#the suit the gloves the shades

[aeterna-auroral-avenger]

I'm happy for Billie and i know it was for the same film, but i think Ryan and the song writers for "I'm just Ken" deserved this one at least, he totally slashed <333

RIGHT!! I totally feel you, Anon. They definitely deserved one for it.

If I could give them one, I sure would! Tbh, I liked I'm Just Ken more than What I Was Made For. Like I get the importance of that song too, but still. That's just me though.

And HE TOTALLY DID SLASH DIDN'T HE! Our boy brought down the house and good for him too! 😎

[crystalpallette]

wanted to do a styling based on uni's design for 종이비행기 파일럿(paper plane pilot) because surely. a design as simple as this is easy to do in a game so full of pretty clothes. and thus began the hell of trying to find anything that could feasibly pass as part of this outfit (how is it that the icon for tops fits better than anything I could find in tops. why is a short sleeve button up with neck tie so hard to find here)

[autisticnova]

season 3 isn’t real except for the last 2 eps and none of yo ucan convince menotjerwise

[chikaoofka]

i am NOT gonna play WAR with you bruise

[mensuited]

[notquitecanon]

Search History // Poly!141 x Reader

A continuation of this thought

Summary: Reader (based loosely on Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds) has to be face-to-face with the boys for the first time since they started including her in their late-night fantasies. They've decided it's time to take it off-screen and move in IRL.

I'm taggin the peeps who replied to the last part bc I'm desperate for attention lol (in all actuality y'all really encouraged me to actually write thank you!!)

CW: allusions to porn, allusions to female genitalia, they're all horny in the workplace, this is basically workplace harassment but we're excusing it because they're hot and fictional and I say so, no outright smut

Still nsfw though so MDNI pls and thanks

“The 141 just touched down. ETA twenty minutes.” 

Your eyes flicked up from the muted video on your monitor, cheeks flushed red but masked by the light radiating off your screen in your dark office. Thank God, your monitor faced away from the door. A young private was standing in the doorway with a tablet, looking at you for an acknowledgment, probably running about starting preparations for their arrival back on home base. 

“Thank you, private.” You murmured, teeth toying at your thumbnail, chipping the polish. The young soldier gave a short nod at the quiet dismissal and disappeared once again. Your eyes, with embarrassingly blown pupils, flicked back to the video. 

After your discovery two weeks ago, the sites and links you had to review furthered down the rabbit hole. And this video you were currently watching had been one that all the men had been visiting, and revisiting, and revisiting… 

By god, they’d done it. 

Similar build, skin tone only a shade or two different - you could probably share foundation and it wouldn’t look too bad. Hair and eye color so close it was uncanny. And when the woman looked over her shoulder at the mountain of a man hitting it from the back, the angle made the resemblance almost scarily uncanny.  The Had you had a porn career and simply forgotten?- kind of uncanny. 

Sure there were differences- she was a little taller, maybe a bit leaner, with boobs that had definitely had some work done. Tattoos where your skin was bare and vice versa, different piercings. Her voice was pitched different, and her accent was completely different from yours but within three minutes of the video she’d stopped speaking words, so accent didn’t matter much.  But as far as porn actresses went- she might as well be your twin. 

It seemed the 141 had perused her entire.. filmography. Different videos, different scenarios, different partners. They all had videos they seemed to like better than others. Soap seemed to particularly like the POV video where the man had a thick Scottish accent. Gaz had bookmarked a soft-core bondage and forced orgasm scene. Price, a shorter video of an unseen man pushing the actress under a desk for oral, and Ghost… the only link he’d visited was your instagram. It was hard not to let it stroke your ego a little bit. 

God, if you told anyone about this… They’d tell you to file a workplace harassment suit, and maybe a police report.  To start job hunting, and therapist hunting. Distance yourself. You should have been embarrassed or uncomfortable- you knew you should be. That you should feel objectified or disrespected, disgusted. 

But hell, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t send yourself the links and watched them in your free time at home. It was hot- turned you on in an almost concerning way that would set feminism back twenty years if you told anyone. 

The video kept playing on your monitor, one of the videos that Soap had visited more than once (little did you know it was one that Ghost had picked out). A gloved hand smoothly glided down the actress's spine before curving around her throat and pulling her upright on the man’s lap, filthy praises in a British accent playing through your single AirPod. 

“Holy shit…”  You muttered, thighs clenching because if you squinted it really did look like you, even some of her mannerisms. And the rough accent was like a mix of Ghost's and Price’s. 

Abruptly, you shut down the entire monitor completely, ripping out the AirPod and tossing it on the desk. Pressing slightly shaking hands to your too hot face. You needed to get it together, because Price was your boss and the others were your superiors. They’d been gone for a month and a half, and it’d been your voice in their ears guiding them through missions, and you knew you had a flirty disposition, especially from the private safety of your dark little office half way across the world. 

It made sense that their wires got a little crossed, but your wires- like those off all your monitors and hardware- needed to stay neatly organized and separate. Focus. Focus. 

Your nails were bitten to the quick, the bitter taste of old nail polish on the back of your tongue. The skin around your nails was raw from your teeth toying with it as your so intensely focussed on the videos. You needed to get out of this too small, too hot room.  Which is how you found yourself, twenty minutes later, in the communal break room fighting with the vending machine. It was withholding the ice cold water you were desperate for, despite your curses and attempts to jostle the machine. Right as you delivered a frustrated kick to the machine-

“Just the bird we were looking for!” 

It was Kyle’s voice first, that tipped you off to the herd of men entering the space. You almost jumped out of your skin- brain flitting through several scandalous snippets of the videos he’d replayed. His smile was dazzling as always as he came into view, tapping the yellow warning stickers that instructed people not to jostle the machine, with the little illustration of the stick man getting crushed, “What’d the machine ever do to you? It might start fighting back.” 

A gloved hand reached between the two of you, skeleton fingers curled into a fist that delivered a blunt strike, and, like magic, the water bottle fell in to the receptacle. You peeked over your shoulder at Ghost, standing just slightly too close and looking down at you intensely, but not meanly. An easy to miss bit of mirth that was usually reserved for Soap. Thank god you’d bitten your nails to stubs or they would’ve drawn blood from how they were digging into your palms to distract you from the gloved hands and the brutish display of strength. 

Kyle put the drink sweetly in your hands after cracking it for you, like he would do when bringing Ghost or Price something, eyes twinkling like he knew something you didn’t.  Another hand, warm and large clapped gently on your shoulder, pulling you back a step, almost directly into Captain Price’s chest. 

The men shared a look over your head before focussing back on you. 

“Your intel was good.” It was a simple statement, but delivered in a warm, proud tone that felt so much like praise that your stomach flipped a bit, with that warm smile that made him look soft despite the fact he was still in full tac-gear, “They didn’t even see us coming.” 

“They never see you coming, that’s kind of your whole thing.” You tried a joke, your voice a touch strained. His hand was lingering, right on the curve where your shoulder became your neck, fingers flexing into the flesh just so. Just like it did on the boys when he thought others wouldn’t noticed. focus, focus, focus. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was Soap that interrupted the kneading of Price’s fingers. 

“Don’t be so modest, bonnie!” He was laughing as large arms caught you around the waist, lifting and spinning you slightly. His voice so similar to that one Scottish co-star that had done such filthy things to your lookalike, it made your head spin.  Despite your startled yelp and squirming, his grip didn’t waver, “Couldn’t of done it without our lass in the chair.” 

“ ’nough, Johnny,” Ghost called firmly, leaning against the vending machine that they’d all but cornered you against, “Put ‘er down.” 

Soap’s laugh was still good natured as he set you on your feet again, a little roughly for the heels you had on to match your skirt, you wobbled only for Ghost himself to steady you, giving you another intense look, that you had trouble meeting, “ 'e’s right though. Intel was good.” 

They were all staring at you, varying degrees of smirks, eyes a spectrum of mischief and something that was dizzyingly close to hunger.  Unable to keep still, you were squirming, shifting your weigh from foot to foot, fiddling with the wrapper on the bottle. You found your eyes flitting around settling anywhere but their own gaze, cheeks feeling hot, mind full of vile images that you knew they’d seen and enjoyed- ceiling, the exit sign, Johnny’s tac-vest, the floor, the water bottle in your hands. You gulped, eyebrows raising as you puffed a breath, trying desperately to reign yourself in.

“Glad to be of service.” You smiled tightly, nodding meeting each set of eyes briefly and hoping your foundation masked your blush (it didn’t). Jesus Christ, you couldn’t do this.  You couldn’t tell if you felt turned on or awkward or both, but you needed to go. Preferably before you did something that would cost you your job. Your voice was rushed as you squeezed between Gaz and Price, double timing it to the exit, “Enjoy your leave, boys, you deserve it.” 

As you all but fled the building, you typed out a mass base-wide memo email, language formal as you professionally reminded every soldier, specifically four of them, that any website visited by government devices was subject to internal review. 

