounging on the couch in front of a crackling fire. He’s traded the designer clothes for jeans and a faded button-down shirt and managed to tame his tousled hair. You know he takes pride in his trademark hat and bespoke suit jackets, but there’s something about him when he’s dressed down and softer around the edges that tugs at your heart.

He looks up when you come into the room, cheek dimpling with a smile. “Well, don’t you look like a new woman? Thought you were fixin’ to turn into an icicle on me for a minute, there.”

“Here’s hoping our next assignment involves sandy beaches and umbrella drinks.” You hug your sweater around yourself. “What’s the word from Champ?”

“Looks like we’re here for the night on account of this storm.”

As if on cue, a gust of wind rattles the windows, making you jump.

“Come and have a seat by the fire, sweetheart.” Jack picks something up from the coffee table and waves it at you. “Got a protein bar and some water for you. I don’t know about you, but a handful of damn canapes ain’t going to see me through to morning.”

“You sure know how to wine and dine a girl, cowboy,” you tease, dropping onto the couch.

His laugh is as good-natured as ever. “When we get back home, I’ll cook you the best steak you’ve ever had.”

“The best steak since the last one you cooked for me?"

“Well, a man should always be improvin’ his technique to keep a woman happy.” His dark eyes twinkle with mischief, and you roll your eyes but can’t quite smother a laugh.

The protein bar tastes something like chocolate-flavored chalk but you’re hungry enough to make quick work of it, washing it down with gulps of water. Jack nudges your shoulder and you find him offering his flask with a wry smile.

“’Fraid it’s all I've got in the way of dessert.”

The whiskey inside burns its way down your throat and mellows to spread its warm glow through your chest. With a sigh, you hand back the flask, watching Jack’s throat ripple with the swig he takes before reattaching it to his belt.

The liquor’s fire contrasts with the chill of the day in your bones, setting off a shiver that shudders through your shoulders and arms.

“Honey, you still cold?” Jack’s voice is rough-edged with weariness and whiskey.

“Well, I like a nice walk in the snow as much as the next girl, but I was half naked in that ridiculous outfit,” you say dryly.

One corner of his mouth quirks upward. There’s something unreadable in those fathomless eyes as he watches you for a moment before opening one arm, arching a brow in invitation.

Some tiny, winged creature takes up residence in your chest where your heart should be, and you immediately scold yourself. Jack’s your partner and your friend. Of course he has the decency not to want to see you miserable after a long, cold day.

So you tell yourself, even as you go to him, nestling into his side and letting his arm come around you to hold you close. His hand is relaxed on your shoulder, his thumb trailing back and forth in a gentle rhythm.

“Better?” he murmurs.

You feel like home, you think.

“Better.”

With Jack’s heartbeat steadfast and comforting under your palm, the last of your reserve dissolves. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and melt into his warmth, breathe in his scent, musky and tinged with leather and sandalwood.

Quiet descends on the room, fleece-soft and a little sleepy, as you stare into the fire and let your mind wander. The hypnotic trace of Jack’s thumb over your shoulder is the only indication that he’s still awake.

You sneak a look at him. His eyes glitter black in the gathering dark and his profile is regal, carved into the stern dips and hollows of a Roman sculpture by the play of light and shadow from the fire.

He’s beautiful. You wonder if anyone’s ever told him.

“Jack?”

He hums in answer, almost the purr of a contented cat.

“Do you ever think about retiring?”

A soft snort of laughter rumbles against you. “You callin’ me old?”

“We both know I’d punch anyone who did,” you scold, giving his chest a playful swat. “I just mean...do you ever imagine doing something else? Something more peaceful?”

“Well, I’ve got a patch of land in Kentucky with a farmhouse. One day I suppose I’ll give up the apartment in the city and trade the Silver Pony in for a ridin’ mower.”

You frown. It’s a jarring reminder that after all this time, Jack still has his secrets. “You do?”

He nods. “It’s been in my family for generations, my granddaddy left it to me. Always thought I’d raise a family there. Houseful of kids, dogs, the whole nine yards,” he says ruefully.

He doesn’t have to tell you why he never did.

The tragic loss of Jack’s wife and unborn son is no secret in the agency, and you might know better than anyone about the hole they left in his life. It’s always broken your heart for him, but the idea of this family home that sits empty but for his ghosts makes it suddenly, achingly easy to imagine Jack building a cradle in the barn and reading bedtime stories and teaching little ones to ride their first horses.

“Maybe it’s not too late,” you offer. “You never know.”

He squeezes your shoulder for an instant, a silent recognition of your kindness, before going on with a breezy sigh. “What about you? You fixin’ to go plant yourself by a pool somewhere with a fancy drink in one hand and a book in the other?”

“What, and not get to play fake criminals at cocktail parties with you?” you scoff. “Not a chance.”

His smile is sharp and sweet as molasses. “Well, I'm always happy to escort the most beautiful woman in the room.”

There’s something so plain and sincere about the sentiment that you’re taken aback.

Jack throws around compliments like other people talk about the weather. But you know when he’s just greasing the wheels of conversation, filling the space between words...and this isn’t it.

Ignoring the rush of heat into your cheeks, you default to the safety of humor. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Agent Whiskey.”

The smirk, the laugh, the sly innuendo you’re expecting don’t come. He shifts to look at you, so close and so handsome it hurts, and the naked admiration in his eyes makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Ain’t flattery, sugarplum.” His thumb travels fleetingly to the bare skin of your neck above the collar of your sweater. “You’re as pretty as a Kentucky sunrise and twice as bright, and that’s the truth.”

“Jack, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me...that anyone’s ever said to me,” you blurt out, and mean it.

His dimple deepens, and a dash of his usual devilish charm flashes across his face. “Well, if we’re bein’ honest with each other, I must confess to thinkin’ lots of complimentary things about you.”

You can barely hear him over the hammering of your heart.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls. The flicker of his glance to your lips is so quick, you could almost miss it.

But you don’t.

Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s the wind wailing in the eaves, maybe it’s the thrill of almost being caught by the bad guys, but something prods you on, dares you to play with fire. Your hand shifts almost imperceptibly on his chest, letting the tip of one finger find the warm, tanned skin at the open neck of his shirt.

“And what are you thinking right now?”

Something hot and swaggering flares in his eyes and you know, you know he’s picked up your gauntlet.

“Well, sweetheart...” His hand moves from your shoulder, trailing lazily to the nape of your neck. He tilts his head to watch goosebumps erupt in the wake of his touch before turning that smoldering gaze on your face again. “Right now I’m wonderin’ what you’d say if I were to kiss that pretty mouth.”

“I’d probably ask what took you so long.”

You barely finish the sentence before his hands cradle your face and his lips are on yours, stealing your breath with their plush softness.

Nothing in your experience of lukewarm flirtations and flaky boyfriends has prepared you for Jack’s affections. He’s a force of nature, possessive and generous by turns, and his approving hum when you open for him and the hot slide of his tongue against yours have you clinging to him like you’ll drown if you let go.

It’s only when you’re nearly dizzy that you break away for air. “Jack,” you whisper, sinking a novel of emotions into one syllable.

His lips brush your forehead. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. My beautiful girl.”

“I’ve always been your girl, Jack.” You rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes against the glaring, shimmering audacity of the words. “I love you.”

The exhale that fans over your cheek is your name. Your real name, the one thing he almost never calls you. His hand is gentle, tilting your chin up. “Look at me.”

