#tan tufted couch

[lecter-starling]

Toronto Traditional Living Room

Image of a small, elegant living room with a dark wood floor, white walls, and no fireplace

[belinda-amy]

Traditional Living Room - Loft-Style

Small elegant formal and loft-style dark wood floor living room photo with white walls and no fireplace

[popeheywa]

on a late tuesday afternoon, you open your bleary eyes to the familiar atmosphere of the chateau. the sun streaks through the shutters, chopped up rays shining over your body sprawled out onto the couch.

the night before comes back in bits and pieces (as it always does), memories of solo cups, weed and keggers filling your mind. it reminds you of why you were here, and not at your house.

there's a tanned forearm slung over your middle, and the brim of a cap nudging your jaw as a warm body stirs against your left side. you look down, blonde tufts of hair tickling your neck as the body shifts up against you.

jj maybank; impulsive thinker, quick to shoot bullets and the biggest teddy bear you know.

he lets out a quiet grumble, tugging you closer as if you had moved away. it evokes a quiet chuckle out of you, and he stirs, a sleepy lopsided grin on his lips.

"mornin', mama," he drawls in his southern accent, and your hand shifts to absentmindedly draw patterns on his muscled back with a tired pointer finger.

"hey, j," you greet back, a smile of admiration on your lips.

"...how long you been up?" he asks after a beat of silence.

"not long," you reply, "long enough to watch you sleep for a bit."

a comfortable silence takes over the room before jj speaks again.

"creepy-ass."

you both break out into dazed giggling, and jj presses a kiss to your exposed collarbone, which is partly covered by your (his) polo.

"surprised you're coherent with how much you drank from the kegger," you chuckle, turning your head to look down at him.

"c'mon, babe. papa j doesn't let alcohol turn him stupid."

"you gotta stop talking about yourself in the third person," you retort, and jj props himself up on an elbow to look down at you with a teasing look.

"don't act like you hate it."

he takes one of his large hands and presses your cheeks together to smush your face, pressing a firm kiss to your lips.

"mm," you playfully hum, pretending to savour the taste, "keg beer."

he scoffs.

"shut up, kid," jj rolls his eyes sassily. "always tryin' to sass me."

he kisses you again, moving the hand smushing your cheeks together to tug you closer by the waist. he smirks gently against your lips when you start kissing back, fingers sliding under the fabric of your shirt.

after about a minute, you gently pull back, moving to straddle his hips as you sit up. your right hand moves to the brim of his hat, and smoothly pries it off of his head, before placing it on your head backwards.

jj smiles up at you, hand coming up to lazily stroke your jaw.

"you're beautiful, mama," he murmurs.

his hand comes to cup your left cheek, his lower three fingers pressing gently into your jaw to tug you down.

"now come back down here 'fore everybody wakes up."

[ladybirdswritings]

Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: Miguel comes up with a plan to make your time together much more tolerable. Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

notes: tysm for reading and i’m so srry for the delay but i hope this steamy chapter makes the wait worth it <33

chapter 10

Gold. Suffocating and blinding as it cascades upon the pale mounds and curves of your vessel. Your eyes a hue of darkness behind the shielding lids, your temples a pounding rhythm parallel to the beats you once waltzed amongst.

Your lips part, slumber’s dance with you slowly cascading into nothingness as luminous rays return to greet you. To tug your soft palms back into your reality.

Your lashes, fanned against your flushed skin now fan apart as your gaze is greeted with unavoidable radiance. The morning.

A breath leaves you, trembling as it greets the cool air. You force yourself upright and it is then that blood rushes from where it once lay dormant and pooled to spread itself evenly throughout you— enticing pins and needles from the tips of your fingers and toes.

You feel like a creature undead, following the actions as you would normally but in an imposter’s stance. Your feet drag you to the dimmer kitchen, and your temples are grateful to be secluded from the sun and its warmth.

A yawn overtakes your exhausted features as you open the russet metal of your refrigerator door. You must be dreaming still. It’s stocked with fresh fruits and produce bagged in tan wrappings. Your eyes wander over each welcoming color in the once vacant and lonesome, cold and gray space.

It’s lively now.

A burst of red peeking through behind awful greens piques your interest, and you bury your hands in the tufts of healthy emerald to pull the sweet basket filled to brim with blossomed strawberries. They are fresh and plentiful.

You truly are dreaming.

No longer do you notice the ache pounding at you. You only see red in the purest of ways. You shut the door with your foot and examine the seeded berry with hungry eyes before encasing your teeth round the plumpness of it.

It isn’t long before you part the ripe treat with pearly teeth, and you moan gratefully when you do. Juice drops from each corner of your mouth, down your chin as your lips suckle the nectar and swallow it in quick motion.

It’s the best one you’ve ever had.

Another bite, then another berry and another. You can only hear the soft chews of fresh fruit and sharp seed alongside the blood pumping in your ears.

You don’t hear the scorching water cascading to drain halt, and you don’t hear the rest until your eyes can register what your ears cannot.

As you munch upon the berries, you blink when a phantom creature turns the knob of your dilapidated washroom door and creaks the shield open. Steam rolls out into your living space like the waves of Poseidon’s great seas— but the only god to greet you beyond the mist is not one of oceans and pretty things.

It’s the evil one.

Hades.

Miguel.

A soft gasp leaves you as you swallow in the sight with dazed eyes, tufts of chocolate locks are coiled and dripping water all over your wooden floors. His suit pants are there as always, but his jacket is not present. No, not now. Only a white undershirt, tight to the body and tucked away into where a belt constricts is all he wears.

You gulp down the remainder of fruit you forgot to swallow and allow the severed berry to drop into its basket.

The man sighs, scrunching at his hair with the towel before tossing it on your couch. That would annoy you if you weren’t so baffled right here.

His eyes search the couch for you, and when he finds you vacant from your waltz with slumber— he scans the room quickly before settling on your frozen stance in the kitchen.

He locks eyes with you.

“Good morning.”

He says it with amusement, you’re certain. Laced behind his throat.

It is eerie, it is polar opposite.

He looks— calm.

Your mouth is ajar, you remind yourself to close it.

“I- what?”

He pays your confusion no mind as he approaches, weaving through your pathetic and unimportant home like he’s become comfortable with it— like he’s learned it.

He towers over all your trinkets and furniture, and the singular stool is bound to collapse under his weight. He eyes the broken thing then decides to lean forward against the counter instead.

You gulp, remnants of strawberry juice staining the newfound dryness in your throat. And the enigma of a man, he just studies you for a moment before turning over his palm. Waiting.

You gaze at it in confusion, wondering if he’s pointing out something upon you that you can’t see. Yet his eyes are on the basket.

Oh.

You pluck one from its leafy stem and shakily place it upon his calloused palm. His eyes lock back upon yours and he clears the tart berry in one bite— licking the juice from his lips with an eager tongue.

You squirm— knowing not what to do other than just slide over the basket. The silence is suffocating, reminding you of only two weeks prior when you practically begged the man before you for a place of employment alongside er— below him.

“I didn’t buy these!” You blurt out. Because you don’t know what else to say to break the quiet and because the thought only now crossed your mind. You know now. No appearance with him is any possibility of a dream.

The smell of palo santo is muted now. He smells of your floral soaps.

He indulges in another.

“I know. I did. Your fridge was pathetic.”

Oh.

Your eyes fall to the countertop, unwilling to meet his own. It’s far too tense, and far too confusing. You’re far too dazed.

“Why are you-?”

He interrupts you as if he had been expecting the question, “You were acting drunk, and stupid. I brought you home.”

You’d scowl at his description of you if you weren’t still coming to, searching the chilled air for answers you’d rather not be forced to ask of him. You knew well that you’d have to— he wouldn’t offer them any other way.

He must enjoy the torture. Inflicting it.

You narrow your eyes and the expression may seem devoid to most— but something tells you there’s more within it.

Fine, then.

Christ.

You shake your head, hearing him chew upon another berry as you greet your newly stocked fridge and steal a water from its stomach. Your back is to him as you swallow down heavy sips. You sigh after, and when the coolness has shocked you awake enough and you are satisfied- you turn.

A cool breath of air kisses your breast as result of the motion, and your eyes widen, shooting down to find a silken robe of powder pink all but you have clad on alongside your panties. It’s slipping.

Your eyes dart up to find him staring intensely at the spot where it does slip, and you twirl back away to harshly tug at it and fix it.

Your breasts are bare— your dress is gone.

Your jaw ticks and you turn again— taking quick strides toward the counter where he resides on the opposite side of.

“Did you fuck me?”

He is silent, eyes glazed over as if he’s lost in thoughts you cannot see or be apart of. He takes a moment to absorb your words, fingers twitching against the berry they clasp before he blinks and his dark orbs lock against your again.

They send an inferno against your flushed cheeks.

He hums.

You don’t know what at, but you have a strong feeling it’s at the thought.

You know, the thought of fucking you.

He stares on at you as he takes a bite of the berry, and slowly shakes his head back and forth.

It’s a no.

You sigh, but you’re not relieved.

You’re silent again, shakily taking a seat upon your creaky stool across from him. You fear if you stand for any longer under the brunt of his gaze, you’ll faint.

You bury your face in your hands, and you feel his eyes against your golden locks. The place where he stares, your scalp prickles.

Wood slides against chipped countertop.

“Eat these. You haven’t eaten.”

He seems to know a lot, right now. It makes you anxious.

And yet?

He tells you not a word of it.

It infuriates you.

This morning is odd enough, so you won’t stand for secrets. You force your head up and you’re unsurprised to find his gaze already locked upon your own.

“What happened?”

Your voice is firm, it sounds like more of a command than question and you’re certain he notes it. He studies you for a moment, and you don’t know why; but his eyes fan over your upturned lashes and the soft bridge of your nose. Down to your lips then back up to your eyes, again.

He takes his sweet, frustrating time to think his answer through. Just maybe though, your night was as rough as your morning has greeted you. Because he takes pity on you— he answers.

“You went out dancing. Made a big show at my club, drank all my good alcohol from every man willing to hand it to you, then you vanished without your things. Out my back door. Cindy came to me, and we went after you. There was a man out back. He was planning to— how did you put it? Fuck you, cariño… not me.”

You flush the color of persephone’s sweetest pomegranates— eyes wide as the images flash like some mortifying movie in your mind.

Oh my god.

“Oh my god…” you whisper in repetition of your horrified thoughts, pressing the coolness of your palms against the heat of your cheeks.

He hums again, but this time in agreement. It far from helps. You press two fingers against each temple, shaking your head as you search for suitable words.

“I don’t do this often or- at all, really. I just— I needed…”

“I know.” He cuts you off in the middle of your search for an end to your sentence, and it’s the first thing he’s done that you’re grateful for. Apart from the fridge full of food.

You remember now that you blew all your grocery money, so.

You feel ridiculous, mortified. He must think of you as some obsessed idiot who showed up at his club because you couldn’t be at his workplace.

God.

You can’t stand the thought.

Only you would chose there of all the clubs in New York.

You don’t even offer him any further explanation, you know well that it will be a mess you dig further and further. Deeper and deeper until you babble and stutter, you stay silent to avoid it.

You torture yourself in another way, reliving the night prior in quick flashes… piecing them together like a parted jigsaw. They weave in place swiftly, but there’s something missing…

You rack your brain, yet nothing comes of it in its crowded closet. You’re blank, baffled. You’re in a robe, a new robe and you’re topless underneath. Sitting across from Miguel O’Hara in your own pathetic kitchen.

Christ.

“You are a dancer.” He observes, making your head spin.

The conversation takes a left turn. Sharp, quick. Perhaps he’s not so used to seeing you this silent, perhaps he knows just the subject to get you talking again. It’s the most normal you both have ever talked, in fact.

“Was.” You correct in a shameful whisper, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t ask about it further. Your eyes drift to the framed photo he stares at behind you. It’s you, pretty as you are with one leg bent up to the heavens and the other firmly planted on tip toe into the ground. Your pale pink mesh cascaded from your hips and your golden locks were tamed into a perfected bun.

You adore that picture.

Yet as admirable as the memory is, it’s also sad. You don’t spare it another moment, your eyes fall to the surface below where it hangs. The Daily Bugle. It’s new, dewdrops of rain kissing the ink, bleeding some of it away. He must have gathered it for you.

Christ. He stayed here.

You wince at the thought, too plagued with headache to analyze his intentions— rushing forward to gather the fresh paper in your hands so you don’t have to worry about it any longer.

You’ll read the newspaper in silence or at least pretend to to avoid telling the three-headed Cerberus to leave and never return. He watches on at you, quiet and emotionless as you skim past the front page that speaks of sports nonsense. Further down, spending more time on the fashion column before reaching the golden page, the hot spot of Daily Bugle. Drama.

In all your years of consuming the horrid paper, you never leave this page unread. You feel slimey as you absorb, and yet it’s addictive. Miguel is still here, you remember. He must think even worse of you if it’s possible.

Just the girl who keeps reminding him of his dead daughter at every chance she gets. You wince, letting out a shaky breath as you smooth out the paper of the next page and finally see it.

In black and white proud, long curls cascading down a sequined number with heels higher than you’ve ever worn. Small, back flush against him. Your face is tilted to the side, captured blurred as it was in motion. Yet to you, it’s clear and recognizable. It’s a memory.

The puzzle piece, served up to you by the universe on a stupid, golden platter.

You’re on the front pages.

So is he.

You’re on the front pages, together.

CEO MIGUEL O’HARA ENJOYS A NIGHT OUT ON THE DANCE FLOOR WITH MYSTERIOUS PROCLAIMED “DANCING QUEEN”

You look— horrified, and he looks to be brushing his curled fingers against his tanned lips to stifle his amused grin. He can’t risk any other emotion than stoic, of course. Your eyes are wide as they snap up to him.

“You’re good publicity.” He offers.

His voice. It isn’t cold. It isn’t lifeless.

It’s as if something has laced itself within it. Something you don’t like.

Humor.

At the expense of you.

You’re angry. You’re confused and it makes you angry.

The puzzle is a painted picture now. The dance, the music, the heat, the grinding— god you’d just about melt if you weren’t so baffled and preoccupied right now.

You practically crush the paper in your hands. You look like a slutty girl taking her chance with the richest man readily available. How on earth will you ever work anywhere else again?

You’ll have to chop off your locks, you’ll have to—

He clears his throat as a weak attempt to conceal the amusement itching at his tongue.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“This is funny to you?”

This man. This mind fuck of a man has gone from towering over you with fury foaming at his mouth to forcing your hips to brush back against him to finding humor in your suffering in your own kitchen.

He narrows his eyes back,

“Very, cariño. Very funny to me.” His voice is dark, cold again.

You part your pink lips to curse him, but he interrupts the process before it even begins. He straightens his back, returning to the tower he is before rounding the counter till he’s right in front of you. You shrink again, your attitude melting as you remember the events of the week prior. His screaming, the ornament.

You shift, breath thinning as you turn your head away from him. He moves his head so his eyes may follow yours, when it doesn’t work— his jaw ticks.

“Mírame.”

You do, eyes snapping back to meet his gaze.

It’s soft, yet still commands your attention. You don’t have any other choice but to look on at him, you’ve noticed he has an odd thing for eye contact. You’d squirm, but your head is spinning.

No possibility to delay and procrastinate calling home now, it seems.

He sees your mind fogged with preoccupations, and you can’t keep like this any longer.

“What is going on, what are you doing?” You whisper, eyes darting to the paper then back to him. The question. It means far more than just now.

What is he doing?

Does he feel guilty? Is this how he’s apologizing?

You’re not sure, it’s impossible to know— to understand. Enigma doesn’t seem to be enough to describe him, nor does mystery.

He’s infuriating as he is simple, and maddening as he is tolerable. He’s back and he’s forth, up and he’s down and he’s killing you.

Why did he yell?

Why did he dance with you after it?

Why is he here now?

He sighs, his hands caging you up against the counter as he rests his palms on either side, grasping at the chipped marble and dipping his head to search for an answer.

It takes him a long moment, but when he’s satisfied? He lifts his head.

“I’m a good boss. A great one. I pay my girls generously, I would have done the same for you if you were capable of just following orders.”

You frown at that, he ignores it— continuing.

“You’re a shit employee.” He says it with conviction. As if his word is etched into stone at the birth of all life and creation. Your jaw nearly drops, but you allow tension to blossom like spring poppies within it instead.

“You’re an asshole.” You snap, gasping after the word leaves you. Your cheeks flush the color rose, and his expression remains cold and devoid as he tilts his head at you.

But his brows arch. Questioning.

You await for what seems like ages for him to respond, to snap, to scream— honestly you’re half expecting him to snatch the knife from the countertop and jab it into your gut to shut you up for good.

He does none of those things.

Warmth trails like caramel down a chasing tongue, rough and calloused palm sliding up the length of silken coverage from your knee and upward. Higher, higher. Your breath hitches in your throat, and his eyes burn furious holes into your face— your wide-eyed, pretty face.

The soft, small netting of nerves between your thighs jumps in excitement, and you’re certain your cheeks burn hotter than the sun. He reaches your hip, he halts— straightening his head. Almost unnoticed.

“I’m an asshole?”

A shiver overtakes you now, and you feel betrayal constrict you like that of a serpent as your pink nipples pucker themselves up for attention.

Don’t look, don’t look. You beg within the confines of your own mind.

The asshole…

His eyes flicker down immediately, as if he sensed your body calling to him.

It’s the first flash of emotion you’ve ever seen beyond anger. You can’t name it, you can’t understand it—you can’t even process it. You’re frozen here.

A noise, guttural— like that of a forest creature restraining itself from its natural instincts to slaughter a helpless lamb. It becomes him. From the very back of his throat.

You blink, tense, back straight and pushed firmly against the wall. His eyes find yours again and you’re certain then that you’ve bursted up in flames.

“You were saying?” He whispers, eyes wandering down. Past your puckered nipples and the bumps upon your skin. Down. Lower. To— there.