You swore you could hear them laughing as the memo went out. But maybe that was just your overactive imagination. 

____

You’d gone home for the evening, and then clocked back in the following morning. Surprised to find all of the 141 was still there, debriefing must have ran long. 

“Morning, love.” It was Kyle that greeted you, pressing a cup of coffee into your hands. He looked tired but happy to see you. Soap was with him, eyes bright and grin wide as he whistled lowly, fingers tugging at the hem of your skirt as you passed his seat. 

“Looking good, bonnie,” He smiled devilishly, rubbing the fabric between his fingers before letting go, “Tired of all the green, black, and beige tac gear. Missed seeing something a little… softer.”  

You somewhat doubted that. He seemed to appreciate military khaki when it hugged Gaz’s ass, and he sure didn’t seem to mind an all black tactical ensemble when it was on Ghost. But the compliment still brought heat up your neck, which you coupled with a sip of the hot coffee Gaz had brought you- fixed perfectly the way you liked it. It elicited a pleased sigh as you swallowed, humming in content. 

“Price wants to see you before we all leave. Brought you some new stuff to work on.” Kyle smiled, watching how your expression softened at the taste of the beverage, clearly proud of himself for drawing out that reaction.   

“A present? For me?” You smiled sarcastically back at the prospect of more work added to you caseload, “It’s like Christmas.” 

“You been good this year?” Kyle grinned back, accompanied by Soap chiming, voice low and chiding, “Nah, she’s definitely been naughty.” 

Both Sergeant’s shared a look as you almost choked on another sip of coffee. 

“I’m leaving now.” You shook your head, turning on your heel away from where they were hanging around the rec room, clearly waiting for Price to dismiss them, “Y’all should shower. Or take a nap.” 

“You want us naked?” Kyle questioned, raising his eyebrows at you, leaning back against the wall, standing so very close to Soap, who was sprawled out in his chair, long legs splayed and spread before him as he waggled his eyebrows. “And in bed?” 

Now that was some imagery. Taking the lord’s name in vain you didn’t dignify that with a response other than a huffed, “Leaving now.” 

____

The good thing about Price and Ghost was they were business first. So if you really focussed you could almost ignore Ghost's thigh pressed against yours as you sat beside him in the dark room, reviewing body cam footage. They pointed out different things to you, things to include as you started your next dark web deep dive. 

You could almost ignore how Price’s fingers grazed and lingered on your palm as he gave you a thumb drive to decrypt and analyze, how he stood close enough to you that you had to look at him through your lashes. 

“Has a self destruct program that Gaz didn’t want t' aggravate. Figured it needed your... soft touch.” Price smiled down at you as you curled your fingers around the thumb drive. You had to try pretty hard to ignore the slight emphasis on soft. Ghost seemed to chuckle lowly at your expression at the captain. 

“What’s on there'll point us in the next direction of our next target.” Ghost nodded to you, his leg shifting so it pressed harder against yours. In the guise of stretching out, he’d draped an arm over the back of your chair, the cotton of his gloves half tickling the sensitive skin on the back of your bicep, where the flesh was soft. 

“So don’t screw it up, got it.” You swallowed thickly, shifting so you couldn’t feel his thumb against your skin- it was making it hard to think about hacking and terrorism and military operations.  He took it as an invitation to spread out more, his fingers grazing the exact spot only seconds later. 

“Precisely,” John laughed lowly, his hand moved to your shoulder, back into that sweet curve that was partly your shoulder and partly your neck, and gave it a lingering squeeze, that kind of made you want to melt, “You won’t screw it up, love.” 

The captain gave his Lieutenant a nod, and Ghost quickly stood, his boot giving the toe of your pretty heels a slight nudge as a goodbye before silently stalking out. Price took a seat across from you, leaning back and his arms cross comfortably over his chest.

“I’m having the boys over at mine tonight. A couple of drinks, I’m gonna grill, put the footie on, celebrate another successful mission to start our leave.” Price listed out their plans casually, noting how you squirmed a bit, uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you tugged at the hem of your skirt before continuing, “We want you to come. Couldn’t have done it without you, so you should celebrate it too.” 

“Oh, uh-“ You started before you could think of a good excuse, “I’ll be really busy… with.. with the flash drive. And stuff.” 

“What stuff?” Price rose a single brow, his stare pinning you still as he reached across the table and took the flash drive back, “This can wait.” 

“Files. Coding. Security checks.” You mumbled the first couple aspects of your job that came to mind, the intensity of his gaze making you want to adjust your collar or shrink in your seat. You figured you’d have a couple more sites to clear off their devices, if they’d been sitting around base all night. Your cheeks heated just at the thought. “I’m a little behind. Been… distracted lately."

“Everything all right, love?” He ‘asked’ with at signature warm smile and amused eyes, he seemed to already know the answer to his question, “You’ve been… skittish, since we got back.” 

Your teeth worried the seam of your lips as you considered the question. Skittish, was one way to put it- fidgety, fleeing rooms, avoiding eye contact, barely speaking as opposed to your usual chatter and banter. Your eyes flitted away from his gaze again, swallowing dryly again- geez when did you get so shy, “ ‘m fine. Absolutely fine. Never been better. How’re you?” 

Cringing at your own rambling, you sighed shoulders drooping as he fixed you with another look, and muttered your name in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a look that expected obedience, as his legs shifted into a natural man spread. Your brain flitted back to the video of your look alike being shoved under a desk… 

Him saying your name again, slightly louder but just as bemused drew you back to him, realizing you were staring at his legs, debating if you could fit between his knees and you almost sputtered as you cleared your throat, “I’m fine, really.” 

“Either lie more convincingly or tell me what’s bothering you, sweet.”  Price chuckled, leaving forward against the table, drumming a knuckle against the table. Sweet, that was new. You’d have to add it to the laundry list of nicknames and pet names the boys had for you. You’d always told yourself that it was nothing personal, that British/Scottish people just did that. But this on wasn’t as easy to write off as ‘love’ or ‘bonnie’, average pet names in the UK colloquial, no sweet seemed personal. 

“I’m not bothered.” You glanced away again, nose wrinkling, even though you were bothered- hot and bothered. John Price had a way of drawing details out of people with just a look and a couple of well prodded words.  With a deep breath, you tried to keep your characteristic rambling to a minimum, a losing battle as he starting stroking at his beard with those long fingers- two parts of him that you’d been thinking about way too much lately-, “Listen, I’m not judging, you’re grown men, watch what you want to, but just a reminder that it’s my job and obligation to review every link and site that government devices visit. Which includes at least skimming videos.  In case you didn’t know or maybe forgot that I can and do see these things, so maybe you could pass that along to the boys-“ 

“You can tell 'em yourself. ’s your job, sweet.” Price said firmly. The girlish part of your brain corrected ‘firmly’ to dominantly. Before his demeanor relaxed again, giving you an amused, appraising look again, “At my place. Tonight. 8 o’clock. Not a request.” Shrinking in your chair a bit, hoping the chair hid the way your thighs involuntarily clenched, you couldn’t help but nod and squeak, “Yes, sir.” 

___

Part Two

Was supposed to have actually smut in this but I got carried away on the build-up, laugh out loud. Maybe a part three or you can just imagine how the little dinner party goes (hint, she's the meal)

Tags: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @viviennevianna @savas-q1 @cringeycookies @lainey-laines @buttercup337 @acosmisted @carqueensworld @tmartin0918 @dreamland08 @sheepdogchick @hidden-wildflowers @lilynotdilly @astrxsee @joopyjup @originalsoulcollector @henhouse-horrors @ohdrey89 @red5tars @cod-z @balletbiscuit @spacecrawllerr @scrumptioussportstoadgarden-blog @blues-of-neptune @monster-effer @yunho-leeknow @ungodlydilf @pluviofleur @jandthecrow @fangtoothgod @coquetterie-dancer @sapphires-and-silver-things @ghost-is-my-bbg @loveergirll @silly-starfish @popkle @honestlymassivetrash @not-mentally-sane @devoetee @beloveds-embrace @jellyamour @simon141price @divinecat

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ You test out a new lipstick

(Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia)

Tw: smooches! Shield your eyes!

Oh, would you look at that, you bought a new lipstick. You just need to test whether it wears down quickly or leaves any mark. 

✧ Pierro is in a haste. You blurt out that you need a new lipstick once, and the next thing you know, he purchases several high-quality ones for you. Offering you swatches of colors, makeup removers, different shades, and lipstick textures, he observes with analytical admiration as you sit in front of a mirror and apply the lipstick carefully. 

One last step is missing – to try its imprint. The Jester is ready to reach for a napkin to let you try. But you only smiled. Before he can comprehend, your hand reaches to turn his head and gently guides him closer to your lips until you sweetly capture his. It’s not often that The Jester experiences a complete blank out, but when you deliberately trace your lips across his skin and start preparing his face with kisses, how else is he supposed to react? Hold in his hitched breaths? Not deepen the kisses to relish the ambrosia of your lips?