You gather the nerve to lift your eyes to his, only to find them soft. Happy.

“Honey, I love you.” His dimple makes an appearance with an apologetic smile. “Hell, I was smitten from the first handshake. But you were a new agent, and things were workin’ out so well, I never wanted to upset the applecart by tellin’ you so.”

Your laugh is breathless with relief. “Well, then,” you say, toying with the button that stands between you and his bare chest. “I guess we’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” With the agility of his training, he hooks one hand around the back of your knee and the other around your waist and moves you to straddle his lap. His big hands splay across your back to pull you snugly against him as he traces the line of your jaw with his nose. “Now where were we, darlin’?”

Your head is spinning with the nuzzling of his nose over your pulse point and the broad warmth of his chest pressed to yours and the growing hardness under the tight denim of his jeans.

“You were--” You break off in a gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck. “You were kissing me better than anyone else ever has.”

“Baby, I’m gonna make you forget about ever kissin’ anybody else.”

You don’t bother telling him you’re way ahead of him.

Jack’s hair is soft and thick when you weave your fingers into it like you’ve always wanted to, stroking where it hints at curling at the nape. When your hand slips under his collar to shape the strong column of  his neck, caress the vulnerable skin under his jaw where his pulse is thundering in time with yours, the low growl in his throat sends heat spiraling straight to your core.

He surges up to capture your mouth again, a hot, demanding crush of lips and tongues that makes you move restlessly against him, wanting more. He doesn’t miss it, and when he slides one hand to your lower back to press you even closer on his muscled thighs every nerve in your body lights up.

“I want you, Jack,” you plead between kisses. “Need you.”

His hands slide underneath your sweater and come to rest, warm and calloused, on the soft skin over your ribs. When you least expect it, he gentles the kiss into something almost chaste and when he pulls away, just enough to look into your face, his eyes have gone solemn.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart. I will.”

You could burst with love for this man.

“I’ll strangle you with your own lasso if you do.”

Jack barks out a surprised laugh, lighting up with a grin before he goes in for another kiss. “Gonna take care of you, sweet girl.” His voice is silky against your lips. “Gonna give you everything you need.”

His hands move, bringing your sweater with them to whisk it over your head, and you feel the weight of his appreciative gaze roving over your bare skin and sheer bra.

“I can’t remember when I’ve seen anything so gorgeous.” His hands are back at your sides, fingertips teasing at the edges of the purple lace that leaves little to the imagination. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re blown dark and deep with desire. “And I reckon you’d look even prettier spread out for me on that big bed.”

That’s all it takes to have you scrambling to your feet, shimmying out of your leggings and socks as you cover the handful of steps to the luxurious bed that faces the fireplace. You reach for the clasp of your bra, but a click of Jack’s tongue halts your movement.

“Slow down, there, honey.” There’s a hint of command bleeding into his voice that you know well from missions, the sound of him giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed that always kindles a flame in you. “Let your man unwrap his gift.”

A blush warms your cheeks and trickles down your neck as you drop your hands to your sides and wait for him beside the bed, anticipation tingling in your limbs.

Jack has beautiful hands, as graceful as they are strong, but they’ve never been so mesmerizing as they are now, making quick work of his shirt’s buttons and carelessly shedding it to the floor.

You’ve seen him shirtless before -- it’s hardly avoidable when you spend most of your lives together -- but never like this. Never when you’re openly staring at his broad shoulders and lean waist and the smooth planes of his chest, all bronzed in the glow of firelight. And certainly never when he’s calling himself your man and looking at you like he’s starving and you’re his favorite meal.

His arms slide around your waist and the heated press of his skin against yours tears a soft whimper from your throat. He catches it with his mouth, blends it with his own hum of satisfaction in a searing kiss.

He keeps his lips on yours even as he eases you back onto the bed, laying you down on the fluffy comforter with his hand cradling the back of your head. He stands again for as long as it takes to shuck off his jeans and kick them away before he’s crawling over you, settling his warm weight over your body and into your welcoming arms. You’re so swept up in the kiss that reunites you that you barely notice the skillful flick of his fingers that frees you from your bra...until he bends his hot mouth to your breasts and lightning spikes through your veins.

“So perfect,” he praises against your tender skin. “So good for me.”

He’s perfect. Even more than you’ve imagined on the lonely nights when you give yourself over to fantasies just like this, of Jack pressing you into a mattress and murmuring sweet sentiments in that liquor-and-honey voice while his clever hands find you more than ready for him.

A whine escapes you when the cool air of the room suddenly replaces the heat of his body, leaving you bereft.

“Don’t you worry, honey.” Jack’s voice drops an octave, even as a smirk coaxes his dimple out of hiding. “I said I’d take care of you.”

Warm hands slide your panties down your legs and off, and he strips off his own boxers to come back to you in all his naked glory.

His strong biceps cage you in and his mouth finds yours again as your hands roam greedily over golden skin and taut muscles and the hot, hard length between you.

“Jack, you’re so beautiful,” you sigh, over his panting breaths into your neck. “I’ve wanted this. Wanted you, for so long.”

He raises his head to look at you, lush lips parted and eyes blazing. “Honey, you’ve got me. For as long as you’ll have me.”

He kisses you like he’s sealing a promise.

And then he’s inside you, like he belongs there. Maybe he always has.

Every surge of his body, every stroke of his hands, every gritted curse and word of praise pressed to your skin makes stars burst behind your eyelids, and when you’re clutching blindly at his back and keening his name like an incantation, his voice is a desperate rasp in your ear.

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.”

You do. And he does.

And when he grips bruises into your thigh and shudders in your arms and buries a broken declaration of love in your hair, you know beyond a doubt there will never be anyone else.

***

If there’s a heaven, Jack’s pretty sure he's died and gone there to be lying in a cloud of down comforters with you tucked close to his side, head pillowed on his shoulder and legs tangled with his own. The bare skin of your back is petal-soft under his stroking fingers as he watches the firelight dance on the ceiling.

“I love you, Jack,” you murmur, and his heart swells too big for the prison bars of his ribs.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He laces his fingers with yours on his chest, brings them to his lips. “You know, I dreamed about this,” he confesses.

You raise your head, resting your chin on his chest to look at him. “You did?”

“I did. Felt a little guilty about it, if I’m bein’ honest, but I don’t guess I could help it.”

“I won’t hold it against you.” Your eyes sparkle at him in the dim light. “Did I live up to your dreams?”

He smiles, sweeping a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Oh, honey, they couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.”

You look pleased with that answer, nuzzling a kiss into his neck before settling your head on his shoulder again.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” he muses. “Have you in my own bed.”

He feels you smile against his skin. “As many nights as you want, cowboy.”

“Careful, there. I might take you at your word, you’ll go home and find movers at your place.”

You sigh out a laugh that’s music to his ears and draw idle shapes on his skin with your fingertips in the quiet.

“Jack,” you say again, soft as a peach blossom.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Will you take me to that farmhouse sometime?”

His greedy heart can already see you there, breathing life into the place.

You, perched on the kitchen counter, feet swinging in time with your chatter while he cooks for you. Sitting with him on the porch swing to watch the sunset splash its tapestry of pink and orange and lavender across the sky. Soft and sweet underneath him in the big cherry wood bed, greeting the pale glow of morning with sleepy eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

A backyard wedding.