The action, it’s enough to shake you out of this trance. You push him back, he doesn’t protest the move and plays into it— you’re sure. You stumble from that suffocating wall and take a breath of air that feels awfully fresh even in your stuffy apartment.

His hand, where it once grazed you is a memorized motion replaying like a record shattered upon your leg.

He’s toying with you.

Getting his payment for his generosity, that must be it.

Or maybe he’s not. Maybe it was the dance…

Maybe— you don’t know which it is.

Now you’re angry.

Frustrated.

He’s put you through hell in the short amount of time he’s known you. Then suddenly, he does one good deed and takes it as a free ticket to fuck you?

You’re livid.

You turn on your heel, slamming your finger into the firmness of his chest.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

His hand, warm as fresh laundry wraps around your wrist. He tilts his head low like a charred olive branch extending, leveling with you.

“Testing my theory.”

It’s all he offers. You narrow your eyes to cold slits, electricity still buzzing between your thighs in opposition to your anger.

“What theory?” You sound exasperated, and you are.

The tick in his jaw is back. It jumps. He’s frustrated again.

How is it possible?

A man so stoic and cold, and yet so capable of flipping through emotions like an old scrapbook buried away from years past.

He breathes slowly through his nose, and when you nudge his chest again with your finger as hopes to provoke an answer? He moves. Quick.

In a flash moment, he walks you back against the countertop— caging you again.

He must like that.

Making you feel small.

He wastes no time once you are caged there, happy to be in control again.

“It seems like the only way I can stand you is when I respond with lust, and not logic… Dios mío…” he breathes the last part. It allows a chill to creep up the base of your spine, paralyzing you.

Silence blankets you both again and he bows his head once more. You breathe, shakily but nonetheless.

Lust?

For you?

Hair unruly and unkept, frizzed and wild. Too loud for your liking and too sharp of a tongue for his.

Maybe he’s truly lost it.

Maybe it’s been there all along.

Although the thought excites you, you know it’s silly. Men of his status and power— they don’t busy themselves with pretty things like you. It’s impossible. It’s a movie, a picture made for fantasy.

But here he his.

Toying with you.

You’re certain now.

It clicks then, his game with you. Revenge sweetly. Play pretend, get you to fall but not catch you when you do. It’s cruel. It’s like him.

You’ve been at the harsh hand of a man vengeful before. You won’t do it again.

Tears sting at your eyes.

“Don’t do this to me again.” You mean it to sound like a demand, yet it floats from your petal pink lips like a weak and pathetic sound. You speak to him, and you speak to the man before him. In your eyes, now, they’re the same. All your interactions before this were so inhuman and cold, and yet here you are— feeling all the colors of the damned sky before him. Interacting like humans do. Only, he’s got a motive behind his emotion. Not you. Never you.

He hears the weakness, the falter. His head snaps up again.

You avert your eyes, playing a balance game with the swelled tears threatening to parachute onto your cheeks. He straightens his back at the sight of them, he gives you space. You relax.

His eyes, they find a map upon your face and they wander amongst it. Observing, analyzing. When he’s satisfied, after you’ve swiped away at your tears, he speaks again.

“I have a job for you.”

You’re certain he’s lost it now.

Completely thrown himself off the deep end and into the insane asylum. How can he lust you and loathe you and employ you all at the same time? All within the same hour?

You need to rest, you’re exhausted.

“No.” It’s all you offer, turning your back on him. Hoping he will take it and leave you be. Silly you. A firm palm spins you back around, right back to where you were.

“Listen to me.”

It’s not a question, it’s a command; and as much as you hate him and his arrogance… you comply.

“Fuck… there’s more to you. Something that I can find behind my frustrations with you. A hunger… Last night was an annoyance, an amusing one no less. I just can’t get rid of you no matter how hard I try… but I think sometimes that this game we’re all playing is at someone’s hand. I need morale, you’ve made the front covers now. Jameson can eat shit for all I care but for the sake of my girls— I need to fix the mess I’m in…”

He muses the last part to himself, and baffled as you are at the events that have taken place in one morning alone… you straighten your back and cross your arms over your chest. Curious. Listening.

“I’ve been here all morning because I have been thinking close to the source. Thinking about what it is about you that is so fucking infuriating. I didn’t find an answer. But what I did find was a solution. After— fuck… after Gabi…”

Oh…

Oh.

He’s talking about her, and not because of your snappy mouth.

Like a fresh petal, you unfurl.

“Jameson. He wants to slander me. He wants my girls to read his bullshit and believe it and as much as I hate to admit it, the cabrón could manage it. And fucking morale… it can’t function when my morale girl is only working hard at pissing me off.”

It’s an insult, but you’re far too glued on the edge of your seat to interrupt his train of thought. You scowl softly and let him continue,

“I don’t want you in my office, I don’t want you talking about things you don’t get to talk about. I don’t want you to anger me with your stupidity because I don’t want to yell at you like that again. I won’t. But I am glad your idiocy brought us here last night, because I can see how much of a shithole you’re in.”

You flush again at that, nervous eyes glancing around your dainty apartment and its rotted walls.

“I’m in one too, in a different way. The tabloid is a good thing. When you were dancing, I tolerated you. I enjoyed you, even. And your presence made for a good paper with a headline not involving my baby girl. I— need that. I need these people to stay distracted and fuck, sweetheart. Soy la respuesta...”

Cruel as he is, you find your heart constrict— just for a small moment. You can’t imagine it. Losing your life, your whole sun, moon and stars and being constantly reminded of it on every newsstand and broadcast because of some awfully obsessed vampire.

So much so that it leaks into your glass tower in the sky and makes it crack, each new story another stone thrown until it cracks under the pressure.

But you… you stopped it.

Just once, at least.

Even so….

It amazes you.

Makes you feel powerful.

He is watching you close, gauging your reactions. You challenge his eyes, imploring him to continue. He does.

“I want you to play pretend with me, just like you did last night. Dos desconocidos bailando por primera vez, like two strangers dancing on the floor. I wanna feed them the shit they want to be fed and keep their mouths shut and satisfied. Only for a few months until I find a way to buy out the Bugle and bankrupt the hijo de puta… We can help each other. You’ll live in my suite and do whatever the hell you want all day. You’ll get a monthly allowance on top of your big check. You’ll help me keep them quiet.”

He speaks slow. Calculated and measured. In a way one would immediately understand. But somehow, you don’t.

You don’t get it.

Beyond the words for what they are, you’re baffled.

He wants you to play pretend, and it all seems perfect and fine except?

“You hate me…” it’s meant for yourself, truly. Yet it parts from your lips nonetheless. Your brows are furrowed and soft as you search the space beside him for an invisible answer with your eyes.

He sighs.

“No. I don’t. I don’t like you, but I don’t hate you. How could I when you move the way you do? So pretty under my lights, I like her a lot. Maybe we have to get you drunk more often, hmm?”

He means it to lighten the tension, to slice it with silver blade and yet all it does s quiet you further. He sees this, and a warmth floating within his very fingertips meets your chin. He turns you to him again.

“Dime que sí, cariño. Tell me yes. Stop letting yourself think about it.”

You have a million loose and frayed ends that you cannot seem to knit together on your own. You’re certain he won’t offer you any assistance either.

There’s a plague in the air, a sickness. One that causes nothing short of pure insanity. Why? Well because of what you see now.

Money.

No more debt.

Food plentiful.

A door that actually locks. A heater that will keep you warm on harsh winter nights.

No going home.

Another chance… another opportunity to dance again.

Only for a little while will you have to bare him. Only for a little while and then all your troubles get tossed upon the burning pile. You could start again. You could fix what you ruined. You could be her, again.

Your eyes wander to the gold trimmed frame with a girl that seems so unrecognizable and unreachable now.

But what if he— this cruel and baffling creature with all the money, power and influence in all of New York City and maybe beyond could help you reach her.

All you have to do is play pretend..

That’s it, right?

You gulp.

And Christ…

You whisper it like it’s a gruesome sin on the tip of your tongue. Like it poisonous and repulsive. Sealing the deal with the devil himself before it is too late to think it over again…

“Yes…”

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @bimb00000 @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @queenb27sblog-blog @dprmooni @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 @amelialysm @justanothers-things @heartfeltlonging @coralreefses @knightowl019 @justanothers-things

[sionisjaune]

Mika/Nico 2004 Arctic Rally flirtation on the occasion of @blorbocedes ‘s birthday!

Mika is stripping down to his thermals when the kid slinks inside his cabin, bundled in a thick winter coat, tufts of blonde hair poking out underneath a knit hat. He bites the inside of his cheek, manufacturing a reason to grimace instead of welcoming Nico into his arms like he used to do when he could still call himself innocent. 

“Not your cabin,” says Mika, tugging off a sweaty glove and tossing it on the countertop.

Nico shuts the door behind him and braces himself against it, nose red from the chill outside. His entire face, or at least the part visible between the collar of his coat and the hem of his hat, is chafed red and blotchy. He licks his lips, and Mika’s gaze lingers on the chapped and wind-bitten skin of his mouth. 

“My dad snores,” Nico mumbles. “Just wanted to get some rest—”

“No,” says Mika, immediately. He knows what Nico’s going to ask of him, and he knows that if Nico asks it outright, he’s going to say yes. 

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!” says Nico, pouting rather childishly. Mika wonders what it says about him that he finds Nico’s worst moments attractive.

“No,” says Mika again. “Go back to your room. Cabins are for competitors only.”

Nico tilts his head, still tucked against the door in his coat. Mika watches him shuck his scarf and toss it haphazardly on Mika’s sofa. “I could compete,” says Nico. “I’m good on the ice.” 

“You’re not—” says Mika.

Nico cuts him off, a sparkle in his eye. “Old enough?”

“Used to rally,” Mika finishes. “It’s an entirely different sport.” 

“Really?” says Nico, eyes widening. It’s obvious what he’s doing. Mika strips off his other glove and lets it happen anyway, peeling his racesuit down his chest to hang around his hips. Nico makes a parallel move, drawing the zipper open and shimmying the coat down his arms to reveal a tanned neck and collarbones, the result of a half-Finn unaccustomed to his native climate. Mika doesn’t know why Keke bothered to drag him to Lapland to spectate. “Explain it to me,” says Nico. He drops his jacket on the floor and joins his scarf on Mika’s sofa, curling his legs underneath him.

“First of all, you have a co-driver in the car with you,” says Mika. He tugs the racesuit the rest of the way down, pulling it off his ankles one leg at a time. He was going to make use of the cabin’s meager hot water tank and shower off the sweat sticking to his skin, but with Nico around it’s probably best he keeps his clothing on. 

Nico shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself as if to stave off the cold. “I could handle that. I already have an engineer in F3.”

“It’s a different relationship,” Mika corrects. He can’t help but fall into this avuncular role with Nico, like Keke is still in the room.

“A relationship,” Nico purrs, learning over the edge of the couch. Mika bites the inside of his cheek, wondering where Nico learned this from. He stalls for time by folding his racesuit into a neat little rectangle and setting it on the countertop beside his gloves. It reeks of stale sweat and the ankles are damp with melted snow, but if Nico minds he doesn’t say anything. 

Mika sinks into the armchair opposite Nico and watches Nico furtively scoot towards the end of the sofa closest to Mika. His bare arms are startlingly skinny against the thin fabric of a white singlet. The faded jeans make him look like a ten-euro hooker, even though Mika knows Nico doesn’t wear anything that costs less than a hundred. 

“I bet you disregard your engineer all the time,” says Mika.

“No I don’t,” says Nico. 

Mika gives him a meaningful look. 

“Fine,” says Nico. “Sometimes. But only when he’s wrong.”

“Ah,” says Mika. “The difference is that your co-driver cannot be wrong. You trust him implicitly. If he says full-throttle, you don’t break until the finish line.” 

Nico wrinkles his nose. “I can’t picture you taking orders from anybody.” 

Mika raises a hand to massage his temples. “When I need to,” he says. The hand in front of his eyes conveniently blocks his view of Nico curled up on the corner of the couch, but he can still hear Nico twisting and fidgeting around. 

“Tired?” says Nico. 

“Yes,” says Mika. 

“Me too,” says Nico. He shuffles around on the couch again, and then seems to still. A moment later, Mika feels him plop down on the arm of the chair next to him. He drapes his long legs over Mika’s lap and leans close to his ear. Mika removes his hand from his face just in time for a lock of Nico’s hair to fall in his face while Nico murmurs in his ear. “And I’m cold. It’s fucking freezing in here.” 

Mika bites the inside of his cheek again. The flesh is getting raw, like it always does around Nico. 

“Nico,” he warns. 

“What?” says Nico. He’s completely irreverent. 

Mika shifts to create more space between himself and Nico’s skinny frame. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what?” says Nico.

“You know what,” says Mika. 

“I just want to warm up,” says Nico, curling closer. 

“I have to race tomorrow,” says Mika. He can hear his own voice wavering.

The corners of Nico’s mouth curl like a cat toying with its prey. “Nothing that will make you sore.” 

Mika exhales, rubbing his temples again. “Not even pretending anymore?” 

Hearing his permission, Nico slides into Mika’s lap and surrounds him like his limbs are made of putty. He wraps his arms around Mika’s neck and attaches his mouth to the skin above the collar of Mika’s thermal shirt. “I don’t need to,” he whispers. “Besides, don’t you want to see what I’m wearing under this?”

[a-spicy-reader]

Promise of Pleasure

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes

If he had long hair this photo would be perfect 😅😅

Synopsis: In a night of uncontrollable passion, Lila and Lucas give themselves completely to each other, exploring the limits of their desire and connection.

You will never get tired of kissing Yukhei. The idea of ​​getting tired is inconceivable when it tastes so deliciously sweet.

It always ends like this after more than an hour alone with the doe-eyed boy, even when he practices in approximately ten minutes. You're straddling his wide lap, thighs on either side of his narrow hips, your mouths pressed against each other in a heated kiss.

Is too good. You can do this alone, and he is fully aware. His huge hands cup his face, fingertips hooking into the back of his neck as he alternates between sucking on his top lip and his bottom lip.

He is always very intoxicating, everything you feel, see and hear is inherently Yukhei. You feel like his heart could explode through his shirt if his chest wasn't pressed against his.

It’s so domestic, huddled together on the couch, the sounds of soft tapping filling the space between the two of you. The two of you are still practically in your pajamas from the night before - the rumpled black t-shirt and black hoodie still managing to make you look unfairly good, if not more so.

He hums softly into your mouth, and only then do you realize that you've gently grasped a tuft of his long, messy black hair between your fingers as his soft tongue brushes against his.

His hands move down to soften his neck, then down to the sturdy pair of shoulders you've held so many times before in moments like this, where it's sensual and sweet, and you need to grab him just to do it. Make sure it doesn't slip between your fingertips like a sweet dream.

He groans as he has to force himself to leave, and you can feel the evidence of his arousal beneath you, snug and firm against his center. His countenance turns into a genuine pout, his irises glazed over.

"Damn, I should just call in sick or something."

You laugh, amused by his childish smile and the moan in his tone. You both know that missing practice is not an option for him, although there is no harm in expressing your frustration. Even if it makes you ten times more needy for him.

You reach up to cup his soft cheeks, thumbs stroking the warm, tanned skin. He leans into the palm of your hand, soft lips spreading into a warm smile as he looks up at you with passionate eyes.

“I’ll come when you’re done, if you want,” he tells you, stroking your hair.

He takes a deep breath through his nose to calm himself, a useless feat when you're still on top of him, warm and beautiful and all his. His hands rest on the small of your back, his fingertips tracing the skin where your shirt has ridden up.

"Of course I want you to come, my silly baby." He coos to you in a voice that's only used when the two of you are alone, meant to make you laugh in a way that makes your heart fill up with adoration like a balloon.

You lean in to kiss his soft lips once again, his chin already tilted forward in an attempt to beat you to it. It's smooth, faster than any of you would like. But it's enough.

"I'm going to kiss you so hard tonight."

The promise remains between you, igniting a new wave of desire that makes you press against him a little more firmly, eliciting a deep, throaty moan from Lucas. His hands grip your hips, pulling you even closer, the harsh evidence of his arousal pressing into you unmistakably.

“You better,” you murmur against his lips, the heat in his voice matching the fire in his eyes. "I will be waiting."

He smiles, his eyes darkening with unspoken promises as he brushes his lips against yours one last time, a teasing hint of what’s to come tonight. "You won't have to wait long, darling. I'll make sure of that."

With a final, lingering kiss, you reluctantly climb out of his lap, both of you panting softly, the air between you crackling with unfulfilled desire. You watch as he adjusts, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent vow hanging in the air as he prepares to leave for practice. The anticipation of what's to come tonight keeps the embers of his desire burning, ready to burst into flames the moment he walks back through that door.

Anticipation grew all day. As the hours passed, her thoughts returned to Lucas, his promise echoing in her mind. It was finally time for him to return and his excitement was palpable.

The door opened and Lucas walked in, his long black hair, slightly damp and disheveled from training, falling onto his shoulders. He wore an all-black sweatshirt set, the fabric hugging his tall frame. His eyes immediately met his, dark and intense, filled with the same desire that had boiled between you before.

"Hey, beautiful," he greeted, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

“Hey,” you replied, a smile playing on your lips as you walked up to him, your curvy figure swaying with each step. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and the way his gaze darkened as he took in her sent a shiver through you.

Lucas left his bag near the door and closed the distance between you in a few steps. His hands found your hips, pulling you against him. You could feel the heat of his body through his clothes, the hard surface of his chest pressing into your softness.

“I missed you,” he murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. His mouth moved against his with an urgency that left you breathless, his hands roaming your curves, tracing the lines of your body with a possessive touch.

You moaned into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in his long hair. The feel of his lips, the taste of him, was intoxicating. You could feel his excitement growing, pressing insistently against his thigh, and it only made you want him more.

“Lucas,” you gasped when he broke the kiss, trailing his lips down your neck, sucking and nibbling at your sensitive skin. "Please."