Suffice it to say, you are proud of the imprints on his pale skin. He seems even prouder, wearing them like a badge of honor, despite his stoic appearance.

✧ You asked Il Capitano to evaluate the new shade of lipstick you bought. Like any loving partner, the honorable Captain stated honestly that any hue suits you elegantly. Even if his knowledge of cosmetics is minimal, he felt delighted and proud of your looks.  

But that wasn’t the issue. Now you were standing in front of him, smiling menacingly.  

“What is it, my treasure?”  

You stepped closer.  

“Dear…?”  

You stepped even closer. Oh no, thought the Captain, he’s in danger. His pleas for reason and mercy went unheard. Instead, he faced a bigger battle—a battle that left his helmet not with scratches but with various imprints of your kisses. You stood triumphantly, happy with your lipstick and the numerous marks on his helmet and neck. 

Il Capitano lost the battle that day. 

✧ At last, Il Dottore mused to himself, the perfect hue of lipstick designed scientifically for you. You voiced your issue in finding a suitable shade of makeup for yourself, hence you asked none other than your beloved to find a logical solution. So he took matters into his own hands to find the best chemical solution and accurately create the best shade to match your skin. 

Naturally, it was a success. With his gloves stained in various colorful substances, he proudly handed you a slender tube with a delicate black cap from the table as if it were a casual concoction he could make on a whimsy. Hence, you thanked him and blithely applied it on the spot.

“Dottore, it turned out magnificently!” – you said as you looked into the reflection of your face. But when you turned to look at him, Dottore’s complexion went vaguely blank. “Hm, what is it? Isn't it good? You made it matte, too.” 

He silently stepped forward; even behind his black mask, you could sense his full attention zooming on the beauty of your lips. 

"Well, true... I formulated it to be stain-proof, so it won't smudge as you go about your day. However," - he hummed, his hand cupping your jawline warmly. "Every product requires assiduous testing. We could conduct a few tests of our own to ensure its performance. If I may," 

Of course, he would test it personally. Of course, he then captures your lips in a kiss, his hand on the back of your head, his touch an ardent mix of passion and desire. He explores your mouth, his tongue caressing yours with a fervor, wanting to test how long the lipstick will last under the pressure of his kisses. You should've expected this, as his other hand encloses around you to press you flush against him. 

"Ah... interesting. It's held up quite well. There's no transfer on your skin or mine, but I do think further testing is necessary."

“Enough, enough! That’s plenty of testing from you!” 

✧ Scaramouche dislikes shopping. It’s a hassle, truly. You requested him to accompany you on a leisurely stroll, oblivious of your trap to drag him to some quick shopping. Except this quick shopping turned into a full-blown shopping spree. The question is: was he here to accompany you or to pull you away from wasting all your Mora on fleeting indulgences?

“No, you don't need any more clothes. You have plenty of unworn ones.”

“No, we don't need any more plushies, your bed is already littered with them.”

“And no, you already had some snacks on the way here. Stop buying more!”

You couldn't escape his stern reminders, even if they were practical. However, there was still one shop you left as an ace up your sleeves. Before finishing today's trip, you encouraged The Balladeer to join you in cosmetics shopping. Your innocent smile spoke promises of letting him choose your new lipstick color if he so desired, and the allure of it caused him to halt. 

“... Me? Why must I choose? Can't you pick a simple color and call it a day, huh?” - Scaramouche feigned annoyance when, in reality, he quickly grabbed your arm and led you hastily to the boutique. “We'll quickly buy one, but don't get any ideas that we're staying here for any longer.”

Poor Harbinger; he didn't have to lie to himself so cruelly. The two of you stayed in the boutique for a long while, not because you were indecisive, but because Scaramouche suddenly took the matters with utter seriousness. Should he suggest a carnelian shade? It would match with his own red eyeshade. Or perhaps a darker one would suit your complexion? Especially if you decided to leave contrasting lipstick imprints all over his porcelain skin- 

Scaramouche shook his head. Your voice interrupted his train of thought.

“Um… Scara, sweetie? Could we decide already? We spent the whole day in this shop.”

“We'll buy all of them, then,” - he held up your face, his full focus on you as you timidly averted your gaze. “Here. Now let me help you apply it.” 

✧ Pantalone sat behind his desk, fingers intertwined thoughtfully. Silver glasses cast a shadow upon his already darkened gaze. His expression, unfortunately, was far from pleased. 

“L-lord Harbinger Regrator,” – the Fatui subordinate uttered. “It is with utmost sorrow that I must inform you that- that the cosmetologists you hired have not finished their work. They are still in the process of creating the products you requested.” 

The silence of the office was deafening. The Harbinger granted no mercy with his prolonged pause.

“... I commission the best cosmetologist in all of Teyvat, and they still dare to waste my Mora and time? Is this some frivolous matter for them?” - The Harbinger's hands sternly pressed against the table, his voice raised “My beloved requested a new lipstick! They deserve the best of the best, as soon as possible!” 

“Uh, honey… I am still here in the room.” - your voice interjected awkwardly. Indeed, it's true; you are sitting nearby, blinking in confusion. You waved at the Fatui subordinate to take it easy, signaling sympathetically that your partner was having another one of his ambitious episodes. 

“Honey, my love, this is no fleeting matter! I wanted you to get the highest, custom-made quality for cosmetics. You rarely ask for anything, but when you do, I can't just let you down!” 

“It's just lipstick…! I didn't even say what color or kind I wanted.”

“And that's precisely why you shall get all of them. You there,” - he signaled back to the subordinate swiftly. “Quick, send the letters to those cosmetic chemists to hurry up if they want to make themselves worth the Mora. Delays are not negotiable.”

With the Fatui worker scurrying away in a hurry, Pantalone sighed deeply before plopping down beside you on the sofa of his office. You patted his back, amused by his sudden precedence over something so mundane. 

“There, there, Pantalone. You know it's nothing urgent. It's just lipstick.”

“Not any lipstick. Your lipstick, darling! I need to see you don the most dazzling color on your lips.” He turned to gently trace his thumb across your jawline, his voice softening. “...The lips that should be showering me with kisses and leaving lipstick prints on my skin.”

You laughed heartily – “Oh, so that's what it's all about? You know, makeup or no makeup, I can still kiss y-”

You didn't register how The Harbinger's head bowed lowly in reverence. “I would pay you any amount of Mora for you to do so.” 

Pantalone truly knows how to blow up over the most bizarre things. Either way, as the weeks passed, the newly ordered cosmetics did arrive as instructed. How did people know? Because Pantalone didn’t shy away from flaunting the traces of your delicate lips on his neck and blouse. A testament to stolen kisses and intimate moments behind closed doors. His triumphant grin says it all. 

✧ Your ever-observant boyfriend, Tartaglia, noticed you mulling something over by the mirror. You seemed in deep focus, a new item in your hands as you inspected your visage. You tried on a new lipstick! 

Childe, being the endearing goofball that he is, complimented your new purchase with delight. You appreciated his knack for noticing even the smallest changes, even if you didn't directly tell him you tried on something new. All was well! 

Or was it? For beneath his easygoing smile, in the deepest recesses of his soul, Tartaglia was begging, crying, screaming. He wanted to hold your face in his palms and kiss you senseless. He wished to taste the sweetness of your lips until this adorable color of your lipstick was smeared on both of your faces. He wished to soak in the warmth of your pecks and kisses, dreaming for your touch to litter his face with imprints.  

Did he say all of that? Of course not. He kept beaming at you in adoration, his smile tender while his thoughts devouring. Yet, after days of wrestling with his unspoken desires, Childe devised a plan – a very, very subtle plan.

“Oh nooo,” - he lamented dramatically, leaning against the doorway with a hand draped theatrically over his forehead. “If only my beloved was here to bestow me some loving kisses, especially when they look so alluring in their new lipstick! If only!” 

You raised an eyebrow at Tartaglia’s shenanigans as if asking him: Really? What is this damsel in distress act? Nonetheless, luckily for the 11th, his oh-so-subtle hints hit the mark, because you happily cupped his cheeks and smooched them with fervor, feeling his warm skin under your lips as he chuckled.  

Needless to say, your lipstick didn’t stand a chance.

[peachylynnie]

the cat butler

word count: 2.4k synopsis: in which sylus is eager to please you, as always. but this time, as a cat butler. contains: sylus x mc!reader (they're not dating, but sylus is down bad), references to the cat butler trailer, sylus with cat ears and a tail, suggestive themes, mentions of alcohol, cussing, making out, and stalking(?). a/n: i wrote this after reading somewhere that the upcoming memory might be our first-ever kiss with sylus. so consider this a prediction of some sort (probably not gonna happen). also, sylus' cat ears suit him so well. do not plagiarize or copy my work. sylus would not endorse plagiarism. enjoy!