Tiny, mewling cries in the night and your silhouette framed with moonlight from the picture window while you nurse a baby who has Jack’s eyes back to sleep.

The peace that washes over him is too good to be true, too hopeful for his battered heart, too honest for his life of compromises.

He closes his eyes, drinks it in anyway. Claims it. Squeezes you a little closer in his arms.

This is the dream that lasts.

“That’s a promise, sugarplum.”

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Worthy (pt4)

Author’s note: I am crappy at tagging people. Inbox me if you want to be added, and just keep poking me if I keep forgetting to add you. <3  @rampant-salamander @bolontiku​

I had to wonder if the powers from Thor’s hammer included allowing me to disappear into the floor so I would not have to face the source of my embarrassment again. I wanted to slam the bathroom door and lock it and hide until Thor left. But I somehow guessed his sense of chivalry would be too great to just leave me to die of embarrassment and he would do something stupid, like breaking down the door, to ensure I was okay, instead of just understanding I needed to lick my wounds in private. Particularly when he thought humans were prudish about nudity. Did they walk around in Thor-land buck naked all the time? I mean, if they all looked like Thor that might not be a bad thing. I was far too conscious of my lumps and cellulite and stretch marks to be okay with joining them in the nude party though. 

I dropped the towel and looked at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror, trying to guess what he must have thought when he hauled me off the floor. I was pale. I’d been far too busy finishing my thesis to be out in the sun in the spring, and it was obvious by the way my arms were the same fish belly white as my stomach. The time spent in the lab showed on my tummy and hips and thighs, all of which were broader than they’d ever been before. My roommate had said curvier was a nicer word, but I knew exactly how many slices of pizza had contributed to each new curve, and the fact that none of that skin had seen the sun in months made me feel bigger. I couldn’t lie and say I was completely unsatisfied with my body. I was just bigger than I’d been, and more uncomfortable in my skin. I’d promised myself I’d find some sort of activity to balance with my work life, for no other reason than for my health. I just didn’t buy into hating myself because I didn’t belong on the pages of a magazine. My body housed my brain, and my brain was pretty awesome. The rest was just packaging and resources for keeping my brain safe and at optimal function. But that was what I thought. I cast a critical eye on myself trying to figure out what Thor would have thought seeing me bare-assed on the floor. Given his impatience with my modesty, he probably hadn’t thought much at all.

I pulled my pyjamas on, and had to laugh at myself. The spaghetti strapped tank-top and boxer shorts didn’t cover much more than my towel had. But I couldn’t cross the living room again to find something else if I ever wanted to get rid of the man-god sitting in my living room.

I steeled my courage and opened the bathroom door. He’d figured out how to turn on my television, and had stopped on what appeared to be a documentary about the Avengers Initiative. He laughed at the television and shook his head, then clicked it off when he realized I’d come into the room. 

“Do you want something to drink?” I offered.

“I rather think you do not wish for me to stay that long, Ella Carmichael.” He pushed himself off the couch and walked into the kitchen where I was refilling my wine glass.

“You know, you can just call me Ella. It’s weird to use someone’s first and last name,” I commented. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? I hate to drink alone.” I held the bottle up in offering. I could see him hesitate for a moment, probably contemplating the honour involved in drinking wine or something.

“If you insist,” he smirked. I poured him a glass and came around the kitchen island to hand it to him. When he took the glass from me, he narrowed his eyes and took my wrist into his hand. He turned it over, palm facing up and ran his thumb across it. I’m not ashamed to admit I got goosebumps; it was more intimate than I’d been touched in recent memory. 

“Have you always had that mark?” I realized he was running his thumb around my left hand in a pattern. I looked down, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“I can’t see any mark.” I pulled my hand away and held it under the bright light over the island. Nothing. Thor took my hand again and looked closer, and traced the design out again on my palm. He was seeing something that I was not. He dropped my hand and picked up the hammer from where he’d placed it on the floor by my front door. He put it carefully down on the granite countertop of the island, and pointed at a big fancy three pointed knot on the face of the hammer.

“This is called a triquetra. It is also on your hand. I would know how long it has been there,” he explained. I shrugged.

“Well, I can’t see anything at all. But that’s the hand I picked up myewlnor with. Maybe it left a mark?” I knew I was completely butchering the name of the hammer, but god knows I couldn’t remember how to say it.

“Mjolnir.” Of course he would correct me.

“Mee-owl-neer?” I tried again.

“Mjolnir.”

“M-yol-neer.” I was reasonably sure I had it right that time. He nodded, and took my right hand in his, flipping the palm up. He traced his thumb around in the same pattern.

“It’s on this hand as well. This is a mystery. I do not know you well, Ella, but Tony seems to think you quite intelligent. Intelligence is not all there is to worth. But it is perhaps somewhere to start,” He pondered. I bit my lip.

“I don’t know how you judge worthiness where you’re from, but I’m not anything special. I don’t run around rescuing kittens from trees, or saving maidens from dragons, or curing cancer. I can’t even donate blood. I have some weird antibody.” I protested. Thor’s mouth cocked to one side in a grin.

“I have never done those things myself, and yet I am worthy. I will speak to my father,” he determined. He finished his glass of wine.

“You appear well. Your colour has come back, and you no longer show the signs of shock. I bid you good rest, Ella Carmichael. Thank you for sharing your libation with me, and for indulging my concern,” he bowed his head a little, hefted the hammer and turned. I followed him to the door. He turned as he crossed the threshold and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I will bring news once I have more understanding of what has happened.”

XXX 

“So Thor saw me naked last night.” It was quite possibly the best first-line I’ve ever had. And I got to drop it on Angela as we walked through the build-a-Belgian-waffle line. She dropped her fork on the floor with a loud clatter.

“What? Naked? How?”

“Well, it all started when I had no clothes on,” I began.

“Seriously, Ella. What happened?” She demanded.

“Seriously. I was taking a bath and he knocked on the door. I figured it was you with the passcard, even though I’d said it could wait. So I wrapped my uber-skimpy-Stark-Industries-micro-towel around me, figuring I’d be opening the door a crack and accepting a passcard from you. He was at the door. And he just invited himself in, plain as you like. Said he was concerned about me,” I started. Angela shook her head, and as we walked through the waffle decorating station, I finished filling in all the details. 

Once we were seated at a table, she took one of my hands and looked at it.

“I don’t see it either,” she sighed. “Do you suppose he has weird powers that let him see through things? Maybe that’s why he didn’t care that you were naked. Maybe he sees all of us as naked all the time.”

“You’re confusing him with Superman,” I laughed. “He has x-ray vision.”

“Superman is a comic book character! Thor is real! Who knows what all his powers are.” She cut her waffle up and started in on it. I pushed my waffle around the plate a little and drank my coffee. I didn’t like waffles. At all. I ate the mountain of fruit I’d piled on top of it, but couldn’t bring myself to get into the waffle itself.

“Well, not making a big deal about naked women is one of them. He made it clear he thought my prudishness was weird.”

“He’s weird. Most men would be hard pressed to not scope you out, regardless of how cool they tried to appear,” she stated, and then made a gesture that looked a little like jazz-hands. “Oh-em-gee! Boobies! Play it cool, dude. Play it cool, and she won’t cover up and then?  More Boobies!” Her fake-guy voice was hilarious.

I snorted on my coffee. “I’m hardly in peak physical condition. He probably was just horrified by the wiggly bits and stretch marks.”