“Patience, baby,” he whispered, his breath hot on her ear. "I promised to kiss you so hard tonight, remember?"

He pulled back a little, your eyes burning when they met his. Then, with one swift movement, he picked you up in his arms and carried you to the bedroom, laying you gently on the bed. He stood next to you for a moment, his gaze roaming your body, examining every inch of you.

Slowly, he took off his hoodie, revealing the muscles on his chest and abdomen. You reached out, running your hands over his skin, feeling the warmth and strength beneath your fingertips. He shivered at his touch, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again, filled with raw need.

Lucas climbed onto the bed, settling himself between her legs, his hands pushing her shirt up, exposing her skin. He kissed her body, taking his time, savoring every moment. You arched beneath him, your hands gripping the sheets as his mouth moved downwards, teasing you with light kisses and flicks of his tongue.

When he reached the waistband of your pants, he looked at you, his eyes dark and hungry. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby,” he promised, his voice a husky whisper that made your heart race.

With that, he pulled his pants down, tossing them aside. His hands caressed her thighs, spreading them apart, his gaze fixed on her center. You were already wet, aching from his touch, and when his fingers brushed against you, you couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips.

He leaned in, his mouth finding your most sensitive spot, his tongue working its magic. You screamed, your hands flying to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he licked and sucked, driving you crazy with pleasure. His name left your lips in a breathless chant, your body shaking as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Lucas, oh God, yes,” you gasped, your hips rocking against his mouth, chasing the orgasm that was building inside you. He growled against you, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through you, sending you over the edge.

His orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body arching off the bed as you screamed his name, your fingers gripping his hair tightly. He didn’t stop, his mouth working you through the aftershocks, prolonging your pleasure until you were a trembling, panting mess beneath him.

Finally, he pulled away, his lips glistening with his arousal, a satisfied smile on his face. He moved back up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You taste amazing,” he murmured against her lips, his voice full of desire.

Before you could respond, he was moving, taking off the rest of his clothes. His eyes widened as he revealed his erection, thick and hard, throbbing with need. He positioned himself between your legs, hands holding your hips as he teased your entrance with the head of his cock.

"Are you ready, darling?" he asked, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

“Yes, Lucas, please,” you begged, your voice shaking with anticipation.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you, filling you completely. You both moaned at the sensation, the delicious friction, the way your bodies fit together perfectly.

correctly. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his eyes fixed on yours, full of and a mixture of love and lust.

"You're so tight, baby," he moaned, his hips beginning to move, establishing a slow, steady rhythm. "So perfect."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your nails digging into his back as he thrust into you, each movement sending waves of pleasure over you. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a fierce, desperate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same intensity as his thrusts.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled against your lips, his pace quickening, his hips slamming into you with increasing urgency. "So wet and tight, just for me."

“Yes, Lucas, just for you,” you moaned, your body arching beneath him, matching his movements, meeting each thrust with eager abandon. The room was filled with the sounds of their passion, the slick, wet sounds of their bodies moving together, the moans and breathless sighs, the slap of skin against skin.

The pleasure grew and grew, rising higher and higher until you were on the verge of another orgasm. Lucas could feel it too, his movements becoming more frantic, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust into you harder and deeper.

“Come for me, baby,” he insisted, his voice a harsh whisper. "Let go."

With a scream, you cried, your body convulsing around him as your orgasm crashed over you, the pleasure so intense it left you breathless. Lucas followed you to the edge, his own release exploding inside you, filling you with his hot, pulsing seed.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting, shaking after the shared ecstasy. He placed soft, tender kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, murmuring words of love and adoration.

"I love you, Lila," he whispered, his voice full of emotion.

“I love you too, Lucas,” you replied, your heart swelling with the intensity of your feelings for him.

You stood there together, tangled in each other's arms, basking in the glow of your passion. The promise of more things to come lingered in the air, a sweet reminder of the love and desire that brought them together.

As Lucas's breathless whisper faded into the night, the intensity between them reignited. Lila, still shaking from the aftershocks of orgasm, felt Lucas's hand sliding down her body, rough but gentle.

“Ready for more?” Lucas growled, his voice full of need.

“Yes,” Lila panted, her voice a mix of expectation and desire.

Lucas sat up, effortlessly lifting her, and turned her so she was on all fours. He admired her curvy, dark-skinned body, her blonde hair falling down her back, framing her invitingly. He couldn't resist the urge to lean down and place a series of kisses along her spine, sending shivers down her spine.

His hands gripped her hips firmly, positioning her just right. She felt the head of his cock teasing her entrance again, the anticipation making her clench with need.

“please,” she whimpered, her voice shaking with raw desire.

Without further hesitation, Lucas dove into her, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden and intense sensation made them both moan, their voices echoing in the dimly lit room. He began to move, with deep, powerful thrusts, setting a relentless pace that left her breathless.

her hands gripping your hips tighter, pulling you back to meet her every thrust.

Lila's moans filled the room, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through her body. She could feel him hitting all the right spots, the intensity building inside her again. Her fingers dug into the sheets, trying to brace herself against the onslaught of pleasure.

“Harder,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

He obeyed, his hips slamming into her with a force that left her breathless. The sound of their bodies meeting, skin against skin, filled the room, mixing with their moans and sighs. Lucas reached out, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Oh God, Lucas, I'm so close,” she cried out, her body shaking with the intensity of her approaching orgasm.

“Come for me, Lila,” he growled, his voice husky with need. "I want to feel you coming around me."

With a scream of her name, she broke, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that left her shaking and gasping for air. Lucas didn't stop, thrusting into her through her climax, prolonging her pleasure until she thought she might explode from the intensity.

Feeling her tight walls squeezing him, Lucas could no longer hold back. he buried himself deep inside her, his release exploding inside her, filling her with his seed. He lay there, his body shaking with the aftershocks, before finally collapsing next to her, both of them panting and exhausted.

But the night was far from over. With a mischievous smile, Lucas turned Lila onto her back, positioning himself between her thighs again. “I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered, his eyes dark with hunger.

Lila's eyes widened with anticipation, a shiver of excitement running through her. “Come on,” she challenged, her voice breathless but eager.

With that, Lucas began again, his movements rough and wild, driving them both to the brink of madness. The night was a blur of intense pleasure, their bodies intertwined in a primal dance of need and desire, each climax pushing them further into a state of wild ecstasy.

When dawn began to peek through the curtains, they were both completely exhausted, their bodies slick with sweat, their breathing ragged. Lucas hugged Lila, their hearts beating in sync, the intensity of their passion still hanging in the air.

“I told you I'd kiss you hard tonight,” Lucas whispered, his voice a low, satisfied rumble.

Lila laughed weakly, her body sated and exhausted. “You sure do,” she agreed, her eyes closed as she snuggled closer to him, a satisfied smile on her lips.

And as they fell asleep, tangled in each other's arms.

[erin-bo-berin]

could you possibly write something where reader gets a kitten/puppy/bunny, any pet really, but it takes a lot of her attention and Steve gets all pouty and whiny because he’s a bit jealous 😂 I can fully see Steve being that kind of guy

Oh my gosh he would SO be jealous. That is until he forms a bond with the pet of his own 😏

Also, I’m making it a bunny because they’re so underrated. For this fic, I’m making the bunny a boy just to make him extra jealous but here’s a pic of my girl—this is how the bun in the fic will look like:

(I’m including some proper bunny care in this too as it’s not very well known to some other pet owners/people who aren’t familiar with bunnies. I don’t know how accurate it is to the 80s, but I wanted to include it in my fic just for the awareness 🙂)

Neglected

Steve Harrington x Reader

“What? What is it?”

Steve looked at you, exasperated as you mimed that your lips were sealed.

“What’s the big surprise that’s got you bouncing like a kid hyped up on sugar?” he asked, amused.

“We’re almost home, just wait and see,” you grinned.

You’d picked up Steve from his shift at Family Video, promising to come back and get his car later. You were so excited about your surprise, you couldn’t wait for him to drive home himself.

“This better be good,” he chuckled as you unlocked the door of yours and Steve’s place.

“It is,” you beamed.

You led him to the living room, where you’d left your surprise. You blinked, surprised yourself because it wasn’t where you’d left it.

Steve looked as dumbfounded as you did, though for a different reason.

“Why is there a ball of fluff on my favorite couch cushion?”

The little tan bunny that you’d left happily on the floor with toys, hay and a water dish earlier was now curled up on top of the cushion, laying peacefully. You looked at Steve with a raised brow.

“Since when do you have a favorite cushion?”

“Since someone occupied it,” he huffed, “But who is this?”

You smiled, sitting down next to the bunny. It raised its head, greeting you with nose twitches and lowering its head back on the pillow as you smoothed a hand over its soft fur, in a loving pet.

“Our new bunny,” you smiled, “You know how I occasionally volunteer at events at the shelter, right? Well this little guy was there.”

“And we’re keeping him for a few days?”

You frowned at his uncertainty. You were hoping he’d be a bit more excited.

“No, I adopted him,” you winced a bit, “I hope you’re not upset. I just thought it would be nice to have a pet. Sometimes the house can get so quiet when you’re at work.”

“No, no, of course I’m not upset,” Steve sat next to you, putting an arm around you and pulling you to him, “I just don’t know much about bunnies, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s true they’re more complex pets, but with proper care and a loving home, I’m sure Duke will thrive.”

“Duke?”

Steve looked amused at the bunny’s name.

“Hey, don’t make fun. That was his name there and I think it fits him well.”

You turned back to Duke, running a hand over his back, fingers raking through his soft fur.

“Want to pet him?” you asked.

“Sure,” Steve smiled, reaching a hand out.

Duke raised his head, curious. But soon settled back down against the pillow when his hand smoothed over his ears.

“Wow, he’s soft,” Steve said, sounding surprised.

“He is,” you chuckled, “Also helps that he’s pretty furry.”

Duke had fluffy cheeks and ears, along with tuft of fur between his ears. Some of it fell to the side, giving it an adorable unkempt look.

“Hi buddy,” he smiled at the lagomorph, then turned to you, “What does he eat?”

“Pellets, endless hay and greens, basically,” you answered.

“All that?” Steve asked, looking amazed.

“According to the shelter volunteers, rabbits graze a lot. But hay should be their main diet.”

He nodded, not even stopping for a breath before his next question.

“So where is he staying? Outside?”

He appeared confused by your look of horror.

“No way. Too many predators can get to him. Besides, domesticated bunnies are better indoors,” you said, holding up a hand before he could fire another question at you, “And not in a cage. He’s going to be free roam. We just got to bunny proof some wires and stuff cause he most likely will chew.”

“So little dude gets free reign of the house?” Steve looked skeptical.

“Yup. Don’t deny, it won’t make you happy to see this little ball of fluff happily jumping, hopping and exploring around.”

You looked down at Duke, hearts in your eyes, already completely in love with him.

“Okay baby,” Steve smiled, kissing your temple, “Whatever makes Duke the happiest. Just as long as he stays off my pillow.”

At that, Duke raised his head, peering at Steve almost with a knowing glint in his dark eyes. Steve had a feeling that Duke would win this one—along with the pillow.

What he didn’t expect was for him to also steal his girl along with his pillow.

•

Steve swore every time he turned around, you were with Duke or Duke was following you.

He’d really taken to you, hopping towards you for love when he saw you enter a room. His ears would bounce as he practically flew to you, white front paws on your leg as he balanced on hind feet to peer up at you.

You thought it was the cutest thing. Steve on the other hand, hadn’t yet bonded with Duke as much.

Sure, he was a sweet little guy, but he much preferred his girlfriend to him—much to Steve’s dismay. He wanted to cuddle with you too, but Duke was stealing all the cuddles that had been usually reserved for him.

“I swear, every time I turn around Duke is there to steal her from me!” Steve exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Dude, you’re jealous of a bunny?” Dustin chuckled, highly amused.

“Shut it, Henderson,” he scowled.

“It’s a bunny, Steve.”

Dustin wasn’t hiding his laughter at his friend’s expense, that’s for sure.

“I know. But she’s always cuddling him and fawning over him and petting him,” Steve frowned.

“Oh, I see your problem. You want her to pet you too?”

Dustin couldn’t hold his laughter in, even as he managed to get the sentence out through wheezes of laughter.

“Man, if you can’t take this seriously, I’m never coming to you with my problems again,” Steve huffed.

“No one told you to come to me now,” Dustin pointed out.

Steve glared and Dustin raised his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. Don’t you like Duke, though?” Dustin asked, finally being serious.

“No, I do. He’s adorable. Yesterday he nudged my leg with his nose and just wanted attention, so I pet him,” Steve grinned, remembering how his skeptical first impression had quickly thawed after Duke had won him over.

“Doesn’t Y/N do the same thing to you when she wants attention?” Dustin teased.

Steve gave him a look and Dustin apologized.

“My bad, that’s the last retort, I swear.”

“Better be,” Steve mumbled.

“So just tell her you’re jealous of Duke,” Dustin said.

“Do you realize how crazy that sounds? Telling her I’m jealous of a rabbit?”

“Hey, I did mention that earlier didn’t I?” Dustin pointed out.

Steve groaned, wiping a hand down his face.

“You’re no help dude.”

“I’m here, anytime,” Dustin smirked.

•

When Steve got home, he found you on the living room floor, reading a book while Duke laid nearby you. It looked like he was napping.

“Uh babe?”

He set his car keys on the coffee table, looking down at you, confused.

“You do know we have a couch for laying on, right?”

“Yes,” you chuckled, closing your book, sitting up, “I was just spending time with Duke.”

“On the floor?” Steve asked, dubiously.

You nodded, scratching Duke’s cheek as he got up, hopping to you, like he was making sure you weren’t going anywhere.

“Since most bunnies don’t like being picked up, getting down on their level is a great way to bond with them. They get to sniff you and explore you and even boop you. They become familiar with their owners that way.”

“No wonder he stole my girl from me,” Steve pouted, watching as Duke hopped into your lap.

You immediately began petting him and he melted under your touch, curling up to you.

Steve knew how he felt. He practically had the same reaction to you.

“Steve Harrington,” you huffed a laugh, “Are you jealous? Of Duke?”

“No,” he crossed his arms definitely, “Of course not.”

As much as he tried to hide it, a pout still formed on his lips. Okay, he definitely was.

You sensed his lie and just stared at him with a cocked brow.

“Okay, yes. Just a bit. I miss cuddling you too, you know. You’ve been with him practically all the time since we got him,” Steve frowned.

“Aw, honey,” you pouted, patting the floor next to where you sat, “Come here.”

He didn’t have to be told twice as he sat down next to you.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you said sincerely, “I didn’t mean to make you feel neglected. I’ve just been trying to make sure Duke was settling in well this last week.”

You frowned, resting your head on Steve’s shoulder. He smiled, pulling you into his arms, dropping a kiss on your head. Encircling you in his embrace always felt like the most natural thing to him, like you’d always meant to be within his arms.

“I’m sorry for being jealous of Duke,” he chuckled, looking at the tan ball of fluff still in your lap, “I really do love him. He just needs to learn how to share.”

“Well maybe, he also needs time with his daddy too,” you smiled.

You watched as Duke hopped out of your lap and over to Steve where he sniffed his leg before moving on and up to his thigh. He ran his chin over Steve’s thigh, making you giggle.

“Wait, what was that? Why’d he do that?” Steve asked, confused why you were laughing.

“That is calling chinning. When a rabbit does that to an object or person, it’s their way of claiming you or the object as their own. You now officially belong to Duke,” you grinned.

Steve laughed, petting Duke’s furry head.

“I think you might have to take that up with your mom, little guy. You two can fight it out over me.”

You rolled your eyes endearingly, but felt your heart warm as you watched Duke happily melt into a puddle as Steve continued petting him.

“I think he loves you,” you whispered, a smile on your face and a whole lot of love in your heart.

“Good,” Steve said matter-of-factly.

You raised your head from his shoulder to see the smile on his face that made his eyes shine with happiness.

“Because I love him, too.”

[burninlovebutler]

05 - Fix-It Pancakes | Forever Winter | a.b x oc

Warnings: sexual themes/thoughts ? references to past chapter’s events (abuse), bruises, fluffy??, fem!oc, 18+

05/? - chp summary: elsie tries to piece together the last 24 hours with the help of austin’s miraculous pancakes

see masterlist/summary for background info + chapter log

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍

-ELSIE-

A sweet smell softly lulled me out of sleep. My heart skipped a beat when I realized I wasn't home. I rubbed my eyes for a moment trying to remember where I was.

The forest green sheets, the black duvet, the tufted headboard. I knew where I was. His familiar scent filled my nose.

Spreading my arm across the large bed I attempted to find any trace of him. He wasn't there. The bed wasn't even warm.

"What the fuck." I muttered sitting up, not quite remembering how I got ended up there. As much as I wanted to stay under his heavy black duvet, I needed to find him.

I stumbled my way out of the bedroom door into the small New York loft. The potent midday sun shined through the curtainless floor-to-ceiling windows. I brought a hand up to shield my eyes.

"Good morning!" Austin chirped from the kitchen, "I'm making pancakes."

Pancakes were our 'fix it' food— post hangover, post breakup, post breakdown, etc. You name it, pancakes fixed it. We would take turns making them, depending on who was hurting. Sometimes we helped each other if we were both down.

I lugged myself up onto a metal stool in front of the kitchen bar. The cold from the metal on my legs and the granite on my arms sent a chill down my body. I wrapped around my body to keep warm.

When he turned around, I immediately spotted the deep blue purple circle around his eye. Everything came rushing back—at least from the fight. A slight gasp left my mouth when I saw just how bad the bruise was.

"Aust-" I began before he cut me off.

"You want chocolate chips? I think I have blueberries too?" He had a habit of doing this, he was a master at changing the subject. Especially when he was trying to cheer me up or avoid a topic.

I was too exhausted to fight him over it right now. I didn't really want to talk about it anyway, too scared of follow up questions.