“my lady,” a rich yet sultry voice calls. you shift uncomfortably in your sleep, wanting to rest a bit more.  

“my lady,” the voice repeats firmly. still, you dismiss it by grumbling and refusing to open your eyes. 

“my lady.” huh, that's weird. why does that voice sound like…

“my lady.” sylus?!  you burst open your eyes upon recognizing who was calling you. though, not without a startled "oh, god" because sylus was mere inches from your face.  

immediately, you sit up, rubbing your eyes and trying to process what was happening. where were you? how long were you out for? and most importantly, why was sylus calling you "my lady?" not that you had any problem with it, but still. your eyes widen as you find yourself on a velvet sofa in a sleek lounge of some sort. extending your arms in front of you, you stare dumbfoundedly at the tight leather gloves enveloping your hands. confusedly, you look down as you pat your body. a silky red, a-line dress hugged your figure, and you couldn’t help but admire the strings of shimmering pearls that hung around your waist and neck.  

hoping for answers on how you got here and why you were dressed so nicely, you turn to look at sylus, who was kneeling on the ground next to the sofa to meet you at your eye level. you can’t stop the gasp that leaves your mouth. are those cat ears?!

nevermind the fact that sylus was dressed in a neat, scarlet tuxedo that matched the shade of your dress. nevermind the fact that he looked good in a tie—so good to the point you wanted to tug on it. nevermind the fact that he was wearing a clean pair of white gloves that outlined his fingers so nicely. what was with the cat ears?! and a tail, too?! 

"uhm" you start. "what’s with the…?" you point at his head, hoping that he would understand. you couldn’t care less about formulating proper sentences. right now, you wanted answers. where were you? why were you dressed so nicely? why the fuck is sylus wearing cat ears and a tail? and why did the caracal set suit him so well? 

sylus' crimson eyes move up cutely as if he was trying to see the ears for himself. then, they fall back down to you, but not without a chuckle. "they're cat ears, my lady," he answers teasingly. "isn't it obvious?" with that, the ears twitch excitedly. yup, you saw that right. they actually twitched. 

"holy shit," you mutter as you reach to stroke the ears. "can i?" 

sylus smirks as he gives you a single nod, closing his eyes to convey that you are more than welcome to touch him.  

the ears felt incredibly real. the fur was super soft, and you could feel the skin vibrating beneath your fingers. your eyes widen as you pinch the ears gently. they didn't just feel real. they are real. the sheer warmth you felt from touching the exposed skin in the ears told you so. fascinated, you move your fingers to the back of one of the ears to scratch at the fur. sylus purrs and leans into your scratches. you can’t help but giggle at the sight. "who's the kitten now, sylus?" you jest, lifting your free hand to scratch his other ear, causing the man to part his mouth and rest his head against your knee. fuck, your touches felt so good.  

wanting to get actual answers from him, you stop scratching and let your hands rest on your lap. before you can even speak, sylus hisses at the loss of your touch, his brows knitting and a scowl growing on his lips. he grabs both your hands and places them back on his ears. understanding his message, you continue your ministrations, trying to remember certain spots that cats tend to like. 

"as much as these ears suit you," you coo. "this is really weird. want to tell me what's going on, sylus?" you don't remember him contacting you for a new mission where cat props and formal wear would be involved. heck, you don't remember how you even got here. what exactly was going on?  

sylus sighs and raises his head back up before answering, "you purchased me, my lady." his amused gaze meets your bewildered one. “we signed a contract where i would be your cat butler as of today. perhaps you forgot because as soon as you signed the contract, you drank excessively from the bar over there," he juts his head towards the bar behind you. "then, you passed out." 

what in the actual fuck? did he say purchase? what contract? you don’t remember signing any contracts. and since when did you ever drink? no, this can’t be right. you don't even recall coming to this fancy place. let alone dressing up so nicely.  

"you're lying," you nervously say. "there's no one working at the bar, and i don't see any glasses either." for a moment, a look of pride flashes on sylus' face. you always were so observant. one of the many things he loved about you. if only you were more observant of his affection for you instead of being so oblivious all the time. "besides, what's with our outfits? i don't remember putting this on. let alone coming here..." 

sylus laughs endearingly. his signature, billionaire laugh that constantly stirs up butterflies within you. "trust me, my lady, you drank," he insists, grasping your wrist and pressing a fond kiss. flustered by his actions, you try to pull back, but sylus' grasp remains strong. his sharp gaze locks with yours as he continues. "the dress code here is formal. thus, our attire. you walked in looking like this. a wonderful choice, i must say. you look ravishing, and i am honored to have been sold to you because..." sylus leans in next to your face, his hot breath fanning your sensitive ears. "i wouldn't have anyone else as my master."  

you stand up immediately, uncontrollably blinking and blushing from what you just heard. unfortunately, you don’t realize that you are wearing heels, causing you to stumble backward. sylus swiftly stands up, pulling you to him with an arm around your waist, effectively and attractively saving you from your fall. you place both hands on his broad shoulders, trying to balance yourself and catch your breath. noticing that the two of you were basically conjoined by the groin, you avert your eyes away from him.  

"t-thanks," you stammer as you try to get some space by pushing at his shoulders. "you can let go of me now."  

sylus tilts his head, looking down at you mischievously and trying to meet your avoidant gaze. "is that a command, my lady?"  

puzzled by his question, you finally meet his eyes. sylus sighs a hum of satisfaction, relishing in your eye contact with him. "what do you mean command?" you ask. you were too occupied by sylus’ accusations of you drinking to fully capture his previous answers.  

"it's part of the contract you paid for. i am to obey your every command as your one and only cat butler." the man answers eagerly, as if what he had just said was completely normal. almost as if he was enjoying this.  

you blink once. then twice before asking, "i paid for this?" you did not like where this was going.  

"indeed, my lady. five million dollars to be exact. i am quite the expensive cat butler," sylus grins. normally, you would've found his grin cute. some fangs would peek out, and a slight dimple would show. moreover, he was wearing cat ears. which only added to his playful demeanor. but right now, you were mortified because FIVE MILLION DOLLARS?! WHERE DID YOU EVEN GET THAT MUCH MONEY?!

"what?!" you struggle against his embrace. "what do you mean five million dollars? not even a rare protocore is worth that much!" you panic as you think about your savings. did you seriously spend all your savings on a cat butler contract and put yourself into years’ worth of debt? oh god, if so, you were fucked. say goodbye to all your years of hard work and saving. 

sylus frowns at your last statement. "are you not satisfied, my lady?"

with your jaw dropped, you look at the man towering over you as if he had said something, for lack of a better term, dumb. which he technically did because who would be satisfied after spending five million dollars on a cat butler contract?! (me). "yes?!” you say incredulously. “who in this situation would be satisfied?! you just told me that i blew all my savings and probably even more for a stupid contract!" 

sylus sighs, pinching his nose bridge with his free hand. while it was one thing to have something related to him get called stupid, it was another to see you so rattled. he had to ease your mind, knowing it would spiral if he didn't act soon. "now, now my lady. there is nothing stupid about this contract. you'd be surprised by the numerous benefits that come with it. which are but not limited to me obeying your every command." 

you don’t know which is worse. the head of onychinus telling you that you spent a sickening amount of money just to see him in a suit with cat features. or the head of onychinus telling you that you were actually benefiting from spending a sickening amount of money just to see him in a suit with cat features. as much as the idea of sylus following orders sounded like heaven, being broke in a matter of who knows how long, or in this case, little, and for a stupid reason at that, was not great. not great at all. your gaze shifts rapidly, distracted with coming up with a solution. "are there any refunds by chance?" you ask meekly. 

a dangerous look passes over sylus’ crimson eyes. with no ill intent, of course. he could never harbor any feelings of malice towards you. but the idea of you wanting a refund bothered him greatly. he was not going to let you get rid of him so easily. his arm around your waist tightens, bringing you even closer to him. lifting his free hand, sylus curls a finger under your chin, tilting your face upwards to meet his burning gaze. you shiver, forced to drown in his deep pools of rubies. feeling a rush of pleasure from finally having your attention on him, sylus moves his hand from your chin and reaches behind you to caress the blade of your shoulder. you can't help but shudder at the sudden intimacy. why did this dress have to expose your back? 

"even if my services were terrible," sylus doesn't cease his feather-like touches on your back, causing you to twitch and pant from sensitivity. "there are no refunds," he rasps as he traces a finger down your spine, prompting a whimper from you. enjoying the small yet addictive noises that leave your pretty lips, sylus smirks. yes, this was how it was supposed to be. you, in his embrace where only he could make you feel good and only he could hear your sweet, sweet sounds.  