“I don’t think they see past the boobies, to be completely honest,” she laughed. I shook my head and finished my fruit. I’d effectively smushed up the waffle until it looked like I’d eaten some of it. 

“What is on the agenda for me today, boss?” I changed the topic and drank my coffee. Angela pulled out a tablet and flicked through it.

“More orientation stuff. We’re going to go to distribution, and learn how to requisition things for your project. And how to req for your apartment too. And how different the two forms are and how important it is to make sure you use the right form,” she started. “Here’s a hint. The importance of using the correct form is inversely proportional to how similar the forms are to one another. You won’t believe that will take most of the morning, but it will. Then you’re seeing Markus after lunch.”

“Can I order bigger towels from distribution? Because the towels in my apartment are ridiculously small.”

“I don’t think so. But you can also requisition outside items from your in-suite purchasing app. Or I can just take you to Macy’s after work,” she suggested. “Are you not going to eat the waffle?”

“Confession?” I made a face. She nodded. “I hate waffles. They’re like a pancake with a skin disease. Disgusting.”

“I take back every nice thing I said about you. Waffles are amazing. Those are flavour pouches.” The look on her face was enough to make me bite my lip to prevent the laughter from slipping free. She was gripping her table knife like she might actually stab me. It would be a sticky ignominious death by maple syrup.

“Flavour pustules, maybe. So gross. I’m more of a bacon and eggs girl,” I admitted. Angela shook her head, her eyes cast downward in disappointment. She finally cracked the tiniest grin.

“Damn good thing you’re funny. Because that might be a deal-breaker otherwise. Come on. Bus your table. Let’s get you off to distribution so you can learn about the pedantry of requisitions.” She winked and grabbed her tray, leading the way over to the kitchen cart before directing us back to the elevator.

Distribution might not have been mired down in red tape, bureaucracy and shenanigans if they’d had a single window. But they were located in a sub-level of the building, below the parkade, completely walled in. There was a single door in, and it was right beside the loading bay. The staff kind of looked like they were a lost race of mole people. They were pale, suspicious of visitors and seemed a little paranoid that the rest of the company was out to make their lives miserable on purpose. The main stock clerk all but hissed at us when we came in. 

Angela made quick work of running through the requisition forms. There was a single line that delineated personal requisitions from project reqs, and it was required for payroll deduction where appropriate. It was fair enough, but wouldn’t it have been simpler just to colour code the forms? I asked Angela as much and she clamped her hand over my mouth.

“Do you want to be barred from ordering things? Don’t rock the boat!” She hissed. “If you can control yourself, I want to show you heaven. This is the one thing that distribution does right.” She led me over to a table that had a pile of different catalogues on it. “This is the only part of Stark Industries that is still analogue because catalogues are so much easier than websites. And here’s where your colour coding idea comes into play. Blue catalogues are filled with workplace supplies, divided by shade of blue. The light blue cover is office supplies; the dark blue cover is electrical doodads, etc. You’ll learn them as you need to. The yellow covers are personal items. Light yellow is Stark Industries branded stuff. I do most of my Christmas shopping in the light yellow. My dad has a thing for polo shirts and golf balls. Goldenrod is household items that are covered by your living allowance. Stuff like bedding, kitchen utensils, towels. I think there’s a surround sound upgrade in there.” She handed me a pencil and flipped the Goldenrod covered catalogue open to bathroom stuff. The towel page was dog-eared. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who hated the mini-towels that came standard in the room. I filled in a requisition for towels and a plush bathrobe. 

Angela brought me back to the stock clerk’s desk and walked me through the process for submitting the order. It was complicated. I almost expected to need to know a secret handshake to complete the transaction.

“So that should all be delivered before the day is over.” She led me back out of the department. True to her word, the distribution department and requisition in-service had taken us almost to lunch. We stepped off the elevator on the floor for my research division. “I figured I’d show you your desk before we eat lunch.”

We rounded a corner into the lab area. The space was wide open, from window to window. There were workstations at the periphery of the room. I assumed the conspicuously empty one was mine, but Angela walked right past it to a desk that was covered in stuff. There was a pile of paperwork on one corner that at first glance I thought was probably the information relating to my proposals. The desk itself was one of the Stark Industries touch responsive computers that I’d been desperate to try since the first time I saw one. The monitor was carefully suspended from the ceiling, keeping the desk as clear as possible. On the far side of the desk was a small cactus with a little plastic welcome stick pressed into the dirt, and a box of office supplies.

Angela made quick work of logging me into the computer. The log in sequence unlocked the desk drawers, so I was able to clear my desktop with one sweep of my arm into the top drawer. Angela sucked in her breath in response to the action.

“I will organize myself later. For now, that desk needs to be clear, if I’m ever going to work at it,” I explained. She grabbed the cactus protectively and held it away from my reach. 

“Promise you won’t hurt the plant,” she demanded. 

“Sure,” I agreed. She put the plant back down and disappeared across the lab, quickly returning with what looked like a shelf. While I watched, she mounted it to the window behind my desk. How she did it was a mystery, it looked like it was just hanging there. Some sort of mysterious Stark Tech, I suppose. She took the cactus and placed it on the corner of the shelf, her shoulders square in defiance of my otherwise blasé organizational skills. As though she already knew that I wasn’t going to organize my desk drawers later. I looked over at the desk beside me and saw that all the way down the bank of windows, there were shelves mounted against the windows, holding the various personal treasures of the employees assigned to each desk. My shelf looked kind of boring with just the cactus on it.

“Okay, let’s get lunch. You’ve got your meeting with Markus in 45 minutes.” Angela steered me back out of the lab and over to the elevator.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Sixty-Six

Words: 5k

Warning(s): explicit language, violence, mentions of drug abuse

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"Are you okay?" I ask Duff as we stand in the elevator of the Playboy office in Chicago where many of their photoshoots are held.

I’m actually thanking God we’ve managed to get this far without paparazzi catching on...then again they’re pre-occupied probably surrounding the guys’ hotel. 

Duff slammed back a startling amount of Vodka Tonics on the plane over here, to combat his rancid anxiety, that I had no idea even existed until we were seated on the plane and he nearly passed out after turning sheet white and breathing abnormally fast. 

"Yeah." He says in almost a slur. "I'm great." 

The plan is to get him a hotel room in the city for tonight and give him money for his flight back tomorrow, so all he brought is his bass, and the way his knuckles are turning white from holding on to the case it’s in, I can tell something’s up.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask him.

“I’m fine.”

“If you’re upset over the flight over here--”

“--What if these people are creeps?” He cuts me short, and I realize he’s not still upset over the flight.

“What do you mean?”

“Tansy’s had shitty luck with slimy photographers before, right? She’s told us stories of them, like, hitting on her and making her uncomfortable.”

“Yeah?”

“What if one of these motherfuckers is like that?” He looks at me.

“Well, that’s why I made sure someone accompanied me...someone, i.e. you.” I nudge him.

“Yeah and if something happens and I kick ass, I’m gonna be in trouble, Nikki’s gonna find out we’re here, then he’s gonna--”

“--Do you need more alcohol or something?” I try not to sound too harsh, genuinely worried about his mental state at the moment.

He’s just freaking out about every fucking thing there is to freakout about.

“I just don’t want you to be in trouble, is all.” He mumbles, sighing, and I lick my lips.

“I’m not going to be in trouble, okay? It will be fine. Just take a deep breath, and relax.”