"Blueberries please." I mustered any molecule of happiness to form a gentle smile.

"Thanks, Aus"

He just nodded.

-

While I did unfortunately remember the fight, I did not remember how I ended up at Austin's. Maybe I had been drunker than I thought.

Amidst fully waking up and racking my brain for answers, I had somehow missed that his chest was bare. And he was only in sweatpants. I couldn't help but follow the accentuated muscles down his broad, tan back. Still on the band of his grey sweatpants, he turned around and gave me a much better view. I didn't need to see him naked to know that he was... gifted.

I quickly snapped my eyes up to meet his hoping to play it off as me being lost in a daze. Although, I'm pretty sure he had caught it.

He placed the pancakes on the gray granite bar and sat next to me with maple syrup. His pancakes where my favorite, even if he burnt them sometimes.

"So, um—" Unsure of where my confused mind was going, "I don't remember much from yesterday."

I watched him carefully to see his response.

His pink lips pressed together as he took in what I said and tucked a chunk of long golden hair behind his ear. His expression was indiscernible. Confused, sad, lost, apathetic, I couldn't tell which one it was.

"Well, I brought you to my apartment because you had a panic attack after...everything and then we came back here, and... passed out because you know... hungover."

"Got it."

I wasn't going to bring anything up. If he wanted to forget about it, so did I.

Thick sugary syrup slowly spread across my pancakes, pooling over the edges.

"I let you have the bed, I slept on the couch." He clarified, though I wasn't sure I needed that detail. I wished he had been there. You know, for warmth.

"Oh. I don't remember any of that but thank you."

I cut a slice from the perfectly golden stack. When I took a bite, my taste buds lit up. It wasn't until then that I realized I hadn't eaten in over 24 hours. Hastily taking another bite, in that moment it tasted like the best thing I'd ever had. A slight moan involuntarily rolled from my throat.

My eyes suddenly rounded. I didn't mean for that to happen. An embarrassed flush fell across my cheeks. I could feel his eyes on me.

"Enjoying your pancakes are you?" He teased. His voice slightly lower than normal. It twisted my stomach.

I gulped what was left of the pancakes sitting in my mouth.

"Yeah, they're really good." I brought up a napkin to my mouth, seemingly to wipe it clean. But really it was a cover to hide from him.

He must've felt the uncomfortable thickness in the air because he went silent for a beat.

"How are the chocolate chips? Did they melt alright?" His voice lighter now.

Before I went to answer, I realized something off.

"Chocolate chips? They're blueberries silly." Nudging my shoulder against him.

"Stop messing with me," He bumped me back, "Those are chocolate chips in there."

Austin normally had good memory. The chocolate vs blueberry decision happened not even 15 minutes ago. But he seemed adamant.

I scrunched my eyebrows, my eyes bouncing from him to my plate. I took my fork and butter knife to spread open the round slice.

"See, blueberries." I chuckled cautiously, "Are you feeling okay?"

He eyed the stack carefully. His gaze reminded me of someone analyzing a word search.

"Oh oh, yeah. Duh." He jokingly smacked his forehead with his palm. "I must still be hungover or something."

I couldn't explain it, but it just felt odd. It almost seemed like he was... lying to me? But what the fuck would he have to lie to me about pancakes.

I cleared my throat, "Um, do you think I could stay here for a couple days? Just until... he cools off."

"Yeah of course, you're always welcome here. You know that." He replied instantly.

Bringing his hand to my arm, he gave it a little squeeze. His touch flashed memories from yesterday across my mind. His voice, his fist against Nox, him defending me. Sweet, soft, shy Austin. Protective over me.

That's natural though right? Friends stand up for one another. And Nox did have me by the throat. I suppose it'd be pretty shitty if he hadn't at least tried to stop him.

Nonetheless, his deep assertive voice rang in my mind like an echo. I'd never heard him like that. I wanted to hear it again.

"Thanks- I really appreciate it." I smiled up at him. There was so much gentleness to his eyes. No matter what he said, his eyes were always so kind.

"Don't worry, I'll take the couch this time." I teased elbowing his arm.

-

The mood soon lightened as the 'fix it' pancake magic began to kick in.

Next Chapter: 06 - Cold Showers 👀

please let me know what you guys are thinking! if you’re liking the story and/or characters? and if i should keep posting more chapters?

the writing does get better from here i’m just a tad rusty, the story also picks up from here as well

[sparkypantaloons]

Robin Ramen

Dick catches hypothermia after an encounter with Mr. Freeze. Good Dad Bruce to the rescue.

For @nbspacegay

~

When Bruce finds Dick, the kid is dopey with cold. His knees pulled up to his chest, the little yellow cape pulled tight around him, tears frozen to his cheeks.

“Bee.” He forces the word out through chattering teeth and aching jaw. His voice positively miserable. “Bee’zatyou?”

“It’s okay, Robin.” Bruce says gently. He pulls his own cape from his shoulders, wraps it around the eight year old nearly three times he’s so small. Scoops him into his arms. “It’s okay, Robin.” He says again. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Bruce carries him out of the frozen bank vault, guilt burning in his chest. It mixes with the rage he feels for Freeze. Boils like a white, hot sun, at both of them, for putting in Dick in danger. He wonders if the eight year old can feel the warmth of it, seeping through Bruce’s skin.

He puts the car on autopilot as soon as they reach it. Carefully removes Dick’s now damp uniform, as they speed back to the Manor. It leaves Dick’s skin cool and clammy as it’s peeled away, his usual sunshine gold tan, now a moonlight grey.

“Alfred,” Bruce says into the comm, his voice is gruffer than usual. “Alfred, ETA is seventeen minutes. Potential hypothermia.”

Bruce hears Alfred pause, hears the concern and chastisement and regret in the older man’s single intake of breath and then he says “Of course, sir.” And clicks out of the channel.

“You’re okay, Dickie.” Bruce turns back to Robin. The eight year old is listless and quiet. Eyes glazed as he watches Bruce manoeuvre him into a spare pair of sweatpants and t-shirt to replace the uniform. There’s no sweater for Dick in the car for some reason, so Bruce pulls one of his own hoodies over the kid’s head. It swallows him up almost immediately, comes down to his knees and well past the tips of his fingers. Bruce pulls the hood up, wraps Dick up in Batman’s cape again and then pulls him into his lap. Holds him close.

It doesn’t take them twenty minutes to reach the Cave. Alfred is waiting with blankets and hot chocolate.

“How is he?” He asks, grim faced, as Bruce climbs out of the car with his precious bundle.

“M’okay.” Dick mumbles. He’s still cool to touch, still limp and floppy. Still impossibly small in Bruce’s arms.

Bruce heads towards the med bay, but Alfred’s hand on his arm stops him. “I’ve prepared the drawing room.” He says softly. “Far better perhaps, than a damp cave?”

“Hn.” Bruce grunts, ready to head towards the Cave stairs.

“Let me take him.” Alfred says, blocking Bruce again. “You need to shower, get out of that suit.”

Bruce hesitates, not ready to let Dick out of his sight. Not ready to let his mind start torturing him with the what if’s and could have’s of the evening. Then he nods and gently places the eight year old in Alfred’s arms.

He pushes Dick’s damp hair back from his forehead. His skin still cold and clammy. “I won’t be long, Dickie.” He promises.

Dick murmurs something unintelligible, eyelids fluttering, as Alfred carries him out of the Cave.

Bruce finds them a short while later in the Drawing Room. A tight ball of guilt and worry sticks in his chest. A fire is blazing and Dick is buried beneath a mountain of blankets on the couch. A tuft of black hair poking out over to glassy, blue eyes. Alfred places a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as he leaves, but doesn’t speak.

Bruce takes a breath. “Hey chum.” He says gently, kneeling by the sofa. He runs a hand over Dick’s head, down to the back of his neck. “How’re you feeling?”

“Cold.” Dick slurs. Then he lets out a miserable moan. “M’sorry B.” Hot tears spill onto cool skin. “M’sorry.”

“Hey, hey now.” Bruce coos softly, twisting so his eyes are level with Dick’s. “What are you apologising for?”

“I shouldn’ta let Freeze—uh…” He trails off as a shiver runs through him, another tear slipping down his cheek.

Bruce’s heart hurts, his poor boy. “Hold on, Dickie.” He says quietly, climbing to his feet, picking up the bundle of blankets that his son as he goes. He adjusts the eight year old in his arms, then sits down on the couch. Cuddles the little boy close to his chest. “It’s okay, darling.” He murmurs softly, hands gently rubbing up and down Dick’s back to warm him up. “You didn’t do anything wrong.“

Dick sniffs miserably into Bruce’s shoulder. His cold fingers tucked under Bruce’s chin. “I shouldn’ta got stuck. What if you needed me?”

Bruce takes one of Dick’s hands in his own, presses a kiss to his fingertips. “We need each other chum.” He says gently. “That’s what makes us a team.”

Dick sniffs again, but Bruce can feel him relax a little, beneath all the blankets. He falls into an exhausted sleep.

An hour or so later, Dick stirs. His head popping up from beneath Bruce’s chin. His arms have disappeared into the giant sleeves of Bruce’s hoody and he struggles to get his hands free.

Bruce blinks his own sleep away. Helps the eight year old’s hands escape the enormous jumper. “How’re you feeling,chum?” He asks. The fire is just dying embers now.

Dick is wriggling, trying to escape all of the many, many blankets. “Hungry.” He mumbles.

“Yeah?” Bruce asks, helping the eight year old free himself. “Let’s go see what we can rustle up.”

Dick raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Is Alfred awake?” He asks.

Bruce pouts. “I can make soup, Dick.”

Dick makes a face. “Tell that to the pan you melted last weekend.”

Bruce laughs at that, sitting the eight year old on his hip as he stands from the sofa. “I think Alfred has left us some out. We just need to microwave it.”

Dick nods, leans his head on Bruce’s shoulder, forehead pressed to Bruce’s neck. His skin is warmer now, but still a little cool for Bruce’s liking.

Bruce sits him on the island in the kitchen. Rolls the sleeves of the hoody up five times before Dick can finally use his hands.

Alfred has left out three different kinds of soup, one bowl of porridge and a giant mug of hot chocolate. Each with very clear, detailed instructions on how to warm them up without any major disasters. Bruce reads each option out to Dick, feels his heart hurt as the poor kid listens quietly, still tired and listless.

“Robin Ramen, please.” He says, once Bruce is finished. “And hot chocolate.”

Bruce nods. “One Robin Ramen coming right up.” He says with a flourish. It’s one of Alfred’s own recipes, a twist on the classic ramen recipe, but without a couple of ingredients Dick is allergic to. Bruce pops the bowl in the microwave, punches in the instructions left by the older man.

“Don’t burn it.” Dick warns, though he’s still too tired for his usual cheekiness. He leans his head against Bruce’s chest as they wait for the microwave to ding and Bruce runs his fingers through the eight years old’s hair.

Half a bowl of ramen and nearly all the hot chocolate later, Dick is finally starting to perk up. He has some colour back in his cheeks, though he still looks drained. “Did you get Freeze at least?” He asks, from where he sits at the breakfast bar. His legs swing beneath him.

Bruce shakes his head. “Don’t worry. We’ll get him next time.”

Dick drops his spoon against the bowl with a clatter. He looks miserable. “B you should have got him instead of me. You need to keep Gotham safe.”

“Dickie.” Bruce says seriously, moving to sit next to the eight year old. “The only person I need to keep safe is you. You and Alfred.”

“But—“ Dick begins.

“No.” Bruce says firmly. “If it’s Gotham or you, my choice is always you, chum. Always. What’s the point in saving the city if you’re not here with me to enjoy it, huh?”

Dick looks down into his bowl. Nods silently. “I was scared.” He says eventually. Voice so quiet, Bruce almost doesn’t hear it. “It was so cold.”

“I know, darling.” Bruce says gently. “It’s okay to be scared.”

Dick nods again. Still doesn’t look up. “Can we go to bed now? M’tired.”

Bruce nods. “Of course.” He scoops the eight year old up again, holds him tight. “You wanna stay with me?”

Dick nods into Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce pretends he can’t feel the warm tears soaking through his shirt.

When they reach Bruce’s bedroom, Dick runs and jumps into the giant bed. Bruce tries not to laugh as he goes, he looks like E.T. in the giant hoodie.

“Don’t think you’re getting away with not brushing your teeth any night, other than tonight.” Bruce warns.

Dick flashes him a grin from where he’s already huddled beneath the sheets. “C’mon slow poke, or I’m gonna sleep right in the middle and you’ll have to sleep at the bottom with Ace.”

“I’d like to see you try it.” Bruce says, climbing in beside the eight year old, ignoring the small, evil laugh Dick lets out. “Are you still cold, chum?” He asks.

“A little.” Dick says quietly. He wriggles himself into Bruce’s space.

Bruce reaches over and switches out the light, wraps his arms around the tiny bundle that is Robin.

“G’night, B.” Dick says, voice already slurred with sleep.

“G’night Dickie.” Bruce says and he presses a kiss to Dick’s hair, holds him close to his chest. Safe and warm.

[taixju]

doggy-style

CONTENT WARNING: fluff, smut, hybrid, puppy! itadori x reader, oral (m receiving), vaginal sex, rough sex, bondage, praise kink, unedited

NOTES: hi friends! for the first time, I didn’t struggle writing smut :D this was part of @ultimate-astridwriting​ collab! i had a lot fo fun writing this and i surprised myself for banging it out this quickly AND it ended up being way longer than i intended. i only recently discovered my secret thirst for itadori and it shows LOL As always, thanks you so much for reading *muah* 

@ultimate-astridwriting thank you so much for allowing me to participate in this writing collab and making me feel welcome to the tumblr writing community 💕

Check out the works of the insanely talented writers and artists who participated in the same collab!! Here

“Babe!” Your boyfriend called out.

You stood at the kitchen counter, chopping veggies to toss into the instant curry that was currently heating up on the stove. 

“I’m in the kitchen!” you reply. 

The both of you had a long week and all you wanted to do was curl up on the couch and enjoy a hot meal with your favorite person.  

“Welcome home baby,” you smile upon hearing him enter the room, “Are you hungry? I’m preparing dinner now - it should be ready in about 15.”

“Are you the main course?” he wraps his strong arms around your waist, pulling you into a warm embrace. He gives your body a firm squeeze and snuggles his face into the crook of your neck.

“Yuji,” you whine, “that tickles!” 

He chuckles but ignores your protests and slides a daring hand underneath your pink apron to give your nipple a squeeze. 

“I’m cooking here!” you scold. You place the knife down to turn around to look up at your boyfriend.

“How do I look?” he grins as he pulls away. A pair of tan pointed ears sit at the top of his head. The sight causes you to giggle.

“What are you supposed to be?”

“A dog,” he pouts, “isn’t that obvious? I went last-minute costume shopping with Fushiguro for the Halloween party this weekend.”

“I guess I can see it,” you tease, “gotta love my golden retriever of a boyfriend.”

You reach up to pluck the fake ears off his head but to the surprise of both of you, they do not slide off with ease causing Itadori to let out a high-pitched yelp. Startled, you retract your hand and quickly apologize. 

“That hurt,” he whined.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you rub his head lovingly. This time, you try to remove the headband more gently. It doesn’t budge causing you to gasp.

“Yuji,” you saw slowly, “...did you glue it to your head?”

“What do you mean?” he gives you an incredulous look, “it’s a headband!” He reaches up to give the ears a firm tug and to his horror, they refuse to budge. 

“Where the heck did you buy these from?” you cradle his face in your hands to get a better look at the ears.  Upon taking a closer look, you see that there is no band. In a perplexed trance, you unconsciously rub where the base of the ears are fused to his head. 

“Mhmm,” Itadori whimpers, “Baby, don’t do that.”

He slouches forward, arms caging you between his tall frame and the kitchen counter. His eyes are closed and his brow creased in deep concentration.

When you don’t cease the gentle assault on his ears, you feel the warmth of his breath quicken. The reaction piques your curiosity causing you to pinch the fluffy tufts on his head and in return he grinds the growing bulge in his pants against your thigh. You bite your lip deviously upon realizing that this newfound discovery had your boyfriend like putty in your hands.

“You like that baby?” you tippy-toe to press a kiss to his adam’s apple. You feel it bob as he swallows causing you to giggle.

He grips your forearms firmly, pushing you away. His actions surprise you but you look up at him expectantly.  Unarguably, his arousal was evident causing you to smirk as you reach to unbutton his pants. As soon as your fingertips reach the hem of his pants, Itadori grasps both of your wrists, holding them above your head. His sudden roughness causes you to let out a moan.

“Yuji,” you whine, “Let me help you baby.”

You lift your leg up to rub the exposed flesh of your thighs along his. Shackling your wrists in one hand, he grips your thigh in the other stopping it from moving any further. Slowly he trails his hand back up leaving a wake of goosebumps in its trail. Dipping his hand under the flow of your t-shirt, he traces a teasing finger along the hem of your panties. His actions cause your sex to clench, wanting nothing more than to be absolutely filled with his cock. 

“Do something,” you complain. He gives you a dark look before bending down, bringing your underwear with him. 

“Take these off,” he commands. You step out of the undergarments too quickly, almost tripping, but his strong hands hold you up. Your mind is hazy, clouded with the dripping desire to please your boyfriend.

“Good girl,” he praises. He stands up quickly, not letting go of your wrists. With his other hand, he trails his long fingers along the plump flesh of your lips. Instinctively, your tongue darts out, desperate for skin-to-skin contact. 

He clicks his tongue, “You were doing so good baby.”

You look up at him with doe-like eyes, feigning innocence. 

“Open,” he demands. His deep voice vibrates all the way down to your sex and you’re quick to follow his directions.

To your surprise, he grips your tongue, pulling it out before shoving three digits to the back of your throat. The action causes you to gag but you take the entirety of them well. Without breaking eye contact, wrap your warm lips around his fingers, making sure they are well coated with your saliva before giving them a firm suck. Itadori can’t help but groan at the lewd sight. 