"sylus..." you try your best not to moan. "s-stop it." you hide your face in sylus' chest, wanting to muffle your sounds and smother your embarrassment away. "i-i got it. no refunds."  

liking what he hears, sylus ceases his ministrations. he brings his hand back to your chin, gently pulling you away from his chest and slowly tilting your face so that you meet his gaze once more. "i'm glad you understand, my lady," sylus closes in on you, his lips millimeters apart from yours. "you won't be returning me anytime soon."  

sylus smashes his lips against yours, earning a moan from you. with the hand that was on your chin now cupping your face and the arm that was around your waist tightening some more, the two of you fall back onto the velvet couch. you gasp at the impact, causing sylus to slide his tongue in, capturing your own in a heated dance that he seemed intent on leading. you shakily wrap your arms around sylus' neck, trying to keep up with his relentless kisses. out of the corner of your eye, you see sylus' tail desperately swaying left and right. an idea flashes in your head. as sylus continues to swirl his tongue in your mouth, you raise your hand from his neck and gently tug at one of his cat ears. sylus jerks violently, mewling filthily into your mouth. taking that as a sign of encouragement, you continue playing with his ear, causing him to lose himself more and more in your lips, your scent, your everything. 

when the two of you grow in need of breaths, sylus pulls away, panting the same rhythm as you. you had no idea how gorgeous you looked right now. splayed out underneath him in tempting attire that was of his signature color. hair disheveled, cheeks rosy, lips swollen, eyes teary—god, you were going to be the death of him. tenderly moving a stray hair out of your face, the silver-haired man speaks.  

"so, what is your first command, my lady?"

extra:

you inhale sharply as you jolt out of bed. what the fuck was that?  you breathe rapidly as you take in your surroundings. sighing a breath of relief, you find yourself back in your room and your comfy pajamas. tiredly rubbing a hand over your face, you start to agonize over the fact that you dreamt about making out with sylus. not only that, you dreamt about making out with him in cat ears. why? you're not sure what this says about you as a person, let alone your growing attraction to him. did you have a thing for pet pla—you don't let yourself finish that last thought. ruffling your hair in frustration, you fall back onto your pillow, determined to recover from that dream. you decide that you are going to avoid sylus for a few days. 

shifting into a comfortable position, you shut your eyes and wait for sleep to find you, causing you to miss the mechanical crow with glowing red eyes flying away from your window and into the night. sylus, viewing the surveillance screen back at his grand residence, tilts his head in curiosity, a subtle smirk appearing on his lips.

 "what did you dream about, kitten?"

[evilminji]

Okay, you know how bird don't ACTUALLY look the way we think they do?

They are far more colorful? But only to the eyes of other birds?

And it has to do with how light reflects off them and how their eyes are shaped etc etc.?

Well..... humans can see the most shades of green, right? But! We sure as shit can't see UltaViolet and InfraRed? Or shades BEYOND those. Ectoplasmic colors. Magical ones. Third eye, need to see with your SOUL type ones.

Danny? Could very well still have lil baby "kitten's eyes who haven't open yet" syndrome.

He thinks the Zone is Green and his hair is white.

But it's not.

His hair is Starlight colored. Frost. His suit is specifically "the void between stars" colored. Which looks... different? Then black? No, no, guys. How can you guys not see it? It looks REALLY different! How did he not NOTICE before?! They're not ever CLOSE to the same shade! It's like calling salmon and hot pink the same. You know... if you were to compare an actual fish and some irradiated, violently glowing version of "hot pink".

......guys?

His gloves are.... guys, these ares stars. Pressed so close together there's no gap. His body is the night sky, all rearranged. He's wearing SPACE, guys.

*continues to stare at his gloves for the next five hours*

Now... why is this relevant? Because! Danny slowly, as all humans do, adjusts! It's like finally having glasses after years of blurry vision. He... forgets, what it was like, not NOT See Zone Colors. Not completely, mind you, but enough he has to be reminded.

And the Zone? A Realm of the Dead. Specifically, the great catch-all and highway of the Dead. They get EVERYBODY. Misfits and vagabonds. Those who don't quite fit. Funky lil dudes. And of course, assholes, but everybody has those! See, Zone colors?

Are DIFFERENT.

They're all of um!

It's like looking at the technicolor, stobe light, multi galaxies in one, Sun. Tingly(tm)!!! You get used to it. What helps? Is that as garish as the Zone is? The painting and grand tapestry of it all? Keeps changing. Like weather. If it's too much for you, you can stay inside your Lair until the current Color changes. Until the designs shift. Vibe changes.

There are even glasses for that! "Temperate" areas for people to set up, that get headaches or are just... kinda killjoys. Too each their own. Though the stormy areas? Those guys are freaks. Watch out for those guys. They're the kind who stare directly are stars until their eyes burn out.

Where was I? Oh yeah! Danny!

No longer a wee baby, smol baby, twig-o!

Sad. We miss it.

But he did get used to Seeing The Colors. Got a handle on his powers. And! Finally worked with his parents on how to safely turn the portal OFF. There was much booing. Cries of "kill joy" and "booo! You suck!". But? Like? Dude DID have the right to protect his home. Go to college. What can you do?

Problem with THAT is? Baby grew into his "built like a brick shit house of constantly running off to literally tackle the Supernatural excellence" Fenton genetics. He Tall. Muscles! And he PUMPING out "somethings fucked up with me" Vibes!

Add in his DEEPLY Sus off hand comments. Weird ability to tell when someone has or is about to die. Basic immunity to the cold. Fuckin EYE GLOW?

Ha ha... *Horror movie screams from his college dorm mates*

Clearly a demon!

He gets kicked out. Well... not kicked out. He's a model student and broken no rules. They'd never survive the lawsuit. But... he's? STRONGLY INCOURAGED to finish his education elsewhere. Repeatedly. By like... 15 colleges.

Sam is not just livid, she's actively foaming at the mouth.

Breathe, Sam! Remember what your doctor said! Your mortal body can't handle that kinda Vengance spiral! Think of your blood pressure! Breathe!!! (Were not for the laws of this land... and the weak, fleshy constraints of her mortal form!)

Thankfully? Tucker's been interning, remotely of course, with Wayne Industries. He asked his manager where he could find some of those scholarship forms. (Since Gotham University is just a touch out of Danny's price range.) Manager wanted to know why. And oh! Oh holy shit. Apparently? Danny is the hot new office gossip.

People in the main office are OUTRAGED. Danny's "too spooky"?! Too FUCKIN SPOOKY!? Are you KIDDING THEM? Even juicier, a Meta kid from some wacky ghost hunters turned scientists. From a line of Supernatural hunters. Wants to be a aeronautics engineer.

Ooooooh how SPOOKY! Better watch out! He'll design an ENGINE at yooooou!

Fuckin casuals. Non-Gothamites are WEAK. "Too scary" their collective asses. Yeah, maybe the kid SHOULD come too Gotham. He can be the weird kid. Mildly unsettling or something. His powers won't be SHIT in Gotham. Just remind him to buy a gas mask.

So! Danny gets his Scholarship! Merrily packs his bags for darker, Gothic hellscape hills. Unaware... that Constantine has been following reports of a "demon" that he's? 80% sure is a Banshee but MIGHT be a winter spirt with a shtick? For the past 13 colleges. He's getting closer. And this sucker is a strong one.

Not "this is going to cause me serious, life imperilling danger" strong. But more? "Man, that cat is HUUUUUGE". Could he still get mauled a lil? Yeah. Scratched to all hell and back? Probably! But DIE? Unlikely.

He just needs to know why the FUCK this spirit his hanging around colleges.

Which is made harder... by the fact that what HE sees? And what OTHER people see? When they look at this guy? Separate things. Yeah, he'd LOVE to give you guys a description! IF HE HAD ONE.

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hdgnj @spidori @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @lolottes

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny Pt.9

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.10]

"Fan-sea meeting you here. You must be Phantom!"

Danny slowly turned around, grin blinding. "I shore am. Who's asking?"

Danny knew exactly who was asking. Bludhaven's vigilante, Nightwing. If the giant dark blue bird emblazoned on the front of his suit didn't give it away, the friendly demeanor and the puns would have. Plus, now that Danny's figured out who Tim was, the rest were pretty simple dots to be connected.

"Hi. I'm Nightwing. Thanks for saving Batman."

"I am Phantom. You are welcome. Please lecture him on the necessity of keeping the waters clean."

"Uh, I think he knows," Nightwing grinned. “So, why are you cleaning Gotham’s bay? I heard the Atlantic is nice this time of year.”

“Exactly. This?” Danny flapped a gloved hand around them, specifically at the moldy docks and the paint scraped board. “This is not nice. If it were nice, I wouldn’t need to be cleaning it. Look at that paint! It’s flaking off into the water! Does Gotham not have proper boat maintainance? That’s dangerous for the waters and seafarers!”

“Woah, you know a lot about boats,” Nightwing commented, crossing his arms and leaning back. What the hero didn’t know was that he knew more about boats than Danny did, as Danny’s hyper fixation was more focused on space ships and Dick had education à la maison de Bruce Wayne which usually meant an absurd amount of information for someone who doesn’t actually use boats as a regular mode of transportation.