The elevator doors open to reveal a set, an array of soft lighting, a faux house setting, a hair and makeup station, and wardrobe (what bits and pieces of it I’ll actually have on).

I spot Danielle, in all her gorgeous yet professional glory, and she ushers us over to where she’s sitting, talking to the makeup artist.

“Hi, it’s good to see you again.” She tells me, just seeing me yesterday.

“You too.” I reply smiling. I see her eyes catch on Duff. “This is my friend, Duff.” I explain to her. “He’s here for moral support.” I add.

“Ah, Danielle Wythers.” She tells him.

“Duff McKagan.” He replies.

“Nikki couldn’t make it?” She asks me next.

“The thing is...he kind of doesn’t know about it.” I explain to her and she raises her brows. “It’s a surprise.” I lie, not telling her the real reason I didn’t tell him is actually because he wouldn’t necessarily like it.

“Well, he’ll love it.” She assures me.

“Oh, he sure will.” I reply with the same smile.

“Okay, not that you don’t look gorgeous as is, but we’re gonna spruce you up some. Starting out, we’re gonna have you in a little clothing, and then strip down as we go along.” She lays out the plan and I nod. “This is Lucille, she’s doing your hair and makeup, Maarin is your photographer, and when we finish the shoot, I will be interviewing you.” She adds.

“Got it.”

“Alright, I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She waves before walking to the photographer.

It wasn’t as bad as thought it would have been. There really wasn’t much to it: just look like you’ve got perpetual “fuck me” eyes, follow the suggestions thrown at you by the photographer, and don’t clam up when you hear:

“Alright, let’s lose the clothes.” Maarin says.

My eyes nervously dart to Duff, who I can tell is trying to keep himself at ease like I am.

I look at Danielle next, who’s off to the sidelines, and she gives me an encouraging nod.

I try not to shake as I take the skimpy top they gave me, off, seeing Duff avert his gaze as they have me lay down on my stomach for a few shots of my body against a faux fur rug.

After I’ve gotten everything they want me to get in that position, Maarin is glancing around before I see his eyes lock on Duff’s bass case that’s resting at the tall blondes feet.

“Hey, you.” He says to Duff, catching his attention and Duff looks at him. “What’s in that thing?”

“...A bass?” Duff replies, slightly confused.

“What does Nikki Sixx play?!” Maarin slightly raises his voice to get an answer from anyone who knows.

“Bass?” I tell him.

“Perfect. I want pictures of you with the bass.” He tells me, motioning to Duff to get it out of the case.

“What?” Me and Duff ask at the same time.

If I get pictures with Duff’s bass, Nikki will recognize it, and kill the both of us if it makes it into the final cut.

“Bass. Naked girl. Now.” He repeats, and Duff looks at me.

“It’s fine.” I assure him, lying, but not wanting to waste anymore time because these people have busy schedules.

“Fine.” He mumbles, getting his bass out, carefully handing it to me, trying not to look at my naked body.

Not only was I mortified, nearly, when he told me to put the bass between my legs--covering my netherregion whilst holding onto the neck, being sure to position my arms where the only thing people could see were the round of my  boobs--but when he told me to, and I quote, verbatim, “make love to the bass” (as if my bare pussy and tits weren’t already all over it) me and Duff both looked like we were going to jump out of the window.

Within two more hours, the shoot and the interview is over--our final shot is of me sitting against a black backdrop, not a stitch of clothing on, covering my chest with my arm, with my legs crossed to keep myself as modest as possible for the cover.

“So now what?” Duff asks me as we head to the exit of the building when we get to the lobby.

“Go to the hotel.” I say.

“...The hotel the guys are at?”

“Yeah.”

“But then--”

“--We can just say I didn’t want to fly alone.” I shrug.

He thinks for a moment, then sighs.

“How about, I catch a cab back to the airport and go back home.”

“Duff, why?” I ask, a little disappointed, stopping before we get to the door.

“I don’t want to start shit between you and him and it doesn’t make any sense to say you didn’t want to fly alone so you brought me with you.”

“I don’t want you getting back on another plane so soon if you--”

“--I’ll be fine, Viv.” He assures me and I furrow my brows a little.

“Duff.” I start.

“Vivian, it’s fine.” He tells me. “I’m being serious. Don’t fucking argue with me, it is okay.” He sternly, but friendly, promises.

“Okay.” I finally relent, nodding a little.

“Just call me tonight, alright?”

“Yeah.” I agree.

He gives me his best smile before I’m hugging him.

“Thank you.” I tell him. “And I’m sorry I molested your bass.”

We both laugh, remembering the odd predicament, and I pull away looking up at him.

“It’s an honor.” He sarcastically lets out, and I wrinkle my nose. “I love you, be careful getting to the hotel.”

“I will.” I hand him the wad of cash he’s going to need to get a ticket back to L.A. and he takes it.

“Thanks.” He accepts it. “See you later.”

“See you later.”

We give each other one last look before we leave, except I go left, and he goes right.

My theory about the hotel being wrapped up in media is 1000% correct as I arrive, the driver saving Fred a trip as he gets out to help me through the ten feet to the door.

"It's great, we're great." I tell a reporter that asks me "how are things with Nikki?"

"What business did you have in Los Angeles?" Another one asks as I approach the front doors of the hotel where Fred is waiting. 

"My dad's birthday." I lie, feeling relief the second Fred's large hand pushes lightly against my back, ushering me inside. 

"Your dad's birthday?" He asks, knowing that was bullshit and I roll my eyes, taking my sunglasses off when we get in the elevator. 

"It's like an act of congress to take a shit without someone asking me how it affects my marriage." I state and he laughs. 

"How're you feeling?" He asks me and I furrow my brows. "Your blood pressure."

"Oh, I think it's okay. I have an informative  sheet of paper to dictate what I eat and drink and what other medicine I can and can't take while on my antidepressant. The second I can get onto a different medication, I'm taking it." 

"Well, be glad you're alive. You dying would've really inconvenienced Doc McGhee." He tells me and I chuckle. 

"Yeah, that evil genius knows how to work the public like a vibrator with never ending battery life." I scoff and he looks at me. "What?"

The doors of the elevator open on our floor apparently.

"I've missed you." He admits.

"I'm glad you have. Bet everyone else has been thanking God I haven't been here to cry on their good time." I say as we walk down the hall. 

"Actually, I was gonna talk to you about that." He says and I raise my brows as he glances around to make sure the coast is clear. "Sixx hasn't been doing too good." 

"Oh, no, how horrible. Wasn't like he publicly humiliated his wife--or at least let another woman do so by announcing their entire relationship on national TV for everyone and their mom to see, or anything." I sarcastically let out. 

"Viv, I'm being serious, here." He tells me, reaching in his pocket for my room key, unlocking my door. 

"I know you are. And I'm saying if anyone has the right to be in hell right now, it's me. I don't want to hear about how hard he's taking it. He wouldn't have to take anything if he would've given a damn sooner, rather than waiting for his mistress to air out his bullshit in front of his wife and thousands of other people."

"Who says I give a damn now?" I hear Nikki's voice behind us and I stop in my tracks, seeing Fred with his eyes closed as if preparing for a time bomb to go off. 

I turn to face Nikki, who's inches infront of me, and he looks down at me with a clenched jaw, looking like he just rolled out of bed, only wearing his leather pants from last night. 