Finally, he releases his hold on your wrists to grab a handful of your hair.  He gives it a stinging tug, forcing your head to back to look up at him.  

“Open your mouth for me, baby,” he strokes the inside of your mouth, eliciting a moan from you. 

You give him one last suck before releasing his fingers with a pop.  He retracts his hand, pulling a string of saliva with it.  He growls before pinching your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.

“Wider.”

You are quick to obey his command. He chuckles darkly in approval before shoving your lacy black panties into your awaiting mouth, leaving you gagged. 

“Needed to shut up this pretty mouth,” he drawls before lifting the apron and t-shirt above your head.  You whimper but hold your arms above your head, waiting to be stripped completely.  To your surprise, it doesn’t come. Keeping the shirt at eye level, Itadori reaches behind your head to tie it around your head, blindfolding you.

“Mphhh!” you cry out but your panties drown out your protests.

Sliding the thin straps of your apron up your arms, he stops at your wrists, tying a skillful knot and binding your wrist together.  You are left completely handicapped by your boyfriend’s sadistic ministrations. However, you cannot deny how incredibly turned on you are. Although he barely even touched you, you feel a wet warmth pool between your legs, coating the inside of your thighs. 

“Look at you,” he cooes before shoving your shoulders down, forcing you to kneel before him, 

“You look so pretty for me like this.”

You moan, only wanting to let him know of your desire. He groans causing you to rub your thighs together, craving some sort of friction.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, before nudging your thighs apart with his foot. 

Being blindfolded, tied up, and completely at his mercy has your hearing heightened.  The sound of his belt buckle and the unzipping of his pants make your mouth water.  Itadori wastes no time and pulls the soaked panty from your mouth.  You release a sigh of relief but keep your mouth open, knowing that if you behaved, you’d be rewarded accordingly.

Without any warning, he slaps his hard length along your awaiting tongue and you welcome his administrations greedily. He lets out a guttural groan when you slurp his cock into your mouth and bob your head when you feel his grip tighten in your hair.

“Fuck,” he grunts, “Not so fast or I’ll cum.”

His comment only encourages you to suck harder and faster. You flatten your tongue along the base of his cock and drag it upward teasingly before sinking back down taking him entirely. Contradicting his earlier protest, he begins to desperately grind into your face. 

“Oh, baby, you’re drooling everywhere,” he pants.

You grin, emphasizing the slurping sounds eliciting from where the both of you are connected. Your heart swooned at his praises - nothing made you happier than to please the man in front of you.  

“Slower princess,” he lets out a breathy chuckle, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You whine and release his cock with a pop. “When are you gonna fuck me?”

He growls. 

“Turn over, baby,” Itadori pumps his length with his left hand and grips your arm with the other. 

He pulls you up swiftly before forcing you to bend over the counter.  The sudden action causes you to groan but it doesn’t stop you from rutting your hips back to grind onto your boyfriends’ exposed cock.

Without warning, he shoves his hot length into your sex causing you to cry out.  He stills upon entering and all you can hear his erratic breathing.  

“Yuji,” you whine, “Please!”

“ I don’t know what that means, pet.”

You can’t help but giggle at the irony at his words and turn to look at him despite being blindfolded, “Are you sure you should be the one saying that...pet?”

“Heh,” he grinds his hips violently against your own causing you to choke on your laugh, “Are you sure you're in any place to be talking to me like that?”

“You were the one tempting me that slutty look,” you say daringly, “Should I stroke your head ears again?”

“Don’t.”

Thrust.

“Test.”

Thrust.

“Me.”

He grunts and sputters after each pump into your sex.

The naughty thoughts clouding your mind escape your mouth before you can you can process the possible consequences.

“Make me...pup.”

“We can stop right now,” he threatens before stilling his hips completely. 

You huff, your stubbornness getting the best of you. But you don’t want him to stop.

“No,” you mumble.

“What was that?” he reassumes his assault on your sex. His sudden and violent thrust upward stretches you to extremities, causing you to cry out.

“I’m sorry!” At this point, you're begging to be fucked. And Itadori knew it.

“What do you want,” you knew he was grinning from ear to ear upon hearing your submission.

“...fuck me,” 

He rams his cock, filling you up to the brim until his balls are slapping against your ass. The moans that escape your lips are becoming second nature to you and only edge your boyfriend to thrust into you faster. He reaches up to wrap his hand around your neck, gripping hard to keep you in place.  His other hand slides down the arch of your body and nudges itself between your legs. He finds his way to your heat, coating his middle and ring finger before rubbing your clit at a fastened pace. 

“Fuck-” you sputter as he continues to ram into you.

“Come on baby,” he coaxes, “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

His words stimulate you further, flinging you into obscurity, while his strong thrusts continue to fuck you into oblivion. Still blindfolded, the pleasure is overwhelming and envelopes your entire existence, making you unable to put your own thoughts into words. His thrusts become sloppy and uneven but he manages to keep his quick pace. 

To your right, you hear the forgotten curry begin to bubble over, filling the room with the smell of burning smoke and sex.  Unable to form words, the both of you are so close and ignore your ruined dinner. 

“Fuckmeharder,” you manage to slur, “pleash-” 

The grip on your neck and his fast flicks pushes you off the edge with a leg-shaking orgasm. He bends down further and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.  You feel his sharp fangs graze a vein before completely sinking in. Your release a harsh scream as you come and despite still being tied up, you desperately reach above your head to touch any part of Itadori that you could. Your fingers graze the tips of his puppy ears and the action causes his hips still. You feel his cock twitch in your sex, emptying out his hot seed into your core.  You shiver at the sensation, as you come down from your high.

The only sound that fills the room is the sizzling of the burning curry and both of your uneven breaths. He licks the small wound he inflicted on your neck causing you to groan.

“Yuji,“ you whine, wanting nothing more than for him to release the binds around your eyes and wrists.

He unfastens both, holding you upright so you don’t fall over from exhaustion. 

“So the ears,” you begin to turn around.

“-came off,” he states with confusion. 

Itadori looks at the headband sitting in his hand incredulously. As mysterious as the object was, the both of you were tired. He tosses the headband into the trash before turning off the stove.

“I liked those,” you jokingly pout.  He shakes your head before pinching your cheeks.

“Come on, let’s go to bed,”  Your lover picks you up to cradle you into his strong arms and carries your shared bedroom.  Little did the both of you know, it wouldn’t be the end of your encounters with the dangerous yet fluffy headpiece.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Green is My Favorite Color Ch. 11

Series Summary: Dean has been her hero from childhood, can she ever get him to be more?

Pairings: Dean x OFC

Warnings: Angst, some fluff, hospital setting, talk of injuries.

Word Count: 3,395

Chapter Summary: What will happen for Julie and Dean when she wakes up?

A/N:  The eleventh chapter in a longer series. As I’m writing, the story is stretching out a little and I’m thinking it’s going to be at least 20 chapters. Sorry! 😬 It’s what I’ll call cannon adjacent. It will follow the general storylines through the seasons, but I’m creating my own offshoots. 😊

A/N 2: I'm SO sorry this chapter was two weeks in coming. RL got all up in my face! LOL! The next chapter should be up by the end of this coming week. I hope chapter 11 was worth the wait even though it's a bit short. I know for sure the next chapter will be pretty long, so I figured I wouldn't tire you out with this one! 😉

Series Master List || Dean Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Julie's eyelids felt heavier than lead as she tried to force them open. The room was dim, but still bright to her exhausted eyeballs. They felt grainy and dry, but she finally managed to keep them open long enough to take in her surroundings.

She was in a bed.

She looked down at her chest to see the countless tubes and wires that were connected to her.

Check that - she was in a hospital bed.

She looked passed the end of her bed, to her right, and saw Sam's very long frame scrunched up on a tiny, two person, blue vinyl, hospital couch.

It made her smile.

Then at the foot of her bed were two wooden chairs, covered in more vinyl, yellow and orange this time. One of the chairs held a dozing Bobby, his hat over his eyes and his mouth open slightly, a light snore issuing from it.

The other chair held a man in a tan trench coat, staring at the floor. She didn't recognize him, but there was a sort of vague familiarity there that she couldn't put her finger on.

Sitting beside her on her left, was Dean.

His hand was pushed through the side rail of the bed so it rested over hers. He sat upright in what looked like the world's most uncomfortable chair, the blue vinyl that covered parts of the arms and back was cracked and tufts of white stuffing were sticking out.

He couldn't possibly be comfortable, and yet he was sleeping. Maybe he was just exhausted Julie reasoned, since there were dark purple circles under his eyes and his cheeks looked sunken and pale. He had what looked like several days worth of beard covering his face and Julie found she wanted to reach up and run her fingers through it.

As she shifted her hand under his, intending to do just that, his eyes sprung open and then widened in shock.

"Jules." he whispered. Then he shouted, "Jules!"

The other three men jumped to their feet, Sam's legs a little rubbery under him after being constricted for so long.

"Sam, go get the doctor." Dean shouted at him and Sam nodded, his deep dimples showing in his wide grin as he dashed out the door.

Julie shook her head, overwhelmed by all the faces staring at her in expectation. She gave a kind of feeble wave.

"Hi." she said, lamely.

But Dean was beaming down at her like she'd just given the most rousing of speeches. Bobby was surreptitiously wiping away tears and the handsome blue-eyed man at the end of the bed gave her a small smile and a nod.

He continued to be familiar, his identity just out of reach. Dean saw her staring at him and smiled.

"Oh, yeah. Guess you guys haven't officially met. Cas, this is Julie. Jules, this is Cas."

Julie remembered suddenly where she recognized him from. He'd been with Bobby and Sam when they came to fight the angels.

"Angels." Julie whispered.

It all came rushing back to her memory and she closed her eyes, her breath catching as the fear and terror came rushing back to her.

Dean leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. "It's okay, Jules. You're safe now." Before he could say anything more, the doctor came in, with a bright smile on her face.

"Good morning, Ms. Taylor. I'm Dr. Doshi." She said with a hint of a musical Indian accent lilting her words. "We've been a little worried about you. You've had quite the room full of champions here these last few days." she said, indicating the four very large men taking up most of the room.

"Days?" Julie asked, shocked.

"Yes." The doctor said as she pushed her way in between Dean and the bed, paying no mind to his hulking presence or his refusal to move.

She looked at the machines that were beeping around Julie and wrote on the clipboard she carried before tucking it under her arm and laying her hand on Julie’s shoulder.

"It was almost three days ago that you were mugged and stabbed. Do you remember what happened?"

Julie looked at Dean and he smiled. "Oh, um...no, I'm sorry. I don't remember much of anything."

The doctor nodded and smiled kindly again, patting her and moving off to the other side of the bed to mark down numbers from those blinking and beeping machines.

"Not to worry, my dear. That's very common when someone suffers a trauma as you did. It may come back to you slowly, or it may not come back at all. But for now the most important thing is that you continue to rest and improve."

She moved to the foot of the bed and hung the clipboard there. "You had a puncture to your spleen and had emergency surgery to remove it. You shouldn't worry about the loss, since your liver will take over for most of the functions your spleen carried out."

Julie just nodded feeling as though her head might split from the sheer amount of data being processed by her brain.

"You lost a lot of blood, and we were quite concerned for some time about the excessive internal bleeding you’d suffered. You also had an infection take hold at the site of the wound, but you seem to be coming along nicely now. Your vitals are good, and you're awake which is a very big sign of improvement."

The doctor turned to the men. "Now gentlemen, against all the rules of the hospital, I have given you permission to stay here while Ms. Taylor's condition was so unstable. But I'm afraid now, I must insist that you go get a proper night's sleep for yourselves, eat food, and return tomorrow when visiting hours begin."

The others nodded reluctantly, but Dean sat back on the uncomfortable chair. "No, I'm gonna stay here."

Dr. Doshi smiled sweetly, but her voice was like steel. "No, Mr. Winchester, you will not stay here. You will leave with your friends and let Ms. Taylor rest. She is only going to sleep now, anyway."

Julie turned her head to Dean in time to see him give the little doctor the most withering stare he could muster up. "Yes, and when she wakes up, I will be here."

"Dean." Julie admonished quietly. But she needn't have bothered. Dr. Doshi was not impressed with or bothered by his steely demeanor.

"You will be here in the morning when visiting hours begin, at seven AM."

The doctor stared at the hunter, never losing her smile, but never giving an inch either. Clearly Dean was not the first stubborn patient or family she'd dealt with and she would brook no nonsense.

Finally her eyes softened slightly and she leaned forward to pat Dean's hand. "I promise we'll take good care of her, haven't we so far?"

Dean nodded, begrudgingly.

Dr. Doshi nodded back. "And so now I must insist that you don't make yourself our next patient. Please go take care of yourselves." she said, looking around and including the other three men in her concern.

Dean caved. Orders and commands he could fight, but he got awkward when someone showed concern for him, and he never really knew how to act.

"Fine." he said quietly. "Can I have two minutes?"

Dr. Doshi nodded as she turned away. "Just two and no more." Dean rolled his eyes.

Bobby and Sam came and gave her a hug telling her they'd be back first thing. Cas shook her hand a little stiffly and patted Dean on the shoulder as he left.

Dean looked down at her and suddenly the room was very empty and quiet. Julie smiled at him, completely unsure how to act now that they were alone. She was so tired and her mind was still swimming with everything it was trying to process.

Seeming to understand, Dean just leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before he pulled back and took her hand.

"I'll go and let you sleep. I just wanted to let you know that you'll be safe. Cas branded your ribs."

Julie's eyes got wide. "He did what?"

Dean smiled. "It's an Enochian sigil. It will keep you hidden from the angels. Cas carved it into your ribs, it's what he did for me and Sam."

His eyes got dark, and Julie could see guilt rear up in his expression. "God, Jules, I'm so sorry. I should have sent Cas to you a long time ago to hide you from them. It was so careless...so..." he broke off, his jaw clenched.

"Dean, don't." Julie said, tears coming to her eyes.

She wasn't sure why she was crying. Maybe it was just the culmination of everything that had happened, or maybe it was her sadness at knowing that no matter what she said, Dean wouldn't let go of bearing the guilt for what had happened. Whatever the reason, tears spilled down her cheeks and Dean shook his head.

"Don't cry, Sweetheart." He let go of her hand and reached into his jacket pocket.

"Here. Maybe you could use this again." He said as he opened his hand to show her what he’d pulled out.

Hanging from a thin piece of black cloth was her cherished silver talisman. He tied the delicate cloth around her wrist like a bracelet.

Instead of ending her tears like Dean had hoped, her sobs increased.

Dean was immediately contrite. "Jules, this...it was supposed to help!"

Julie laughed through her tears. "It does. Really." She reached up for him and he immediately leaned down to her so she wouldn't have to stretch.

She pulled him in for a kiss that was meant to be quick, but turned heated and extended as soon as her lips met his. Ten months of wanting his mouth on hers made it very difficult to stop or pull away.

But the sound of a throat being cleared pulled them apart. In the doorway, Dr. Doshi stood and tapped her watch without saying anything. Dean growled slightly, and Dr. Doshi smiled back.

With one more wholly unsatisfying peck on the lips, Dean stood up. "I'll be back first thing." Dean promised.

Julie nodded and brushed away the last of her tears and smiled. "I'll be here."

Dr. Doshi moved out of the doorway as Dean pushed passed her. "Doctor." He acknowledged with a tight smile.

"Mr. Winchester."

The next morning Julie was sitting up drinking a cup of coffee from her breakfast tray when she heard Dean’s voice.

“It’s five friggin’ minutes! Are you kidding me?” He wasn’t exactly yelling, but he could definitely be heard.

Julie heard the muffled and significantly quieter voices of the nurses, but couldn’t make out their response.

“So what if she is sleeping? Do you think I’m gonna go in there with a fucking brass band and wake her up? I just want to go into her room.” He seemed to realize he was contradicting his claim of being able to be quiet, and his voice got low enough that she could no longer hear him.

But he must have won the fight because shortly thereafter he was quietly opening her door and peaking inside. When he saw her sitting up finishing her breakfast, he scowled out the open door. “She’s eating breakfast, and you’re telling me you didn’t know if she was awake?”

He rolled his eyes and tried to slam the door, but it was on hydraulics and couldn’t be slammed. He settled for scowling his way over to her bedside, cup of coffee in hand.

“Good morning!” Julie said, extra chipper. “Sounds like your morning is off to a great start!” She gave him an overly cheery smile and he returned it with an incredibly sarcastic one.

“They weren’t going to let me in because visiting hours didn’t start for another five minutes. Can you believe that? Why are they so against visitors here?” He handed over the coffee he held and took the plastic cup out of her hand.

“Here, this will be much better.” He said, setting the hospital coffee down on her breakfast tray.

Julie took a sip and let out a grateful groan. It was delicious and was once again made perfectly to her preferences.

Magic.

She pushed her breakfast tray out of the way and scooted her legs over a little, patting the bed, so Dean would sit down.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as he sat.

Julie shrugged. “Not bad. They gave me a lot of painkillers, so I slept pretty good.” She dangled the charm on her wrist and smiled. “And of course, I had this.”

Dean smiled back, but it was short lived. “Jules...” he began and Julie knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“I’m so sorry. I never thought…I mean, I knew how badly Zachariah wanted me to say yes, and I knew what he was willing to do to us, to me and Sam, to make it happen, I just didn’t think he’d go so far as to hurt someone completely innocent and uninvolved.”

He shook his head. “But I should have known. I should have realized how fanatical he was. I should have had Cas ward you a long time ago. It’s just…” He closed his eyes tightly. “I spend so much time actively trying not to think about you, that I…” He trailed off and opened his eyes again.

“Jules, I’m so sorry. I can't ever...” his voice was too choked to finish his thought.