“Rust! Rust is very much a thing!” Danny ranted, using his ice to scoop up water and using it like a makeshift filter. “It weakens bonds! It’s a tetanus hazard! And oh, don’t even get me started on how you people mutated the ocean life!”

“Mutated ocean life? I’m pretty sure we hadn’t. It’s just a little weird, right?”

Without another word, Danny dove into the weird ecosystem that was the Gotham bay. He came back holding a wriggling green thing the size of a worm.

“Do you know what this is?” Danny demanded. The thing flopped around on his gloved hands.

“A sea monkey?”

“They’re brine shrimp. Brine. Shrimp. Do you know what regular brine shrimp look like???” Danny shoved the thing at Nightwing, who took a step back.

“Not like that?” He replied, a quizzical look on his face.

“No, not like that! What in the ancients is this?!” Danny waved the weird sea brine that had started glowing faintly, like Danny’s natural ectoplasm glow. “Far be it from me of all people to judge evolution but this was all man made!” Danny gently tossed the brine shrimp back into the bay. “Brine shrimp is staple food for the ocean! You’ve got weird brine shrimp? You’ve got weird fish! Why is it impossible for this place to, for even one day, refrain from dumping hazardous chemicals or dead bodies in the water?”

“Ooookay, how about we take a breather?” Nightwing quickly glanced around, trying to find something to change the subject, feeling oddly guilty at the earnest expression on the kid’s face. “Uh, I was actually wondering if you’d swing by the waters near Blüd?”

Danny crossed his arms. “I clean the waters as a past time because you humans don’t know how to keep it clean. I am not a personal, on call, seakeeper.”

“Batman will pay you for your time,” Dick offered. Danny straightened. Amity didn’t actually cost that much to live well, but Gotham was a whole other ball park. The rent might be dirt cheap for a city, but the special pricey little add ons such as gas masks and space level insulation on top of the sky high insurance policies were draining what’s left of his half dead soul. As they say, Danny was a city dweller first and Phantom second.

“How much, when, and I won’t fish up the bodies unless he pays me extra.”

“Four thousand base pay, extra one hundred per identity, fifty for bodies with no shades, and on the weekends.”

Danny straightened as his mother’s steel spine, Jazz’s whip sharp wit, and his own craftiness made their appearance as he bargained. “Five thousand. Rate agreed, but I can only do every other weekends and I’ll have to call out some days.”

“Okay.” Nightwing rocked back on his heels with an affable smile. It’s Bruce’s money and it’s going towards his probable future baby brother, after all, even if said baby brother is a dead immortal Atlantis founder. Or something.

Danny groaned. “You are supposed to bargain back. But I’ll take it.”

“Great! Who do we got tonight?” Nightwing looked down at the plastic/burlap wrapped person Danny dragged onto the shores a bit ago.

“The lake kept the body cold, so it should be preserved adequately if you want to examine him,” Danny tilted his head to the side, the flames of his hair tilting with him. “He said his name is Gorganzo Bean.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s a nickname he got for eating a whole can of beans straight.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. Any more details?”

“Sure.”

When Danny reached to take the money from Nightwing, he found that the hero had tightened his grip on it.

Danny pointedly dropped his gaze from Nightwing’s face to the money.

“Wait. I- I heard from a source that you could possibly smell souls.”

Danny yanked the cash out of Nightwing’s hand and shoved it into his shoulder. If that didn’t confirm Nightwing’s identity, he doesn’t know what would other than the guy telling Danny who he was. “You’ve been speaking with Danny. Yes, I can.”

“Can you tell what’s wrong with my brother?” Nightwing blurted out.

Danny stared at him, his legs flickering in and out to his tail form. “…Other than dressing in probably leather or Kevlar and going out to beat criminals with his bare hands?”

Nightwing opened and closed his mouth. He coughed awkwardly. “Other than that. Why is he- um, stinky? Soul-wise,” Nightwing added, clearly humoring the tinny little voice at the base of his temples that was an annoyed Red Hood saying that he showered. “He showers often. And is definitely not stinky body odor wise.”

“I am not a doctor. Well, not now anyways,” Danny said, thinking about his future PhD. “But he’s got a… soul infection. His natural immunity- all souls have a natural immunity against regular outside influences- is working hard to repel the equivalence of chronic bronchitis.”

“There’s… no way to help him?”

“I never said that,” Danny tilted his head. “Bring your brother to meet Danny. He could probably handle it.”

“The civilian?”

“His parents hunted my kind, once. He helped protect me and my people. If anyone knows how to cure it, it would be him.”

Phantom could not afford to deal with this right now, because Danny had a presentation tomorrow that he needed to finish.

“Oh. Thank you, Phantom.” Nightwing said, looking relieved and pensive. Danny decided right then and there that was Future Danny’s problem.

Danny nodded distractedly, blinking out.

He blinked back in. Nightwing jerked back. “Do you happen to have any examples of corrupt politicians in Gotham?”

Nightwing blinked before laughing. “It’d probably be easier to name the ones that aren’t.”

“Good to know. Thank you!”

——

A couple of days later, Tim and two older guys ambushed him in the quad.

“Hi! I’m Dick! This is my brother Jason! We’re Tim’s older brothers!”

Danny looked down at his hand- trapped in an overexcited handshake- and back up at Dick.

Whatever expression he was making, it must have been ha-fucking-larious because Tim and Jason burst out into laughter. Danny cursed his past self.

“Yeah?” Danny blinked. Wait. His smile grew and he made a face like he just realized something. “Oh. So you’re Nightwing?”

The laughter cut off.

“Haha, what?”

“Phantom told me you’d be coming but I, uh, thought you’d be in gear. Not… straight up telling me who you are?”

“You’re in regular contact with Phantom?” Tim demanded.

“Yeah, dude. After you- wait, you’re Red Robin!” Danny whispered.

“Oh shit, B’s gonna be pissed,” Jason drawled, looking mildly amused and hiding an extremely cautious, possibly lethal (if it weren’t for the fact that Danny’s pretty much impossible to kill with regular weapons) reaction.

“You’re one to talk. I’d smell your soul no matter what your disguise was.”

“…About that.”

——

You might be wondering: wouldn’t Dick know not to show up in civvies?

Yes. Except for the fact that Tim stalked Danny for weeks after he met Phantom and Danny hadn’t hung out with (himself) at all. They think Danny doesn’t know Phantom well enough to even talk to him much, despite being from the same town because: they’re all big city kids and have never experienced small town solidarity and, more importantly, gossip grapevines + they have no idea these two are the same people.

A deleted scene:

“When did you have time to talk to Phantom?” Tim demanded. Jason nudged Tim. That had hinted too much at what Tim was doing on his off hours and stalking was usually frowned upon.

“When I wasn’t talking to you, duh.”

[ambros1an]

halo touching ☆

warnings: none, somewhat suggestive but not nsfw

summary: Sunday lets you touch his halo. ♡

A Halovian's halo is made up of energy, causing it to be incorporeal and intangible in the real world. However, in the dream world of Penacony, the energy forms into a physical object.

If there was one universal taboo, it would be touching a Halovian's halo. Yet...

Your fingers caress the lower sides of his halo. Running your fingers up and down, it's smooth and a bit too soft to be metal. It's edges are rounded but there's little ridges that dip in between.

You can't help but admire the craft. Halovian halos form based on personal experience. What type of life allows it to become so intricate, you wonder.

When your fingers glide up the points of his halo, it flickers in and out.

"S-sorry," Sunday speaks from below you, he decided to sit to allow you to touch freely, however, "I've never had my halo touched before..."

Pausing your touching, you look down at him. His face is a vibrant shade of red. His wings cover his face in a poor attempt to hide his blush.

"Are you okay? Want me to keep going?"

"Yes, to both of those questions. It's just an intimate gesture among Halovians," he mumbles into his glove.

The points among his halo stand sharp like thorns. Any touch would prick your finger. It suits him, you think. Sunday's status is a thorn that keeps people from approaching him. It serves as his protection.

But he's also soft around the edges, your lips curl up in a grin as you trace the circular arch to the next point. You fondle the halo's eye between two of your fingers.

"Just how intimate?"

Sunday gives you a glare. As best he can anyway. It's not very intimidating with cheeks all red and his wings pressed up against his face.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he shifts his face closer to yours in a challenge.

You would.

a/n: I read the "halovian special issue" for the info btw. probably not reliable but I'm desperate for Sunday and this is all I got, okay 😔

[hwalovs]

Golden and Glowing (M)

Pairing; Jayce Talis x Fem!Reader Word Count; 7.8k Warnings; some (a lot) angst, S M U T T Y SMUT SMUT!, unprotected PiV, put on a dry suit before diving you freaks, some oral (fem receiving) ((i lied its full, fem receiving, diabolical oral)), fingering, dry humping, lots of kissing, overstimulation(?), fabric ripping, Jayce whimpering, Jayce whining, desperation in human form.