"Oh, if it isn't the marital fuck-up." I throw at him. 

"Nice to see you, too, wicked cunt-bitch of the west coast." He hisses. 

"Okay, if you two are gonna go back and forth, please do so where hotel guests who're trying to enjoy their stay, aren't at risk of witnessing it." Fred suggests, motioning into the hotel room.

"I'd rather castrate myself than be trapped in a room with her." Nikki argues. 

"Please do so, maybe it'll keep you from tripping and falling, landing you in other women I'm friends with and becoming engaged to them." I snap back. 

"Bitter much?"

"Go play in traffic."

"Don't threaten me with a good time." 

"Anything's a good time to you if it involves not being a half-way decent husband, at the least."

"Okay, like you're 'wife of the year' Miss 'run when shit gets messy'."

"Need I remind you 'shit got messy' because you had an entire girlfriend, got engaged, and then she proceeded to indulge me and everyone else in the world when it was broadcasted nationwide?"

"No, baby, I remember it like it was three fuckin' days ago judging by how long you just fucking up and ran for without giving me a chance to explain a damn thing." 

"Just making sure you didn't forget since I can only imagine how much smack you've been shooting yourself full of to drown out the self-hate--which is well deserved, by the way."

"Just like it's gonna be well deserved when I bend you over my lap and--"

"--Okay, get in here." Fred tugs me inside to avoid our fight getting physical.

He’s shutting the door before Nikki can say anything else, shutting him outside, as I set my bag down and go pee.

“Vivian, I’m not done talking to you.” Fred says from the room and I roll my eyes.

“I’m peeing, Fred, can we talk about my imploded marriage when I get done?”

“No, because we’re leaving for Chicago early tomorrow morning.” He leans against the bathroom door frame, covering his eyes to keep from seeing me on the toilet.

“Okay, then talk to me.” I tell him, getting done, wiping and flushing the toilet, standing at the sink to wash my hands.

“We know he’s on smack again, Viv.” he informs me.

“I could’ve told you that.” I reply, drying my hands.

“No, no, he’s on smack again but he’s trying to act like he isn’t.”

“Because he knows Doc will strangle him and he doesn’t wanna hear it.” I shrug, stepping past him.

“He was doing good until this Vanity mess got between you two.” He states.

“Nikki was shooting heroin again before the Vanity thing happened. He was on heroin the night of our anniversary.”

His eyes widen when I tell him this.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?!” He asks me and I raise my brows.

“I didn’t want him to get in trouble.” I admit honestly and he groans, rubbing his eyes.

“Vivian.” He complains.

“What, sorry, I thought he’d get a grip back on it...at least he told me he would.”

“Yes, because the past few days have obviously proven he can be trusted.” He argues. “He can’t even keep his vows, Viv, what the fuck made you think he’d get back on the wagon after falling off?”

“I didn’t know he wasn’t keeping his vows at the time, Fred, sorry.” I brush him off, pulling my hair back from my face with a ponytail holder.

“...Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll talk to Doc, we’ll figure something out before he starts spiraling.”

“I doubt he’s going to start spiraling, Fred. He tends to only let it get out of control when he’s bored.” I quickly remember him shooting up on stage during the last tour, and ODing in London… “We’ll figure something out, alright? Don’t go panicking to Doc and if you do tell Doc, don’t make it obvious to Nikki that you know what’s up and you want him to stop. He feels attacked and lashes out when people do that. Just keep an eye out for dealers and try to keep him company so he doesn’t feel lonely or alone.” I suggest.

“Well, I know when I tell Doc, what his makeshift solution will be.” He says and I raise my brows.

“What’s that?”

Reason number 1,468 that proves Doc was absolutely crazy…

“Oh, absolutely not.” I state the next night as me, Doc and Fred are walking backstage to get to the guys’ dressing rooms.

“Viv, just listen--” Doc starts but I cut him short.

“--We’re already having to lie to everybody and act like we’re still together, what the hell do you mean ‘make up’ with him?!” I snap, turning on him and he exhales.

“I don’t mean forgive him, I mean as long as he feels like everyone is against him, that might drive him further into his black hole--”

“--So, it’s my responsibility to make sure he doesn’t do heroin, is that what you’re telling me?”

“Vivian, I feel like it would be best if you didn’t add to the many reasons he already feels like he’s gotta hurt himself over, just until this tour wraps and we can get him some proper help.” He tells me.

“Oh my God, I am actually about to have another stroke if you keep fucking talking!” I throw my hands up, stomping away from him, but he stays on my heels.

“Vivian, just listen.” He says as I open the dressing room door and barge in to see Vince, Mick, Tommy...and Devil Spawn.

“Doc, why don’t you just drop your pants and I’ll get on my knees and start slurping at your balls because that’s obviously what you want me to do!” I scream at him.

“Vivia--”

“--Nothing is good enough! You want us to play nice for the cameras, we’re doing that, you want us to bullshit the fans, we’re doing that, you want us to postpone a fucking divorce filing, we’re doing that, and now you’re wanting me to pretend he didn’t screw me over publicly just so he won’t feel bad that I can’t fucking stand him right now?!”

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asks.

“None of your fucking business!” I sneer at him.

“Get the fuck out, Vivian, Jesus.” Vince starts up.

“Oh, go scissor Bret Michaels and mind your own fucking business, bitch boy.” I shoot at him.

Liquor is drenching my dress when Vince is grabbing Tommy’s drink and throwing it on me, causing me to see red.

“What the fuck, Vince?!” Nikki barks at him, as Vince says:

“Get get your fucking ring back from the bitch Sixx chose over you.”

I’m lashing out, my nails dragging across Vince’s cheek as my flat palm hits his other cheek as hard as it can, causing the harsh stinging noise to echo through the room, as Doc and Fred both yell at us as we’re pried apart.

“Rabid Bitch!” Vince seethes, trying to fight past Doc to get to me, but Fred’s stepped in front of me, keeping me from going to Vince, too.

“Murderer!” 

The room goes silent immediately, their faces falling in shock as Vince just looks disgusted with me.

"Vivian." Doc starts, about to scold me.

"Everyone's got a fucking slap on the wrist, doesn't matter if you fucking overdose or actually kill someone, everybody just gets a fucking slap on the fucking wrist but the second I finally act like something isn't okay, the second I protest just glossing over the fact Nikki Fucking God Damn Sixx did something shitty, I'm a fucking bitter, hateful, rabid, disgusting bitch because apparently 'I should've known better'!" I outburst, taking a few deep breaths, calming down, trying not to cry before I focus on Doc. "I can smile for the cameras. I can force myself to stomach the idea of loving him in the public eye. But I refuse to just turn the other way and act like everything's okay behind closed doors, and you can't fucking make me." I say venomously to Doc before I'm storming out of the dressing room, seeing all the roadies that were around to hear the hell breaking loose behind the closed door of the dressing room.

The next couple days consists of me just staying in my hotel room, avoiding everyone except Fred, that is until…

I keep my head down, my hand gripping at Nikki’s as we all file out of the bus in the parking lot of the hotel as my other hand shields my sunglass-adorned eyes, hearing the shouts of questions from the paparazzi as all of us head to the entrance of the hotel with security trying to keep fans and the media at bay.

Almost as soon as we step foot into the hotel lobby, free from the press and witnesses, Nikki and I are dropping our hands from each other and pulling away as quickly as possible as if we’re magnetically repellent.