Julie shook her head and reached out her hand toward him. He took it and trapped it between both of his. “Please, don’t apologize, Dean. And don’t feel guilty. You didn’t do this to me, and it's not your fault." Julie tried to bolster him with a grin. "You did, however, end the guy who did, so...thanks!”

Dean nodded absently and Julie knew he wasn’t going to let go of the blame. “Yeah,” he said with a smile, “I managed it with a pretty amazing assist from this newbie hunter. You shoulda seen her.”

Julie blushed a little, but before she could respond, Cas pushed open the door. “Dean.”

He noticed Julie and nodded. “Hello. How are you this morning?”

“Better, thanks.”

“That's good.” The angel looked back to Dean. “We’ve gotta go, Dean.”

Julie felt her heart drop. Dean rolled his eyes and licked his lips before he looked over his shoulder at Cas. “Yeah, okay Cas. Just give me a minute.”

Dean turned back to Julie and opened his mouth to speak but then he paused, looking back to Cas still standing in the doorway. He stared at him for a moment before Cas seemed to cotton on.

“I’m sensing awkwardness. I should leave the room?” He asked.

“Yeah, Cas. 'Give me a minute', means go away and I’ll see you in a minute. Or two.” He added when he realized the angel was likely to time out an exact minute.

Cas nodded slightly and left the room.

Dean shook his head and smiled at Julie. “He grows on you.”

Julie nodded. “I bet. Tell him I say thank you for helping to save our lives.”

“I will.”

Julie frowned. “How did the three of them even know where we were, or that we were in trouble?”

“Cas.” Dean said, nodding toward the door and the departed angel. “Another angel, Inias, an old garrison buddy of Cas’, didn’t approve of what Zachariah was doing, involving an innocent human, and reached out to Cas.”

Julie nodded. “I guess we should be grateful not all the angels are sadistic monsters.”

Dean gave a small huff and rolled his eyes. He didn’t seem to be won over.

There was quiet for a moment and then Julie spoke, barely above a whisper. “You’re leaving?”

Dean inhaled deeply. “Cas says there’s a rogue cupid in a little town back east.”

Julie frowned. “A rogue cupid? Like, you mean the fat baby with a bow and arrow?”

“That’s what I said,” Dean smiled at her. “but Cas says a cupid looks pretty much like any other angel.”

Julie nodded. “Well, we don’t want a rogue angel running around, that’s for sure.”

Silence reigned again, but it was so full of unspoken things that Julie felt choked by it.

Finally Dean stood up and moved to her side. He leaned down and grasped her face with both hands and captured her mouth in a deep kiss.

With all the tubes and wires still hooked up to her Dean couldn’t get as close to her as he wanted, but he swept his tongue into her mouth, licking up into her and causing Julie’s stomach to tighten and her core muscles to clench.

He slanted his mouth over hers again and again, moaning softly as she grasped the zippered sides of his green canvas jacket and pulled him closer.

Suddenly there was a very loud beeping noise coming from one of the machines beside the bed and a nurse came rushing in. Seeing, the tableau of Dean grasping Julie’s face and Julie grabbing onto Dean, the nurse rolled her eyes, but grinned as she moved over to stop the beeping.

“Your heart rate spiked.” She said, blushing slightly as she looked at Dean, with his kiss swollen lips and heated expression. “Try to be careful.”

She practically ran out of the room and Dean dropped his forehead to Julie’s with a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure most of the medical team looking after you wants to throttle me.”

Julie smiled through the tears that sprang to her eyes as Dean pulled away. She let her hands drop from him and looked down at her lap.

“Jules.” Dean said, his voice soft and imploring. “Please…don’t.”

Julie looked up at him and didn’t try to stop her tears. “I can’t help it. I won’t pretend I’m okay with this, because I’m not. I know you have to go now, but come back to me. When this hunt is over, come back to Bobby’s, let me help you heal, let me take care of you just a little bit before the next fight comes. And when I’m well again, let me join the battle, let me fight beside you.”

Her voice got very soft as she reached out a hand and ran it down his cheek.

“God, Dean. Just let me love you.”

Dean closed his eyes and she could see the column of his throat moving up and down as he swallowed. When he opened his eyes again, Julie saw that something had shifted in his gaze. He almost looked resigned and fearful. His look was one that said, 'God, I shouldn’t be doing this.' He opened his mouth to say something but Cas was suddenly there in the doorway.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but it’s been a lot more than two minutes, and we really must go now.”

Julie was desperate to know what Dean had been about to say, but he just nodded silently, jaw clenched, before he pressed a kiss to her cheek and pulled away.

“Please take care of yourself, Jules. Sam will stop in right away to say goodbye and Bobby and Annie are going to be here soon to stay with you.”

He nodded again stiffly and his smile was more like a grimace. “I’ll see ya, kid.” He said and spun away from her and out the door.

Cas looked at her heartbroken face and her tears falling rapidly and frowned deeply. “I really am very sorry Julie. I don’t know…” He paused and looked very confused.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, following Dean out the door, and Julie was alone again, her heart broken again.

But this time she had a tiny spot of light in the form of Dean’s interrupted thought. He was going to say something, and despite telling herself that it was stupid to consider it, stupid to think he was going to say anything besides another goodbye, Julie couldn’t beat back the kernel of hope in her heart that maybe she would see him again soon. Or sooner than last time anyway.

She did see him a lot sooner. He showed up on her doorstep three months later, when his world ended.

Chapter 12

[svnflowervol666]

Pinky Promise (dad!Harry)

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Harry introduces a certain special someone to the newest addition of his family.

Author’s Note: Surprise! Here’s some boy dad!Harry on this fine week night. I feel like Harry is almost always written as as girl dad (guilty as charged tho), so I wanted to show the boys some love. I didn’t really call this one an ‘x reader,’ because this one’s mostly about Harry and his bub, but the missus is still there, don’t worry! I hope you enjoy and as always, feedback of any kind, likes and especially reblogs are super helpful to keep me motivated to post more. Take care and TPWK.

     The Styles household was always filled with noise. Whether it was contagious laughter echoing off of the walls in the kitchen, the pitter patter of pudgy feet bursting through the back door from the garden, or the low humming of the secondhand record player coming from the living room. The sounds were comforting, reassuring to those that lived there. While the ruckus caused by something like which Joni Mitchell song Harry should play on the guitar before bedtime or what color everyone’s nails should be painted each week might seem chaotic to some, it represented a kind of tranquility that at one point did not seem possible to grasp.

    But today, in the modest, ivy-covered cottage with a pastel-yellow door, it was quiet. The sun poured in from the two open windows of the living area, filling the room with a still brightness that only London could emote. Dust particles danced in the light, drifting along through their own invisible current. The beginnings of the city could be seen in the distance, visible in a foggy haze with promises of sweet treats and adventue-packed days. But no sound, as the newest member of the Styles family had commanded the attention and affection of everyone within its walls.

    “She’s so little,” the youngest spoke up. Although he was now technically the oldest. He outstretched his hand out to caress the petite foot that stuck out from beneath the periwinkle-colored muslin blanket.

    “I know,” Harry replied, watching the swaddled newborn’s toes curl in reaction to being tickled by her brother, “I remember when you were this tiny, too.”

    “I was?” he asked, scratching at his chocolate brown curls that never laid flat.

    Harry nodded in affirmation, recalling the early morning when his son had been born prematurely. He’d spent nearly ten days resting in an uncomfortable vinyl recliner beside his girlfriend’s, who was now his wife, hospital bed counting down the minutes until the nurse would give them the “ok” to go visit their bub in the NICU. Harry stared in awe at his newborn through the glass of the incubator, using the open portal on the side to reach in and stroke his cheek with the faintest of touches. He was covered in wires and tubes, surrounded by monitors and beeping machines, all tasked with keeping his underdeveloped organs afloat. It was the most pitiful thing he had ever seen, and Harry still has those nights where he’s plagued with memories from the hospital. While the day he became a father was most certainly the best day of his life, it was one of the most traumatic experiences he’s ever been through.

    “Mhmm. You were actually even smaller when you were born,” Harry prodded, playfully wiggling his eyebrows at him.

    “No I wasn’t! the toddler jabbed back, crinkling his nose up at his parents, his aquamarine colored eyes turning into tiny slits on either side.

    “Umm, yes you were,” Harry’s wife replied with a chuckle from where she sat beside the rest of her family on the couch, “We bought the tiniest size clothes we could find and they still didn’t fit your teeny little bum.”

    The boy sat confused, trying to comprehend how a person could be smaller than his sister, let alone be so tiny that clothes didn’t even fit them.

    “Well, I’m big now. Right?”

    “Much bigger,” Harry reassured him, “But now that you’re bigger, you have t’ take care of your sister. You have to teach her how to be kind and share your toys with her. Think yeh can do tha’?”

    “Yes! C-can she swim with me in the pool?” he stumbled over his words, overjoyed by the idea of someone always being around to play his sacred water games with him in his nana’s pool.

    “Not yet, bubba,” Harry laughed, tickled by his son’s enthusiasm, “We have t’ wait until she’s a little bit older. But I’m sure she’d love to swim with you at Nana’s when she knows how.”

    “Okayyy,” the boy replied, slightly defeated.

    “Do you want t’ hold her?” Harry asked, gesturing to the sleeping bundle in his lap, her puffy eyelids closed peacefully as tiny, sporadic grunts left her little belly.

    “Yeah, but I don’t know how,” he professed, his plush, pink toddler lips turning down into a frown.

    “’S alright, I’ll show you,” Harry then carefully shuffled from his position on the couch, turning so that he was facing his son.

    “So, first, you have to make sure you hold her head because she can’t keep it up on her own,” Harry started, reaching over to place the baby girl into his son’s arms.

    Unlike the last time, Harry’s hands didn’t shake. He wasn’t afraid like he was before, when his arms trembled as he took his newborn son into his arms for the first time, petrified that he was going to accidentally smother him or drop him and that the worst thing he could imagine would come true. No. This time, his hands were sturdy, protective over his new daughter as he was preparing to introduce her to his firstborn for the very first time.

     Harry’s wife looked on lovingly as his son took the baby from him excitingly, his left hand cupping her head gently. Her tired eyes were filled with love when he wrapped his arm protectively around her little tufts of peach fuzz in the best way that a five-year-old with mediocre hand-eye coordination could.

    “You also have t’ hold her bum so she doesn’t squirm out of your arms.”

    Harry took his son’s hand into his, guiding him to place his tiny forearm along the baby’s back with his palm resting on her diaper-clad bottom. When he was confident of his son’s grip on the infant, he pulled back. He made sure to hover over him with his brawny, tanned arms just ghosting over his son’s. Just in case.

    The boy was elated. His sister was warm and soft, and she looked like one of the stuffed animals that he slept with every night. He couldn’t believe that the person he talked to in his mother’s belly every night for nine months and gave kisses to each morning before nursery school was here and real and now she gets to live with him forever.

    “She’s so cute,” he spoke in gentle whisper this time, remembering what his mum had told him about being quiet around the baby so that she doesn’t wake up cranky.

    He was absolutely smitten over her. Everything about her was the cutest thing he had ever seen in his brief time on Earth: her button nose that sat perfectly above her lips, her miniature fingers wound tightly her fist as if she was ready to fight, her little tongue that barely poked through her mouth each time she yawned. He could stare at her forever if he could.

    Instinctively, he pulled her into his bony chest for a hug, squeezing a little too harder than he should have. The baby girl tensed in his grasp at the motion, the beginnings of a shrill whine escaping her pruney lips.

    “Whoa, bub. You have t’ be careful,” Harry intervened, loosening his son’s arms so that the baby rested peacefully in the boy’s lap again.

    “She’s fragile. You can’t squeeze her like that,” the boy’s mum reminded him.

    “Sorry, Baby,” said the boy as he reached down to press his tiny lips to her eyebrow.

    Her forehead wrinkled up at the contact, similar to one of auntie Gemma’s baby puppies, thought the boy to himself. He also thought that she kind of looked like one of the puppies too, but he kept that to himself.

    Harry and his wife watched their children interacted, how his son was brushing his thumb along her skull, how her face relaxed at the steady motion. They were already in sync with each other, already comforting each other just by their presence. They were both besotted with their daughter, but Harry thinks he might be just a bit more in love with her than his wife. Harry had gotten used to raising his son, while he taught him to be a kindhearted and gentle creature, there had always been a degree of roughness to which he interracted with him. His daughter, however, was made of glass, Harry had convinced himself. He vowed to do whatever it took to make sure she never shed a single tear because of him or anything else he had control over.

    Now, Harry had two babies. One boy and one girl, just like his family before this one. The similarities slightly terrified him. His son was soft and gentle and loving, just like Harry had been as a child. He was sensitive, always yearning to be held and touched in the way that Harry had when he was his age. His daughter, even though she was only a few days old, was already a stubborn little fighter like his sister. She cried her lungs out within her first few hours of being born, kicking and screaming until it looked like her face was turning blue. She hated the harsh lights that the doctors shone in her eyes and their cold hands that poked and prodded at her belly like she was a science experiment. It wasn’t until she was in the arms of her family that her wailing subsided.

    It was thoughts like these that felt surreal to Harry. He never saw himself as someone that could be in the position he is now. He’d always thought he’d be an eternal bachelor, someone who only ever stayed with someone for a certain period of time before everything inevitably blew up in his face and he’d be back at square one. He never thought that he’d be the type of person with a wife and a white picket fence and a slew of babies; he never thought that he could be the type of person who could be this happy.

    “Bubby, can I ask you to promise me something?” Harry asked as he scooped the boy into his lap, making sure the baby was secure so that the three of them laid in one pile on the couch.

     He pulled his wife closer as well, making sure they were shoulder to shoulder and he felt surrounded on all sides by the ones he loved the most.

    “What?” his son asked, peering up at his papa with huge eyes that resembled saucers, his long, dark eyelashes brushing his brow bones.

    “I want you to promise me,” Harry began, wrapping his arms tighter around his two babies, resting his chin in the crook of his son’s neck, “tha’ whatever happens t’ the two of you, no matter how many times you get into fights. No matter how mad you might make each other. That you’ll love her. No matter what. That you’ll always be her big brother.”

    Harry hadn’t realized, but his voice trailed off near the end. His voice was just above a whisper, so quiet that only his son could hear. He pressed his lips to side of his bub’s forehead, an attempt to soothe both his son and himself.

    “Can yeh do that f’ me?”

    The boy in Harry’s lap pondered his father’s words. His finger went absentmindedly to stroke his sister’s hand, astonished when her fingers unfurled from the tight fist they’d been bound in all day. He slipped his pinky into her palm just as her muscles relaxed so that she was now clutching tightly to his digit.

    He had no idea of the weight that Harry’s words carried. He had no idea of the thoughts of uncertainty that haunted Harry about never getting to this point in his life. He doesn’t understand the cruelty that exists outside the walls of his home besides the pesky little boy in his class that borrows his crayons and doesn’t give them back. He doesn’t know that other children don’t grow up in homes with parents that love each other like his do.

    He didn’t know any of these things, but he sensed that it meant a great deal to Harry, and he wanted to make sure that his father knew he could count on him for anything because he loved him with all of his heart and Harry proved that to him every single day.

    “Pinky promise, papa,” the boy responds, loosening his hand that was wrapped around his sister to offer it to Harry.

[echo-of-sounds]

cock and ball worship pt.2

Small smut drabbles of cock and ball worship with Toshinori, Hizashi, and Fatgum.

Don’t like/Don’t read: ball worship (obviously), rimming, and (slight) deepthroating

Yagi Toshinori

“All you need to do is stand here,” you hummed, kissing between Toshinori’s shoulder blades, then peeked past his arm to the mirror. Blue eyes focused on the bureau’s top. Red painted across his cheeks. It was cute. And concerning. “Hey, if you’re too nervous, we don’t have to.”

He met your eyes and smiled, relieving the worry. “I’ve never, um-” He cleared his throat, making your excitement skyrocket. But you hid your giant grin by kissing his arm while he retried, “I guess I am nervous. Noone’s ever done this to me before. ”

“It’ll be new, but it’ll feel good.” You rubbed his sides, snaking your hands to his front. The light blond trail tickled your fingers. “Do you still want to?”

“... Yes.”

“Lean on the bureau.” Toshi’s back tilted forward, pushing his ass out just a bit. Running your hands down his sides, feeling over his ribs and scars, then stroking his cheeks, fondling his delicate sacrum, you lowered to your knees. You nudged the inside of his thighs and advised, “Spread your legs a little, honey.”

Slowly and hesitantly, he did, exposing himself and giving you room to settle between them. You coddled the beating half-erection and began leisurely pumping him. The simple touch was enough for him to moan. A kiss to his balls made him buck into your hold, already grown stiff.

You pushed his leg out some more. It revealed all of him: tan, near hairless, and quivering. While you kept up the gentle pumping, your mouth fixated his balls, sucking on his left, loving the salted bitterness. It tried tensing up, ascending closer to his body, but your lips trapped it and refused to release. Weight increased behind it. Loose skin caught your teeth. All the flavors turned your salivary glands on, causing excess saliva to drivel down your chin.

Because of the lustful hissing and humping, you let go. Though you did it agonizingly lazy: firming your lips and drawing them off, grazing your teeth over the pocket, nipping the final bit, stretching it as far as it could go until it snapped back, arousing a groan and inflaming his erection to bob, dotting the drawers with precum.

Toshi groaned your name rather needily. You didn’t grant him a break, jacking him off and engulfing his right ball. It shifted around in your mouth. Your nose pressed against him. Drool leaked. Tinges of sharp salt grew. The palate burst when you popped him out and licked up his perineum to his rim.

“Oh!” he gasped, grinding backward. As legs spread, more opened to you, providing your tongue entry. He gasped deeper, ground harder, working himself all over you, letting his taste sink into you and your tongue to thrust into him.

Wanting to try something, you stopped jerking him off. He groaned from the loss but carried on while you solely used your mouth to pleasure him, seeing if he could orgasm from that alone. You moaned, feeling all his muscles tighten. Your nails dug into his thighs.