Summary; After Jayce comes back, he finds it difficult to face you. Yet, after you meet him in the council room, he can't stop the rush of emotions on seeing your beautiful face, and soft eyes.

A/N; I saw him in the council room in that fuck-ass-fit and KNEW I would be at my keyboard. Also- I've loved Jayce since season one, I saw him and knew he whimpered. i also love his beard and it will NOT stop me from giving him jaw kisses. I will GLADLY kiss against it idGAF!

MINORS DNI!!

THIS IS NOT EDITED! DO NOT REPOST MY WORK!!

The council room was repaired in his absence, even the large doors had been replaced. Though new, it still creaked when you gently shut it. Its latch resonated around the room, and you cursed under your breath, moving into the room with jittering hands and a racing mind. 

Mel was the one to tell you that Jayce was back, and waiting in the council room. You didn’t want to go in there, not after the attack, but you swallowed down your anxiety, smiled and bid her a farewell, and faced the dark wood with golden knobs. 

For a couple months, you thought he would never come back. Almost coming to terms that he was dead. There was a fleeting moment you thought he abandoned you, but that was thrown out. Jayce would never, ever, abandon you. Or anyone, for the matter. He loved too hard, and lost too easily. He was too determined to a fault, and you saw that when he created Hextech. When hardships came, Jayce was the type to take it by the teeth, see it through to the end with full confidence. He excelled in helping people, finding out what was wrong, and making it better. 

Which is what scared you the most when he disappeared. The only way he would truly be gone, is if he was dead. Yet, there was no body. So, you waited. 

You look at everything but him first, stalling. How could you be this scared, it was just Jayce. With gritted teeth, and unsteady breathing, you find him in the center of the room, in the same place his trial was all those years ago. He stood tall back then, taking whatever question the council threw at him with full determination he would win, earn his place back in the lab and with hextech. 

Your mouth is moving before you can stop it, “your hair is longer.”

Jayce stands different, more tense and strained. Dark colors replace the white, red, and gold entourage he was decorated in by the council. Shaggy hair, scarred arms, hunched posture. It was like seeing a different person standing in front of you. But, you supposedly knew this man. 

He slowly turns his body to face you, sharp eyes slowly softening when they meet yours. His shoulders drop, but only a miniscule amount, and his gloved hands itch to feel you. 

“Is that a beard?” you smile, tilting your head, walking further into the room, down one of the steps. He stays put, but there's a moment you can see his body pitch forwards to move closer. It's almost nonexistent, but it was there. The light that spills into the room bathes him in a golden hue, his eyes shaded by his hair. His hammer was different, you note, watching as its multicolored metal reflects the light, a kaleidoscope dancing on the desk behind it. 

“What’s happened to my golden boy? Should the man of progress be seen with such a rugged image?” Your voice cracks, and heat appears behind your eyes, but you still force a teasing smile. Pulling your hands behind your back, you hope that he didn’t see them shake. 

After so long, he was here in front of you. He was looking over you with the desperation of a starved man, his chest slowly beginning to heave. His hammer slides until the metal slams into the ground, the handle slipping from his grasp to slowly fall against the desk. It startled you, watching him move carefully. A predator not wanting to scare his prey. 

You almost forgot how big Jayce really was. All shoulders and chest filling your vision. His waist was smaller, and you used to be able to wrap your arms fully around him at night when it was cold, seeking out his warmth. As you look him over, you can see the tremble in his hands, how his shoulders quake in the deep maroon velvet fabric. 

Before you can even think, he’s moving closer. Not even looking down at the stairs as he skips them all together, stopping inches away from your face. The light is blocked, and he looks ethereal. A golden hue glows from his body line, giving a halo to a broken angel. Tilting his head slightly to look over your features. His honey colored eyes are shining, red rimmed and swimming with emotions flashing by so fast you can barely pick them out.

Sadness, anger, desperation, happiness, it was hard to tell which one was dominating over the other. Sadness, perhaps. Or maybe it was desperation. 

“Are you real?” He sounds more broken than he looks. Voice a whisper in the air between you both and all of a sudden you can feel the tidal wave of emotions that you tried to ignore. The ones you felt when you found out he was gone, that he left you behind, that he didn’t care enough to even tell you where he was going. Your cheeks are suddenly wet, and a hiccup is swallowed when you move and push against him. He takes it, all the punches and shoves you throw against his chest. 

“Yes, you idiot,” you shudder, “I’ve been here while you were doing god knows what!”

He can only frown, gloved hands clenching at his sides while looking down at your shaking form. You refuse to look at him now, tears twinkling like fallen stars from your waterline. Shaky hands rush to wipe them away, before you shove him again.

“Where were you, huh? You left me here, alone! How could you do that to me? After everything we’ve done?”

His stomach twists, and he aches to tell you everything. To tell you how he woke up in a storm after touching the anomaly under the Hexgate, how he saw things in the shapes of people. Scuttling across the distorted grass and up broken buildings. He would tell you how he fell into a ravine, breaking his leg and swallowed by the dark. He would tell you how he survived, how the image of the anomaly haunted- haunts him. He’d tell you all with a straight face, that he climbed floating rocks to the top of the Hexgate, and met the same mage he saw as a child, and what he instructed him to do. 

He would not fail, he’d say

Yet, he wanted to spare you the pain of knowing what could happen to you, to him, to Piltover and Zaun and the entire world. He stood before you, broken and reformed into a man he almost didn’t recognize. You spoke to him like you always did, how he remembered when he would sit in front of that fire, it still had the same cadence as the one in his mind when he was taking apart his hammer to fasten it to his deformed leg. Your instructions clear on what bolts and panels to take off, what he could use as a strap to hold it all together. You reassured him he would be okay, and reprimanded him for being there in the first place. 

Would you still love him, as he is now? He couldn’t hold himself in the same light as the ‘Man of Progress’. What if that’s who you wanted, rather than the broken minded man in front of you. It's what he would think about at night, staring into the storm above as he listened to the water drip into the small, stagnant, puddle beside him. Even when he got back, and stood under the hot water of his first shower in months. All he could do was think of your eyes glaring at him, telling him that he was different, not the same Jayce he disappeared as. 

How could he see you like this?

How could you love him like this? Broken mind and body?

Harshly rubbing your eyes, you sigh and look over him. His hands were shaking, jaw clenching and unclenching as tears finally gathered. A frown was wobbling on his face, everything was threatening to boil over. You could see it, that rope inside him unraveling into a tangle of emotions you knew he couldn’t handle. 

When you reach up to grasp his face, like you did when he was tired, or when he needed you after another failed experiment, look down at you with tired eyes and a small smile. His beard was scratchy, or akin to scruff than anything. You wanted to feel along it all day, but he flinches, moving his head out of your grasp and you feel the cold truth slam into you from behind. Something had happened to your Jayce, something terrible and a small voice inside told you he would never talk about it. 

“Oh, Jayce,” you whisper, arms falling to your sides. Tears spill from his eyes, and he slowly lifts his hands enough to drag his gloves off, trembling. It's a silent cry, droplets falling down his neck to soak into the fabric at his collar. He swallows each sob, each whimper that threatens to spill past his lips. Dropping his gloves to the ground, he softly and slowly grabs your hands, breathing deeply when your skin touches his. 

He was cold, you realize. Trembling fingers sliding between yours with a clumsy vigor, dancing up your palms and sliding around your wrists. He slowly drags your hands up, up and up until they settle onto his cheeks. Immediately, your finger splay across his dark beard. They press into his cheeks, feel how his jaw tenses, and as quickly as he started crying, you join him. 

You’re not a silent crier, you realize. A sob makes its way past your lips and you drag him forwards until he's crashing into you, his arms moving to grip at the fabric of your shirt.  He bends until his forehead is against yours, breathing you in rapidly. He can’t get enough, your perfume swallows him whole and he curses himself for ever forgetting it. 

“I’m sorry-” He sobs, his tears mixing with yours. You almost collapse, hearing him so broken, but you shake your head and pull him closer, your lips just grazing his before he sighs and pulls you in deeper. 

He tasted like heaven. There's a hint of the sweet candies you and Viktor would buy specifically for him, and under all of it, honey. Yet, there's the undertone of the mint from his toothpaste, the coffee he drank this morning. 

The last time you kissed him, he was leaving for the council meeting, trying to strike for peace with Silco and for the petty war between them to be over. He was tired when he left, and Viktor had given you a light kiss to the cheek before they departed, a strained smile on both of their lips as they disappeared behind the lab door. 

The kiss he gives you now starts slowly, remembering what the other felt and tasted like. It's all slow touching and even slower kissing, opening back that door you thought you would have had it close forever, close off what it would feel like to have him like this again. 