“Alright, shower, strip club.” Tommy names off their agenda to Nikki, Vince, and Mick. “Viv, you wanna--”

“--No.” I turn him down before he can even properly invite me, my eyes shifting to Nikki, who averts his gaze from me the second I look at him.

“But, Viv--”

“--Just leave her out of it, Tommy. She doesn’t wanna go.” Nikki tells him flatly, heading to the elevator.

“I can speak for myself, thank you.” I hiss back to him.

“Don’t start shit with me, Vivian. I’m not in the mood.” He snaps.

“What, fight with your girlfriend?” I ask as the elevator doors open.

“Go fuck yourself.” He snarls out, walking into the elevator and I’m right behind him.

“Don’t worry, I have been, being that you won’t ever touch me again.” I argue.

I guess everyone else decides not to ride in an elevator with us in case a fist fight ensues and they get caught in it.

I stare at him, his eyes covered with his sunglasses, his hair matted and sweaty from his show, his skin pale from his body purging the toxic mixture of drugs and alcohol from his system.

“Quit fucking staring at me.” He mumbles, and instead of saying something smart back or just hitting him, I look away, feeling a sadness wash over me as I notice he hasn’t taken his wedding ring off yet since we left the press behind.

“You’re not gonna take it off?” I ask, suddenly, trying to keep my tone neutral.

He doesn’t even have to ask what I’m talking about, he just knows.

I see him glance down at his ring finger before balling his left hand into a slight fist before relaxing it.

“We’re still married.” Is all he says before the doors open and he heads to his room.

I make my own separate room, unlocking the door, being met with the bland smell of a simple hotel room.

I’m used to hotel rooms smelling like Nikki.

Getting my jacket off, I step to the bathroom and get my makeup off and brush my teeth for bed before getting pajamas on. When I get to my bed, I notice something that wasn’t there before I left for the show: one of my tshirts that I left at the last hotel we were at in Texas.

Knowing who grabbed it for me, and why I should not smell it because it’s just going to make me sad, I bring it to my nose and feel my body tense in on itself, my heart heavy as his smell infiltrates my senses, and brings tears to my eyes.

How many times have I nearly talked to him, kissed him, touched him, smiled at him, all out of habit, only to realize why we are where we are in this shit to begin with?

I miss him.

He is with me everyday but I still miss him.

I exhale and climb into bed, clinging to the shirt that smells like him, closing my eyes and pretending I’m with him.

It suddenly occurs to me that the last time I kissed him, hugged him, held him, laughed with him, saw him in the shining light that I did--I didn't realize it was the last time.

Now I’ve got myself crying, and I wipe the stray tears, trying not to think about it anymore but I can’t help it.

I thought I put my absolute everything into every laugh, every kiss, every hug, every smile...but I didn’t. If I knew then what I know now, I would have.

I squeeze my eyes closed, before snatching the covers off, and go to my door, opening it, and marching to Nikki’s door.

A part of my hopes he hasn’t gone to the strip club yet, another part of me--the sane part--hopes he has.

I knock on the door and in a couple minutes it’s swinging open to reveal a hellish looking Nikki.

Trying not to cry, but failing, I lick my lips and finally get it off my chest.

“I didn’t get to say ‘goodbye’ to us.” I state, shakily, and he looks as defeated as I do.

“Vivian--”

“--You robbed me of getting to say ‘goodbye’, of being prepared to say ‘goodbye’. I wasn’t ready to not be with you, I wasn’t ready to have every reason to leave you thrown in my face. I was ready to spend the rest of my life with you, and you stole that from me.” I tell him. “I didn’t get to say ‘goodbye’.” I repeat, a tear falling past my lashes.

He just looks down, letting me say what I need to and I take a deep breath, sniffle, and press my lips to his, catching him off guard.

It takes him no time to respond, the both of us letting out relieved hums as our tongues meet and he pulls me into the room with him, slamming the door behind me.

His hands are immediately pulling my shirt up, and I’m fumbling to get his belt unbuckled, being interrupted by him tugging my pajama shorts off, his lips grazing over my thigh, up my abdomen, between my breasts, and pressing to my neck before finding my lips again.

I let out a soft sigh, wrapping my arms around him, my bare chest pressed against him, his tongue moving in sync with mine.

He's pulling away in a few seconds, taking deep breaths, staring down at me, confused.

"What?" I ask softly, blinking up at him. 

"What are we doing, Viv?”

I don’t answer, not really knowing what to say to begin with.

“Huh?” He questions. “We never got to talk about it, we never--”

"--Nikki--"

"--You didn't want to talk to me about it, you didn't--"

"--There was nothing to say--"

"--I had plenty to say, Vivian." 

"Nikki, it doesn't matter now."

"It doesn't matter? Are you fucking crazy? 'It doesn't matter'?!" 

"I-It does, but--"

"--But what, Vivian? You just wanna pretend it didn't fucking happen or something?" He snaps.

"No, I don't want to pretend it didn't happen, Nikki, that's why I got so upset with Doc the other night because he wanted me to act like everything was fine, even behind closed doors, and I don't want to do that."

"Then why the fuck are you here?" He asks me. 

Apparently I get the wrong look on my face that blatantly tells him what I'm up to…and he starts laughing.

"You're gonna fuck me and leave me?!” He cackles, taking a step back and I go to speak, but I’m unable to. There’s nothing I can say, and my silence confirms it. "Holy shit you sneaky cunt."

“Nikki, stop--”

“--Were you gonna tell me you had no intention of trying to actually work shit out with me and you were just using me to make yourself feel better for a couple hours, or were you just gonna hand me fucking divorce papers and a pen the second I came in you?” He sneers.

“Nikki, I’m not trying to use you.” My voice cracks as tears come to my eyes.

“Did you come to talk about what happened and try to get somewhere, or just fuck one last time for the hell of it?” He demands and I take a breath, trying to get my head together enough to try to figure out why, myself. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get the fuck out.” He pushes me away from him.

“If you’ll let me explain--”

“--The fuck is there to explain?! I cheated on you, you left, then you come back, patronize every fucking person that's fucked up, and then try to get your rocks off on my dick one last time like some pathetic slut. You either fucking hate me and you’re leaving, or you don’t and you’re not. I’m not doing the whole ‘friends with benefits’ bullshit with my own fucking wife!”

“A majority of our marriage has been ‘roommates with benefits’ so why the hell does it matter to you now that I just want one last night?!” I outburst suddenly and he rolls his jaw.

“Get the fuck out.” He repeats, shaking his head a little.

“No.” Tears topple over my lashes and I lick my lips, shaking my head.

“Vivian, I’m not fucking telling you again. Get the fuck out or I’m making you leave.”

“Nikki, plea--”

He’s suddenly grabbing at my arms, pulling my naked body from the floor.

“--Nikki, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“--You were gonna hump and dump me and you ‘didn’t mean’ it?!” He pulls me to the door while I struggle against him.

“Nikki, it was just for one last time, just so I could remember.” I plead, my hands grasping at his shirt, my eyes--blurry from tears--looking up at his. “Please, just one last time.” I beg, weakly, and he clenches his jaw, the ghosting of tears in his eyes for a second before he says:

“If it’s gonna be the last time…" his voice cracks, before it seems like he's forcing himself to "man up." 

"...I don't want to remember it." He says next.

“Nikki, please--no!” I fight with him when he gets his door open. 