Desperate fingers held your head motionless. He humped your tongue, groaning aloud, clenching, wetly and lewdly from the overkill of saliva.

After the waves died, and his legs were about to give, he unlocked from your hair. You wiped your mouth and laughed at the drawers splattered with cum. You rubbed his back, kissed his blush-covered shoulder, and asked, “Did you like it?”

“Very much so,” Toshi croaked.

You brushed the hair sticking to his forehead away. “Then I’ll do it anytime you like.”

Yamada Hizashi

“Hizashi…” you sighed, placing your hands on his knees.

“In the mood?”

“Not for me.” You kneeled and grabbed the band of his sweatpants. He lifted his hips so you could pull them and his underwear off. Once freed, his thighs spread, and he flopped flimsily between them.

“Scoot forward,” you partially whined, settling on your knees. Hizashi didn’t question your needs. He just did as you said, shifting to the edge of the seat. Your mouth met him halfway, latching on, nursing the soft limpness. Since it was flaccid, you easily took all inside, able to touch your nose to his hair.

A hand rested on the back of your neck. His fingers rubbed in circles, stopping to grab there when your attention aimed at his glans. Your tongue gingerly stroked the small opening, careful of being too rough on his delicate skin. Salt trickled out. You fed off of what little spilled before suckling on his entire head, now cleared of foreskin, and waved your firm lips around his corona, adoring the immediate groans. Teasing there never failed to evoke them.

You took his hard length in, unable to taste all, then slipped him out, dripping saliva to the couch. Hizashi traced your lips with his thumb, lifting it to his mouth for a taste. He sang, “What’s got you all riled up?”

“Dunno.” You shrugged. You leaned closer and refilled your mouth, then your throat as you pushed yourself. You bobbed on him, winding your tongue around, slurping up any drops that ooze past your lips.

“Come here,” Hizashi grunt. You fussed, wanting him to stay where it was warm and wet. “Come on. Let me see your mouth.”

You slowly withdrew him. Fingers traced your sopping jaw. His thumb hooked and pulled down, holding it agape, letting saliva drip all over again while he repositioned. “Here you go, baby.”

With his thighs lounging wide, you had access to his balls. You latched on to one, breathing through your nose to smell the musk, snuggling up between his legs, cradling the other in your hand, frisking all around it. Your tongue pushed and prodded the sac, occasionally lapping under for the sour, over-salted flavor. A moan gushed out at the heat.

“God, you’re so fucking precious, sucking me off like this.”

His compliment fluttered your chest, intensifying your indulgence. You nestled as close as possible. And even with your cheeks turning sore, you continued supping, swallowing, and nipping. Your head lazed on his thigh as you fed. You tasted lower, pecking his perineum with your tongue. Spit flowed downward.

Hizashi bucked at the liquid. A blush tinted his cheeks. You stared directly into the eyes while he jerked himself off. He returned the gesture, gaping at you and your lips. Your teeth started clamping on the lax skin, feasting on the entire oval inside.

“Fuck!” he howled. “Fuck, you thirsty?”

You nodded.

“C’mere.” Hizashi directed you to draw him in, holding your head steady while he calmly yet hurriedly thrust into your mouth, forcing a gag every other insertion. Saliva and salt built until cum joined, stuffing your throat, leaving you wallowing in it as his grip knotted in your hair. Thighs went rigid. He praised through his orgasm, “Fuck- Just like that, baby. God, you- Fuck, just like that.”

Hearing you choke, he guided you off, and he flopped out, flimsy once again. You wiped your chin on his sweatpants. But instead of getting up, you cleaned him, licking the semen and spit away.

Hizashi patted your shoulder, breathless. “Thank you.”

Toyomitsu Taishiro

You blew raspberries on Taishiro’s stomach. He didn’t react in the slightest- not even a twitch of his lips. “Really?”

“I told you, I’m not ticklish.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled to yourself as you kissed his lower tummy, following the dark stretch marks down, passed the tuft of hair, to his penis. He rested flaccid, his foreskin practically screaming your name. Numerous veins raised the skin. They flattened under your tongue, pricking up after you washed by.

You supported him, watching his soft foreskin smooth over his glans when you tentatively moved it lower. The opening fit snug, unable to retract beyond his corona. You kissed the rim through the layer of thin skin and ran your tongue along it, feeling it shudder from the warmth.

“Use your tongue properly and lick inside, baby,” Tai hummed.

You answered with a moan, slipping into the tight opening, tasting the unseen skin. Salt sopped your tastebuds. It drizzled into the back of your throat, more and more the harder you sipped. He fattened in your hold. The middle swelled the plumpest, heaviest, followed by his glans flaring, producing thick precum. Moan thoughtlessly escaped.

“You like how I taste, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm.” His head poked your cheek, ballooning it out, causing a bit of drool to fall from your lips.

“That’s good, baby. I’m glad. Now, why don’t you take care of my balls for me?”

Your tongue withdrew, saturated in the tart taste. You tauntingly-yet-carefully stretched the loose skin between your teeth, unveiling the rim of his head. It was dark red, swollen, beating, and covered in saliva. Letting go, it was covered again. You kissed and sweetly sucked his tip. It drummed wonderfully against your palm and in your lips. Each pulse spurt just a little precum out for you to eat.

All of a sudden, amid your enjoyment, it was removed. Tai held himself, playfully noting, “You must really like how I taste.”

“I love it.” You kissed his balls next like he asked. The dusting of near-invisible hair didn’t bother you as you sucked one in, pumping with your mouth. It rolled with your tongue, bloated from arousal. The relaxed skin tightened around them. You wondered if he was close or if he was bigger than you remembered.

Not dwelling on it, you released with a nice pop, then repeated the affection on his other one. He grunted and humped with his hand. You nursed harder, almost biting, before popping that one out too.

“Keep doing that,” Tai groaned as he worked himself. A flush coated his face. His gaze locked onto yours. “Your mouth is perfect. You know how to use it so well.”

You whimpered around him. Saliva messed your jaw when you detached, sticking to both of you.

“Don’t worry about that, baby. Just focus on me. I’m almost there.” The husk in his voice drove shivers down your back and made you press firmly to him. You lapped between his balls, switching from sucking to nipping to pulling to kissing, then finally back to licking, abusing the scrotal skin red and randy. You moaned with your tasting, taking in all the bitterness and musk, nurturing all the more scents to flourish.

He cursed repeatedly, running his hand up and down his length, jerking into his hold and your mouth. His balls tensed and rose. You kept drinking them in, humming while he groaned and praised, cumming onto his stomach in rich strands. Only when they lolled did you release, ending it in a charming kiss.

You crawled up to Tai and brushed his bangs back. You nuzzled against his cheek, kissing and whispering praises back to him.

[hlizr50]

These Scars Paint the Map that Led Me to You

Azriel and Gwyn both have scars, and both are determined to show the other that those scars are just as beautiful as the rest of them.

Read on AO3

Part 1: Azriel

“You’re brooding, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel could feel the Valkyrie’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look up.

“I don’t brood, Berdara.” He kept his gaze firmly on the report in front of him, eyes narrowed. He didn’t understand how there could be so little intelligence. He had personally surveyed every location and made sure that every spy was in the most prime of positions to overhear and intercept information. It had been a time-consuming, harrowing endeavor, and it had taken him too far from home for far too long. It was the first long mission he’d undertaken since he had started spending considerably more time with the copper-haired priestess lounging in the settee across the room – since they had started sharing more than banter and nights running away from nightmares – and every minute away had put him more and more on edge.

Gwyn snorted.

“I love when you lie to yourself.” He heard the dampened clap as she snapped her book closed, but he still refused to meet her gaze. The shadowsinger could feel the intensity of those teal eyes boring into his profile, and he wasn’t prepared to compound his frustration with the questions he would find there – questions that would turn into an ocean of concern. He leaned back into his chair, tilting his head further and sighing in exasperation. His breathing was deep, measured, as he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. The rustle of fabric was the only indication that Gwyn had moved, but he remained focused on his breathing and the bitter burn of failure in his chest. Where was Koschei? Why couldn’t he find anything at all?

“Azriel.”

Her voice was quiet, the softest of melodies that always seemed to help silence the infernal voices that threatened to tear him apart. He opened his eyes when he felt her hands on his shoulders, graceful fingers feeling for the knots of tension and seeking to soothe them from where she stood nestled neatly between his wings. Azriel grinned half-heartedly, eyes roaming from the silken locks that nearly brushed his forehead to the constellations of freckles that painted her cheeks, to the deep sea of her stare that had darkened with concern, to full pink lips that were pursed. “What terrible lies are you telling yourself this time, Shadowsinger? Tell me, so that I might prove you wrong.” The small smile he had tried to use on her faltered, so he just sighed and reached up to gently wrap his fingers around her forearms.

It never ceased to take him by surprise how thoroughly she understood him. Gwyneth Berdara so easily saw past his practiced mask of indifference and coldness. It had alarmed him at first, but he had found a surprising comfort in her companionship. She had always made it known that she could see right through him, but she would never pry, never push him to share things with her that he wasn’t ready to admit.

He kept his hands on her arms, closing his eyes as he brushed his fingers up and down the soft velvet sleeves the color of the forest at midnight. He loved when she didn’t wear her robes, instead opting for casual gowns (a taste she had likely inherited from Nesta) or the practical tunic and leggings, which were much easier to fight in should the need arise. Gwyn looked beautiful no matter what clothing covered her tall, lean frame, but he could not deny how those dresses made him burn for her.

“Lies, priestess?” He murmured, trying to soothe her worry and direct the conversation away from his internal self-loathing.

“Oh yes, Shadowsinger. You tell many lies.” He felt the brush of lips on his forehead and the subsequent heat that crept up his neck. “But like I said, I love when you do.” And he let his eyes drift open again. She stared back down at him, a wry smile accompanying eyes dancing with stars.

“I’m afraid I’ll need you to elaborate.” His hands had stopped their exploration of her arms and had come to rest back where they had started. He drummed his fingers for emphasis, waiting for her explanation.

“You of all people should know, Azriel, how I strive to prove you wrong,” she snickered. “But in this, especially. I have well-crafted arguments against some of my favorite lies of yours.” Azriel quirked an eyebrow in question and he could have melted at the softness he found looking back at him. Gwyn pulled away from his grasp and circled around to his side, only to reach for a scarred hand again. She tugged at him, willing the Illyrian to abandon his reports. “Come sit with me for a moment.”

He put on a show of being asked to step away from his work even though he knew that he could not refuse her. She knew it, too, but she was still gentle with him and gave him an encouraging smile and a quiet request.

“Please, Az.”

He wound his fingers between hers and moved first, pulling her toward the couch she had been sitting on moments before. The pale blue upholstery was faded, the buttons rubbed bald where they tufted the cushions. Nesta had insisted that the well-worn fabric only served to prove how impossibly comfortable the settee was, and therefore replacing it was out of the question. He sat down without letting go of the pale hand that glowed like moonlight in his tanned grasp, wings draped over the corner where the back and armrest met. He pulled the redhead down between his legs, drawing her sideways into his chest. His free hand found her hip and immediately started massaging easy circles with his mangled fingers. She drew their connected hands up between her chest and his.

“These are my favorite lies that you tell.” Gwyn’s voice was so gentle that he couldn’t even muster the tension he usually felt when he knew someone had noticed the mottled whorls of skin that covered his fingers, hands, and wrists. He had never felt the need to hide them from her – yet another surprise. The list was becoming quite extensive.

“What… what do you mean?” Azriel croaked, unsure of what to expect. From Gwyn, he supposed, he should not have any expectations. They would be shattered by her wit and candor.

“You tell yourself that your hands are disgusting. That they have done terrible things and they make you undeserving of compassion and love. A bald-faced lie if I’ve ever heard one.” He tensed, hand pausing on her hip. He studied her face, mostly hidden by a curtain of fiery chestnut, but found her attention centered on his hand in hers. She used a finger to trace the scars over his knuckles, taking her time to follow each line until it reached the next, an intricate map of flesh. Azriel’s skin pebbled, a tremor rumbling through him at the attention, the awe and adoration in her touch.

“Gwyn…” He breathed, but he couldn’t form the words. The priestess dipped her chin and pressed her lips to each of his long fingers, then to each of his knuckles, then to the scars on the back of his hand. Keeping one hand wound tightly with his she reached her other hand to cup his cheek, finally lifting her lashes to peer up at him. His chest swelled as she smiled widely, eyes glittering with challenge.

“Are you ready for my well-crafted arguments?”

The shadowsinger chuckled, keenly aware of her body against his. He squeezed lightly over her hip and answered, “I’m guessing I don’t have much of a choice in the matter.”

“You are correct.” She tapped the tip of his nose before returning her hand to his cheek and then tracing those cool alabaster fingers down to rest on his neck. She let her thumb stroke idly over his jaw. He felt like he could barely breathe under the gaze that she had fixed on him. Her teal eyes were bright with sincerity and compassion, but her smile was sad. He knew why – he had always been consumed with hatred for himself and the things he had done, and she hated that he felt that way.

“I don’t think I will ever be able to think about what was done to you without being absolutely torn apart, Azriel. It was cruel and it was wrong. You were a child. It breaks my heart. It was a disgusting act, but these hands are the furthest thing from disgusting.” She squeezed the hand she held at her chest and Azriel wrapped his other hand further around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to him. She had never moved her eyes from his, and he found it difficult not to cower. But she gave him strength – she had emboldened him for awhile now – and so he held her gaze, mesmerized by her words. “These hands are beautiful. And perfect. And strong. They wield weapons and magic that make the whole of Prythian stand back in awe –“

“They have killed people,” he found himself arguing, an automatic response. Her fingers left his neck and pressed against his mouth, and he finally broke the eye contact she had so fervently held to look down shamefully.

“They have killed people. For your family, for your court. For me. You were there on the worst night of my life, Azriel. You may or may not know the details, but you know what happened to me. And yet here I am in your embrace, even when I can barely venture into the life and light of the city below without collapsing into a puddle of tears and panic. Because these hands… I know it’s you that holds me. I know that your hands are the ones touching me. The comfort that I feel, being able to know that it’s you, cannot be overstated.” Her voice was quiet, but fervent. Azriel could barely fathom her admission. He knew that she would feel remorse for the cruelty that he had endured, but this was so much more than that. “These hands belong to a male that I have never feared, even when I watched you slaughter men, cloaked in shadow. These hands are my safety and my sanctuary. They deserve compassion and understanding and adoration – you deserve those things. It hurts that you think otherwise, but I strive to prove you wrong, as always.”

The shadowsinger kept his priestess pressed against him at her waist and carefully pulled his other hand out of hers to cradle her face. He leaned his forehead against hers and let his ragged breathing betray his vulnerability. She was too good, too pure and perfect. But she was here in his arms, just like she had said. He lifted his gaze and found those teal depths for just a moment before slanting his mouth over hers, reveling in the softness of her. He had always been a man of few words, and while Gwyn had cracked him open wider than anyone in his family had ever seen before he still sometimes struggled to form the words he needed to show her just how incredible she was. He didn’t push to deepen the kiss, but after a moment gently pulled away. The lovely face he found nearly sent him over the edge with want – lips swollen slightly, wide glittering eyes, pink-painted cheeks. He was too overwhelmed with emotion to speak yet, so he buried his face into the crook of her neck, clutching her close with both arms. Her arms were trapped between them, but she had managed to slide her hands around his neck. Azriel felt her fingers gently teasing the hair at his nape as he breathed her in, the scent of water lilies and goodness permeating into his soul.

“Gwyn…” He shuddered against her. “Thank you.”

They remained wrapped in each other, for minutes or hours Azriel couldn’t comprehend. But he knew it, in that moment. It had been so easy to fall for her because this was who she was. She had chosen to be kind when the world had not been kind to her. She had chosen to fight back after she had been made helpless. She had chosen to show him light when she had been thrust into darkness. She saw him and did not cower. She challenged him and accepted his challenge in return. She had put her trust in him, and he could not imagine a greater gift.

So he held her against him and breathed her in, relishing in her heat and her light and her trust. And for the first time in his five centuries of life he thanked the Cauldron for the scars that marred his hands, the paths she had traced on the map of his skin – a map that had led his heart to her.

@trashforazriel @tealnymph-writes

[foxglow-diner]

The Lament of Apollo

An original short story. The Sun God has existed since the beginning of time, experiencing all the wonders and horrors life has to offer. In the modern era, his extravagance is falling short. Apollo is crumbling in upon himself and needs a way out.

A snow littered forest of Arizona was where Artemis and her noble hunters laid for the night. Stars illuminated the sky, paying homage to the Moon. Tufts of purple and teal and lime nebulae were dispersed along the darkened heavens. On the ground, midnight blue tents were pitched in a circle, a smoldering fire in the center. Logs and rocks that had been used for sitting were abandoned. All of the torches had been put out for the night. The chilled air carried off the remains of conversation, laughter, and song.

The faint glow of candles could be seen from a single tent. This tent was no different in size or stature than the rest. Only a silver crest of a deer that was mounted above the awning, set it apart. Artemis hadn’t gone to sleep yet. Her tanned skin, pearlescent in moonlight, prickled from a discrepancy in the local atmosphere.

Back outside crept a figure. This figure had seen centuries of nights; there was nothing different about this one. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself. A sick churning lurched continuously in his stomach as he strode to the particular tent. In his memory were tons of instances where he had done this before. The destination was different, the tent wasn’t the same. More often than not he had carried a weapon in hand and others were concealed all over his person. Celestial armor would don his body. He stopped, taking a moment to bring himself into the present. This wasn’t a time of attack. Apollo was defenseless.

The tent door was flung open. Poised with a strung bow, stood Artemis, a fierce edge in her stature.

“What are you doing here?” she queried, not lowering the hand carved bow.

“I want to talk. If that’s alright,” murmured Apollo.