"Bye, Viv." I almost don't recognize the man speaking to me, he sounds so fucking distant, cut off, as if the Nikki Sixx I met at the Starwood years ago took a step back and someone else had to come forward and get me out.

“Nikki, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just please, don’t do thi--Nikki!” I cry when he shoves me out of the room, completely naked, and slams the door after leaving  my pajamas at my feet.

My theory was and is today that, that moment, that "bye, Viv" was his way of finalizing what he thought was the end of us, because after that night, he acted like he despised and hated me, up until the last few nights of the Crüe's Japan tour when he called me multiple times in the middle of night, crying, fucked up, pleading, finally telling me how much he loved me.

[in-my-world]

Heaven - Special Chapter (Hongjoong AU)

Genre: fluff, angst, suggestive

Warning(s): alcohol consumption, mentions of religion, adult themes

Words: 1.4k

A/N: This is a special chapter for the Halloween season, I hope you enjoy. Ask me to add warnings or tw or to be tagged in future posts

Spring turned to Summer and Summer to Autumn, meaning Halloween was around the corner. If I learned anything being friends with Jules, and the guys in Treasure, along with Yunho and Wooyoung, they did Halloween big and loud. 

My family had never done Halloween, my mother preached it was a holiday for the forces of darkness to feed on innocent souls. Until I met Jules, I never even watched a horror movie. So now that I am an adult I took advantage to dress up properly. This year though I kept it simple, dressing up as a vampire; not your run of the mill store bought costume though. 

                                ____________________________

I showed up to Jules’ apartment, her coffee table becoming a makeup station. The band followed by Yunho and Wooyoung showing up not long after I did. 

The guys of the band had dressed up as pirates, Yunho was a zombie, Wooyoung was Romeo from the 1996 movie, and Jules had been dressed as a witch since this morning. 

Since I had been the first one to arrive I got my makeup done first. Jules who was basically an expert finished it quickly and moved onto Wooyoung since all that needed done was his hair. Then she did Yunho’s make up and added gel to his hair to give it a stringy gross look and finally worked on the members of Treasure. 

The living room was lively and loud as everyone had their own conversations.

“You did the costume yourself,” Yunho asked, admiring my well put together outfit. 

I explained that I had been planning it since August and that I went to way too many thrift stores to find what I needed. I also went to ramble on about vampire lore, Hongjoong had laughed along to my puns when no one else did.

Seonghwa who was last to get his makeup done, stood and caught everyone’s attention, “okay, is everyone ready to go?”

Once everything was cleaned up, we all exited the apartment and went to the parking lot and separated.

                                   ____________________________

Wooyoung and Yunho had driven with Jules and I to the club. It was in the next town over, and Jules planned on drinking so Yunho volunteered to drive. The car ride was filled with laughter, and following the van that carried the band with their equipment. 

The band had booked a gig at a major club which was a major advancement in their career. The club was a branch of another famous club, and their Halloween parties were known for naming big names to perform; so for an unknown band to get booked was a huge step.

Yunho parked next to the van and we all got out. While everyone was busy carrying the band equipment inside through the stage entrance door, Jules and I set up the greenroom with water and snacks. 

The band did their sound check and with an hour left before the club opened, we all relaxed in the green room. Jules and Mingi were sitting on a chair talking to Jongho, while Yunho and Wooyoung played a game on their phones. Seonghwa and Yeosang were eating snacks, San was sitting on the single folding chair while Hongjoong and I were squished on the couch beside Yunho and Wooyoung. 

San stopped in the middle of taking a drink to look at me, “so you were never allowed to celebrate Halloween,” he asked again, after I explained why the holiday excited me so much. 

“My mother’s religious views said it was the devil’s holiday and innocent souls would be taken if we celebrated it,” I repeated, before tossing a few pieces of candy into my mouth.

Hongjoong, who had been eyeing the small bag of chocolates, took them from me and dumped the remaining pieces into his mouth. I frowned at him and stood up from the couch to stretch my legs and move around. 

I went into the hall behind the stage and enjoyed the cooler air. I could hear people being let into the club and the Halloween mix played through the speakers. 

“I’m sorry for eating your candy,” someone said, startling me. 

Hongjoong stood there, his captain’s hat was in his hands and the look on his face was sheepish. 

I laughed, “I’m not mad, I was just feeling claustrophobic,” I explained, stepping closer to him. 

I reached for the hat and went to place it on his head, “you’re probably going to lose this before the end of the set, but at least you’ll look cool.”

He giggled and let me adjust his hair and the hat, “probably, but I of course always look cool.”

The hallway filled with our laughter as we teased each other. Eventually the fifteen minutes until showtime call came, Jules and I went to the front and paid our entrance fee. The costumes we saw on the way in and as we made our way through the club to backstage ranged from skimpy to scary; like the usual adult Halloween costumes. 

“You were so flirting with him, when will you two stop being so stubborn and just make it official,” Jules complained, her hands fidgeting with her drink cup.

I rolled my eyes as we watched the crowd form in front of the stage. The DJ station had been replaced by the band's instruments. 

The lights shut off and the show started, Yeosang being the first one on began to play an eerie tune on the keyboard. Soon other instruments joined in and a red spotlight lit up the standing mic and with a flash of smoke Hongjoong appeared on stage. 

The screams of the women and some men could be heard once they started the show. The band’s stage presence demanded to be acknowledged. 

I was right about the hat, by the third song it was tossed to the side and by song five so was the jacket he had been wearing.  

                                  ____________________________

Once the set is over and we all join back together, the owner of the club congratulates the boys and gives us permission to use the VIP seating up on the second floor. They turn it down and thank him for the opportunity. 

Drinks were being ordered for the band and phone numbers were being passed by the bartenders to the guys. A little pang hit my heart when people would come up to talk with Hongjoong; Jules would call it jealousy and at that moment I understood why she was practically glaring at everyone who even dared to glance at Mingi. 

The night came to a close and no one was in the place to be driving. Seonghwa who was the least drunk and also the most responsible called to a hotel and got us rooms. 

A van cab was called and we all piled in, but two people were left behind for a regular cab. Those two being the love birds, Jules and Mingi who although it was unspoken everyone agreed to let them have their own room. 

Silently everyone rode to the hotel and went to their rooms after thanking the concierge. The boys all except Hongjoong and Wooyoung went to their rooms, and Yeosang pulled a protesting Wooyoung into his room. 

I looked at Hongjoong who was far more drunk than me and pulled him to the room number on the key, “I guess it’s us then, come on.” 

The band had packed overnight bags. I had no idea we would be this off it to not be able to drive back but thankfully Jules had mentioned it as a possibility.

Hongjoong was in the bathroom showering off the performance while I sat on the queen sized bed. My brain was thinking too much and the clothes I wore were getting itchy after sweating in them while dancing. 

“_____, you don’t have extra clothes right,” Hongjoong said, stepping out his wet hair dripping onto his shirt. 

I shook my head, “I do,” I replied, heat rising to my face. 

Hongjoong walked over to his bag and tossed his pirate costume on top, “or we could just sleep naked,” he suggested, laughing when he saw how quickly I stood up and practically ran to the bathroom. 

Unfortunately our room was sandwiched between two rooms with couples, I only know this because the sounds were borderline pornographic. It made for good fun when Hongjoong and I were giggling like school kids the next morning seeing who came out of the rooms. 

Jules and Mingi got teased the rest of year after that night.

!!HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

MASTERLIST