Artemis cocked her head, scrutinizing her brother. A moment passed. “Come in. Take off your shoes, I’m not having mud or filth in my tent.”

Apollo unlaced and toed off his Oxfords at the door. The interior was lit by candles that sat naked, wax dripping to form stalactites; candles in an elaborate candelabra; candles in metal lanterns, which had holes that formed depictions of women hunting creatures. Rugs of rich purples, greys, and the same midnight blue of the tents littered the floor. Cushions and blankets of the same colors accompanied them, and were an array of velvets, fur, scratchy crochet, and nostalgic quilts.

An armchair, trademark of a hunter’s lodge, sat facing a crackling fireplace. Rather disconnected from that–––more adjacent to the kitchen–––was a velvet, plum settee. It was appetizing enough for Apollo’s standards. He hefted his heavy body onto the fancy couch. A small huff was heard from Artemis. Apollo decided against asking her for a snack.

Artemis stood her bow against a table. The arrow was laid down beside a glass vase of hyacinths. The flower wrenched a sob from Apollo. He choked it down, assuming his flamboyant personna.

“What would you like to discuss?” Artemis asked once more. From there, she was thrust into a great Apollo tale.

“I just finished a jaunt to Louisiana, as you know.”

Artemis didn’t.

“I attended clubs dressed as a cowboy,” Apollo continued, comfortable on the settee, his feet crossed at the ankles, and his hands clasped over his chest.  “The fringe from my dazzling outfit came out all cattywampus after my passionate activities. Tears poured down my face as I consumed the most exquisite crawfish etouffee I’ve had in my lengthy life. It was a wonderful trip.”

Artemis sighed, not uttering a word. She situated herself across an arrangement of pillows. For centuries, Artemis dealt with her brother’s overzealous hullabaloos, tomfoolery–––a variety of names could be used. She learned all comments had to be saved for the end or else Apollo would continue indubitably for infinity. Another spiel was nothing new, however she had been about to run a bath before she was thrust into this one.

“I even took a tour of a historical wigwam site! I believe it was a replica, but I don’t care, the place was beautiful. But it’s all for naught.” Apollo flung his hands upward.

“The wigwams are… all for naught?”

“No,” he cried weakly. Apollo’s sun kissed hair didn’t have its stereotypical neat untidiness. Instead, it was just untidy. His golden eyes were lit in a distressed yellow–––anxious and accentuated with a look of confusion.

Apollo sat up, head lifted towards the sky, hoping the words of explanation he needed were up there somewhere. “I am a major god, an Olypian! I drive a magnificent chariot guiding Helios’ own sun! Men, women, and fellow gods are jealous–––envious of my greatness. The amount of evildoers I’ve slain equals the number of my admirers!” Apollo slouched against the sloping back of the settee, gusto evaporated. “But I am tired. Nothing devastates the way that it used to. I’m tired of that feeling and tired of putting up a breathtaking farce.”

Hanging in the air, frustration flirted with defeat. Apollo’s pugnacious tendency contributed another layer of raw wounds. The peace of pity relaxed Artemis’ features. Saffron incense flitted through the tent, carefree and soulless–––a blight Apollo would’ve written about had he noticed it. Artemis prolonged her silence, not that she was displeased with doing so. Apollo needed her.

“My heart, the dictator of my life, more so than my head, is heavy.” Apollo whispered at last. “Do you feel this way too? This–––this hollow melancholy?”

Artemis took a moment to construct a response. The entire time, Apollo’s gaze burned on her. Artemis’ position on the floor was hindering blood flow. She shifted.

“Not in a long time. But, when I do, I step out of my tent. I make sure all of the hunters are asleep. I double check that the steeds are cared for and the food is stored away and fires are put out. Then, I stare at the love that surrounds me on Earth. Having my followers at my side gives me strength. I know that I’m not alone.”

The world was still.

“Then, I stare up at the Moon. Though I am her goddess, she is a queen, more so than I. She is still more eternal and ethereal than me. I love the world’s simplicities, my brother. I do not dwell in a tangled web. True, it is unavoidable to never become ensnared. The defining factor is that I do my best to welcome the web when it comes, not invite it.”

Apollo was quiet, scouring over her woven words. In his mind, he pictured a morning sun revealing a spider’s web strung up between tree branches. A weaker insect was tangled, and awaited its doom. The possibility of being consumed as a result of not foreseeing such an impasse was comical. It had been centuries since he had experienced such weight.

Apollo’s grin was likened to that of a charismatic actor.

He peeled his back off the settee, his elbows shifting to breach his thighs. Artemis observed those churning, golden eyes. They were warm and calculating. Gleams of self-made light twirled  in his irises. A tear of regret was ready to fall.

“You’re right. I–––I’m a performer. A light. A healer. A seer. My melodies have been out of tune, the brightness dim. I’ll do better in health. And the future can only be seen by those strong enough to look. I’m sorry.”

Artemis’ cocked a manicured brow. “Whatever are you sorry for? The way I see it, you actually want to repair this ripped seam correctly. Many fill it with that which is pointless or detrimental.” Her eyes darted to look at a stained glass window above the kitchen sink. A bolt of lightning was etched in the transparent oddity. Speaking the implication out loud would summon trouble.

Apollo understood. “Thank you, sister.”

Artemis bowed her head once.

“I apologize for whatever inconvenience I may have had on  your night.”

She laughed at his change in demeanor. The sound was reminiscent of a church bell at midnight. “Since when have you been an inconvenience?”

The both of them were quite aware of the list of examples sitting on a shelf in Artemis’ mind. Apollo remained civil, shedding his previously sardonic mindset. “Funny. Is there any aid I can give before I leave?”

Artemis shook her head, the circlet of stardust twinkled above her brow. “No, it’s alright. Visiting was a strong decision to make. I’ve missed you.” The soft tone in her voice melted Apollo’s every intrusive thought.

“I’ve missed you too,” was all he could manage to say. Apollo got to his feet with a newfound purpose. Artemis met him with an embrace.

For a flicker the twins’ true, godly forms were revealed. Their immortal souls penetrated the human plastic masks they donned. Two young teenagers glowed in heavenly light. Artemis had stars for every freckle, mole, and pore. Her shadow seemed to dance with a will of its own. Apollo inhaled rays instead of breath. Every light smiled brighter upon his entrance.

When they parted, the curtain fell back into place. The distance between the truth was less than before.

“I love you,” Artemis said, hovering at the tent’s door.

Apollo ceased his departure, for a second, to meet her cast iron eyes. “I love you,” he said, and meant it. The god set out to ready his chariot.

The Lament of Apollo never really ceases. Turmoil plagues him like the plagues he deals out. Hardship follows him like the night preceding the day. Yet he is happy.

[writertothemaximum]

Summary: Fem!Niki fucks the shit out of Rinne at the beach.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings/Content: nsfw/18+, Niki x Rinne, Female Niki, Face-Sitting, Cunnilingus, Anal fingering, femdom

Notes: Normally I don't post character x character stuff on this blog, but as this is femdom, this is the one exception. I hope you guys enjoy!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33432565

Inspired by this pic [Please click!]

With a groan, Rinne drove the van down the sandy road, trying his best not to hit the small child that decided to walk in the middle of the road last second. It was going to be one of these days, wasn’t it?

First, Niki begs him to lunch, it’s the middle of summer and 400 degrees outside, and now she’s proceeded to drag him to the beach so she can ‘eat ice cream on the sand’ or whatever. And here Rinne thought he was the annoying one. She should get her license, it’s bad enough she didn’t graduate high school.

Well, at least she made sure he was well fed and…Well, well-fed.

In the other way.

She was always really forward about that. Or maybe it was him and his sluttiness spilled off onto her.

Yeah, it was probably his fault. He should stop getting stoned with strangers in the living room.

Although Rinne wasn’t like that. Like, aggressive like that.

Neither were any of the men he slept with.

It was scary, almost.

No, it was just scary. She was scary when she got horny.

She always got him so embarrassed, why did she have to take her sweet time with him? Well, it’s not like she could just fuck-and-dump, but still. He always busted it too quickly, far too fast for his liking. Maybe he should go back to just being gay.

Niki thought Rinne looked super sexy today. She supposed he always did, almost to an annoying degree. To the point where men would hit on him in the street and he’d take them home and Niki would be witness to some random dude fucking him on the couch. It was almost never girls for some reason.

Was he gay?

No, she and him fucked all the time, Niki was a girl, that wouldn’t make sense. Rinne was definitely bi, like 100% bisexual.

Ah, he was 100% a bottom, that was all.

Can’t get off without his ass—The absolute whore.

He liked getting called a whore, too, maybe he was also 100% masochist, too. That would make a lot of sense, actually, now that she thought about it some. The way he groaned when she slapped his ass, when she bit his nipple, when she chomped on his neck, nibbled on the tip of his dick—yeah she liked biting him a bit too much.

Well, it was a hot day and it was time for ice cream and sausages on the beach. A nice tan would be cool, too, she was getting a little too pale for her tastes.

He didn’t really ever hit on her, he just kinda let her fuck him. He never got that embarrassed when he was with his male partners. It was like Niki was different to him, somehow. Like he wanted to get teased. Like he was annoyed by it, but secretly, he begged for it.

He always ended up begging for it.

Parking in a non-parking spot, Rinne popped out of the van and opened the side door in the back, grabbing a yellow floatie, a big towel to lie down on, and some sunscreen for good measure.

“Rinne-kun! Did you get the picnic box?” she shouted, running to the back.

“No, because you’d fucking grab it out of my hands, anyways, dick,” he said, sniping back.

Niki held her hand up to punch him in the gut, when she realized.

“Yeah, I would do that,” she said, chuckling out a snort.

Niki climbed around the back of the van, not really caring that her ass was in view for everyone who walked by. Rinne, feeling slightly embarrassed for her, walked in front of the door to block the view.

“What?” she asked.

“I well your, uh,” he said, stumbling. “Your fat ass was falling out of the fucking car!”

She poked a finger out, booping him right in the nose.

“Lmao someone’s embarrassed,” she said, chuckling.

“Oh god, stop using texting lingo in public again,” Rinne said, walking off to the shore, giving up.

“Wait, wait, I know a good spot!” she said, shouting at him.

Niki’s ‘good spot’ was actually a very nice, secluded section of the beach. It took them about ten minutes to find, and they had to climb over a dozen or so rocks, but it ended up giving them some nice shade, and Rinne was never opposed to a good workout.

Rinne spread his arms out to the nice summer wind and took in the world around him, finally allowing the toxic fumes of arrogance and annoyance to leave his body, and breathe in the fresh air of confidence and being a massive dick again.

Niki poked him in the ass.

“Bitch!?” he shouted.

“Are you going to set up the towel or what?” she asked. “I have lunch to eat.”

That’s right, she had carried four lunchboxes over the rocks.

Four. Plus a full tub of Ben and Jerry’s.

“Do I get any this time?” Rinne asked, leaning in. He was a bit hungry, now that he mentioned it.

Niki put a finger to her mouth, the fabric handles of the bags falling down to her elbows.

“Hm,” she said, earnestly considering it. “Maybe if you suck me off.”

“Jesus fuck Niki. You’re horny too?” he said.

She pointed at him, accusatory.

“And you’re not? Who the fuck isn’t horny!?” she shouted.

Rinne sighed and rolled the towel out. He sat down, crossing his legs. He should have invited HiMERU or Eichi or Ibara, or really anyone he could irritate into fucking him. This was wrong, Rinne was supposed to be the tyrannical crazy one, why was Niki walking all over him? It was unacceptable, absolutely unacceptable.

The crashing waves really were relaxing. It was a good thing he had come in his bathing suit.

“Fine,” he said, crawling down on his hands and knees. Niki didn’t seem to hear him, taking a big scoop of sweet chocolate ice cream and dumping the thing directly into her mouth.

His nose pushed into the bottoms of her swimsuit, far too skimpy for any good-natured girl to wear. Tufts of her hair pushed against him, and Rinne wondered why she didn’t shave down there. Whatever, it was just a little hairy and it was about to get a lot wetter.

Niki recoiled in the softness of the towel when she felt shivers ride down her thighs. Rinne flicked his tongue across her clit, stirring up a small sound of approval. He had always been so good at this. Niki wondered if he was just as good at sucking cock. The whole thing felt so relaxing under the heat of the summer sun, she was melting, just absolutely melting.

“Fuck, Niki!” Rinne shouted, jumping up and wiping the glob of ice cream off his back. “Why’d you spill the shit on me?”

“Dunno,” she said, the spoon sticking out of her mouth. She grabbed his head by the puff of his hair and shoved him back into her crotch. “I didn’t tell you to stop. Don’t you want some ice cream?”

“Hanernangh,” was Rinne’s response, his nose suffocating in vaginal secretions.

Leaning back, she squashed Rinne’s head in her thighs, small tufts of red poking out from the little sandwich. Ooh, a sandwich, she should have taken one out of the picnic box, that would have tasted really good right about now.

The wet rubbing felt so good, so good to just squash him right there, struggle around for air, struggle around, knowing that he’d get something out of this, knowing that he’d get rewarded for all his hard work. It god Niki madly turned on knowing that Rinne was getting off to this. Knowing that he liked to get scrunched, to get manhandled.

Niki sat up.

“Hey, Rinne-kun, flip over,” she said.

“Hah? Do I get some now?” he said, snarling. “I wanna get some before you spill it all over me.”

“Turn the fuck over, idiot,” Niki snapped back.

“Fine,” Rinne sputtered out, flipping over to his back.

Niki immediately decided to sit down.

“Hanaefng!?” Rinne shouted, obviously surprised.

“Keep going and you’ll get some ice cream, sheesh,” she said.

Niki began to pat down Rinne’s body, feeling a bit of sand, and a really nice tan beginning to form. And wow, really nice abs, really nice, firm, strong abs. But that wasn’t what she was looking for.

“Aha!” she said, pulling the bottle out of his pocket and slightly raising her ass off his face. “So you did bring lube you fucking whore.”

Rinne took a huge gasp of air, finally able to breathe.

“Jesus fuck, and just what are you going to do with that? It’s not like I can suck you off and fuck you at the same time,” he said, crassly.

Niki, annoyed, sat back down.

“Who said you were going to be the one doing the fucking?” she said, irritated.

Rinne struggled a bit before shuffling his ass out for better access. She had fingered him before, maybe she should invest in a strap-on. Then he wouldn’t have any need to do all of those one-night stands. She could just fuck him on her cock.

“Ooh, someone’s hungry for fingers,” she said, mocking. “Wanna come here for a smoochy-smoochy? I think you deserve it, Rinne-kun!”

Rinne, not being able to speak due to still having pussy in his face, responded with a large groan.

“Or do you prefer these lips?” she asked, rubbing all of her secretions in his face. She wondered how it tasted. Salty, for sure.

Niki leaned forward, taking one last scoop of partially melted ice cream before setting it to the side on the towel. Wow, the heat felt great. The sun, the way the waves lined up, it all just filled her with elation.

So when she leaned her face down to his groin, it made her all the happier to see that Rinne was hard. He liked getting humiliated like this, didn’t he? Wow, what a masochist. When Niki tugged at the hem of his swim trunks, Rinne lifted his hips, allowing her to get them off quicker. Someone was excited. Well, a large glob of lube, a finger made its way to the entrance of his hole. She felt Rinne hesitate on her clit as she pushed in, a loud groan echoing through the rock cliffs.

He was so soft inside. He always was. It was like his ass was made for pleasure, made for this lovely squeeze, caressing her fingers in an absolutely perfect massage. He was always so loose, too, she supposed that’s what being a cock-whore did to someone.

Hm, well, speaking of cock, his dick was right there. He was pretty hard. Would be a shame if someone were to maybe…suck it?

In a moment, her lips were around the tip.

“Haarhrhah! Nik—Niki!” she heard, Rinne tilting his head off her ass.

Retaliating, she sat back down, crushing his head hard into the towel.

God, it was too much at once. With the two fingers pounding his ass, the suffocating aroma on his face, and now the condensing suction on his tip. He was going to cum, he was going to cum—

Niki gripped the bottom of his shaft hard, not letting a drop out.

“You’re supposed to get me off, first, asshole,” she said, her glare enough to kill a man.

Fuck, fuck, thoughts poured through Rinne’s mind as he licked her clit as fast as he could, desperately trying to get her off, trying to get himself off, he was too hard, too overwhelmed.

Rinne felt Niki convulse above him, her hole tightening up, clenching around pure nothing as she came on his face. Noises spewed out of her mouth as she couldn’t control herself, everything coming all at once.

And that’s when Niki finally let go of his dick.

Like the grossest milkshake in the world, Niki kept sucking.

Popping her head off in a moment, she gave off a sigh of relief, as if she had a nice big sip of coffee, drinking all the semen up like a fat noodle.

Niki unplugged her fingers from his ass and Rinne shoved her off, letting her laugh as she rolled off the towel and into the sand.

“That was fun,” she said, still unable to hold her laugh.

“Bitch! You got sand up my ass!” Rinne shouted, making a motion in the air to slap her, obviously missing.

“Your fault for being such an anal fiend,” she said, the heat of the sand proving to be very relaxing. Ooh, she was right next to the lunch box. Time for a sandwich.

“Can I get my ice cream now?” Rinne asked, like a petulant child.

“Yeah, go ahead,” she said, diving right into the lunch box.

Rinne picked up the abandoned tub of Ben & Jerry’s only to realize.

“It’s fucking melted!” Rinne shouted.

“Well, suck faster next time,” Niki said, taking a big bite of her sandwich.

“Well, maybe if someone ate better, her fucking cunt wouldn’t taste like that fucking sourdough starter you keep around the apartment,” Rinne said, snapping.

“Hey, you love my pussy, don’t joke with me,” she said, right back.

Rinne grimaced, embarrassed, knowing she was right.

Pouting, Rinne forced the spoon into the chocolate wonder, scooping it up and landing it right in his mouth. It wasn’t all melted.

Yup, ice cream was good. Ice cream was always good.