Jayce breathes you in deeply, your taste made his stomach clench in anticipation, or what was to come. Surely, you’d understand, right? He needed you, needed to remind himself that he was alive and you were safe with him. 

It devolves, his hands working from your arms to your waist, his head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss. His hands are shaking as he licks along your bottom lip, desperate for entry. 

Giving in easily, you sigh as his arm makes its way around your waist, one of his hands moving to cradle the back of your head while you slide both thumbs under his eyes, subconsciously wiping his tears away. Your tongue twists with his, a fight for dominance he easily loses, allowing you to explore him without restriction., 

He shivers when you bite down on his lip, pulling away to look at you with half-lidded eyes. Pupils blown, he takes a split second to look around the room, before turning back and bending down to lift you from the backs of your thighs. His grip was tight, not allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist like you used to. Yelping, you wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders, face nuzzling into his hair while he walks over to the council desk. He sets you down lightly, before grabbing your face to pull you back to him. 

He's desperate now, kissing you like it was his last day on earth, and maybe it was, as long as you were going out with him you didn't care. Love was drawn onto your skin by his lips, silent words that soaked through and wrapped around your heart in a symphony of beauty. There was also the lust that followed, crackling and clawing like a desperate creature you both unintentionally created. As he painted you, you’d paint him beautifully as well. 

You whimper into him, his teeth dragging across your bottom lip as he pulls back, hands gripping your knees while he slowly makes his way down your neck. Gripping onto his velvet shirt, right where the fabric is folded to his elbows, you try and find purchase before his teeth sink into your skin. It was rough, how his teeth threatened to break through. You knew it would bruise quickly, and you almost smiled at the way his tongue quickly followed in apology. 

Lightly, he pulls your knees apart, not forcing, but asking. You oblige quickly, pulling him to step closer while your back arches to accommodate his height. A hand leaves your knee to grasp your neck, pushing his thumb into your pulse point until you tilted your head in obedience. He’s muttering against your skin, words so quiet you couldn’t even what when you tried to. 

“What is it, baby?” You ask, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging softly. He whimpers, pulling from under your knee to drag you closer. Your cunt fits snug against him, and he whimpers again, softly grinding against you. 

He’s still mumbling, you realize, and pull harder against his hair, dragging his face from your neck. Giving him a soft smile, you lean forwards to kiss him. When he jerks his body close, to meet you halfway, you yank on his hair, and he stills. He watches with bated breath and dark eyes as you slowly lean closer, dragging your lips along his neck until it reaches just below his ear. His skin was hot, pulsing under your lips as you pressed one, two, three light kisses against it. 

“I need you to speak clearly, Jayce, can you do that?”

It’s hard to keep yourself together, with him rutting against you like a horny teenager, and his hands gripping your knee and neck in desperation. His eyes clench shut, tilting his head back and against your hand until your fingers splay out in his hair once more. 

“I thought about you- everyday-” he begins, eyes opening to look at you in pain. Not the kind of pain you inflict on someone, but of a pain so deep within his bones it shines through his gaze. 

“I wanted to be with you so bad- please believe me, I would never leave you voluntarily.”

“Oh, baby, I know,” you coo, releasing his hair to thumb against his cheek, slide the pad against his bottom lip. His breathing is erratic, and his hips have stopped. He looked at you as if you had all the answers, and while you don’t right now, you’d lie through your teeth just for him.

“I’m right here, nothing is going to happen to you.”

He shudders, “I thought you’d never want to see me again, that you’d hate me for being gone-”

“You’re here now, Jayce, that's all that matters to me, okay?” 

Nodding, he drags his hands along your skin, until they rested on your waist, fingers twisting and gripping onto your shirt like it was a lifeline. 

“I thought I’d never get to touch you again, to have you like this. You look so pretty right now, honey.”

The words travel straight to your gut, a fire that was burning under your skin the longer he held onto you. 

It's easy to fall back into the routine of what once was, but you realized that; while before, he needed to be kept in line and put in his place, to scold and tease and taunt. Now, the Jayce in your hands needed you to comfort him. He needed you to remind him that he was real, that you were real and not going anywhere. 

“Kiss me, sweet boy.”

He surges forwards, lips crashing against yours while your hands feverishly start unbuttoning his shirt. His bangs tickle your forehead, and he can't stop himself from rutting against you again. He haphazardly undo’s your pants, fingers slipping and after missing a button, he grunts against your lips and grabs the flaps of your pants and yanks them apart, one of the buttons falling to the floor. You laugh, pulling away and smiling up at him. He’s embarrassed, hiding his eyes and pulling you impossibly closer to him by the ripped fabric. 

“I-” he whines as he ruts, “I need you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, and he furrowed his eyebrows with a nod, “how do you need me?”

Groaning, he drops his head onto your shoulder, fingers itching to dive into your pants. You quickly grab his wrist before he can, nails pressing into his skin in warning. This time, you try a different approach, trying to get him to talk to you. 

“Tell me, Jayce, did you think about me like this?”

“God, yes,” he moans, free arm wrapping around your waist, arching your back. You wrap your arm around his neck for leverage, sighing, “yeah? What about me?”

He shakes his head, a laugh tickling you before he pulls back, “I-” he swallows, “I thought about how you’d cum around my fingers, and on my face-”

“Dirty boy,” you tease, kissing his collar bone. His hips jerk, cock catching along the now open panel of your pants. He hisses, eyes flickering between yours, shining, “I thought about you- you wrapped around me, tight and wet and perfect just for me- you were made for me-”

Letting go of his wrist, you let his hand dive between your legs and into your pants, it's sloppy, the way his hands desperately move to get closer to you, immediately pulling the band of your panties away to sink his fingers into your slick, knocking against your clit once before venturing deeper. Gasping, you grab at the front of his partially open shirt, his tan skin peeking through. His chest heaves as he pulls back up and finds your clit, fingers rough as he circles it. 

“You always sound so- fuck-” his fingers move from your clit to your entrance, rubbing against you once to test the tension before sinking a finger inside of you, mouth dropping at how tight you were, “sound so pretty, when you cum-”

“I never thought I’d hear it again,” he sighs, tilting his head. You smile, finally undoing the rest of his shirt and kissing the large expanse of his chest. He sighs, pulling his finger from your tight hole to find your clit again, pulling its hood back with his palm before teasing the sensitive bud. You shudder, forehead falling against his skin, using his closeness, you suck against his chest, leaving red splotches while his voice wraps around you like a blanket.

“Didn’t stop thinking about you- your voice, your eyes, god baby, I’ve missed you so much,” voice breaking at the end, he nuzzles his face into your neck, forcing yours to move from his chest, your cheek resting against his shoulder. “Even-” he swallows, “even you yelling at me, telling me off and how I annoy you.”

He slowly drags his hand away from your cunt, wetness trailing after until he’s wrapping his lips around his finger. A loud moan rumbling his chest, your cunt clenching. 

“Never thought I’d taste you again,” Wet fingers wrap around your throat, not tight, just enough to drag your lips back to his as your hands fumble to undo his own pants. Humming, you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself. Sweet, yet a familiar tang. He licks against your lips, into your mouth and suckles on your bottom lip. 

“Jay-” you whine, your legs wrapping tightly around him as he punishes you back, your arms frantically moving to support your weight. His tongue licks down the column of your throat, stopping to push up your shirt enough to kiss against your stomach, moving to suck a deep red splotch onto your hip bone, his canines scratching against you. Drool makes its way from the corner of his mouth, and his tongue licks it away. He winces as he drops to one knee, careful of the other. The brace dug into his skin, leaving a bruise in its wake. It was new, a shiny silver metal that contrasted against his black pants. You noticed it, but it didn’t bother you. This was your Jayce, and you love him in any way. 

Pulse erratic, you push down your pants the best you could with his weight on you, and you almost smile when his hands join yours, yanking the fabric down your legs until they reach your shoes. Quickly, he discards them, throwing them behind him before stopping abruptly to look over your soft skin. 

While to you, he was glowing in the sunlight, golden sun painting him in an ethereal light. To him, you looked akin to a god, the sun almost made you sparkle. He could feel his chest swell, his cheeks hot as his trembling fingers grabbed your shins, bringing one close to lay featherlight kisses. Slowly, he works his way up, eyes never closing, never wanting to miss a single one of your beautiful expressions. The way your eyes blink, your lips part when he reaches your inner thigh, how your hands reach to grasp the closest thing to you for support. 

He loves you, unforgivingly, as he bites into the sensitive flesh just before your cunt. It makes your back arch, head falling back as you try to shut your thighs, his hair tickling you, beard scratching against your skin. He grunts, pulling away to lick at the intended mark of his teeth, freezing and holding you open as he gazes at the beauty that is your slick cunt. It shines in the light, beads of it sliding down until it threatens to drop onto the desk below you. He inches forwards, slowly licking against your skin until his tongue parts your folds. 

His whole body shivers at your taste, your warmth, your sweet nectar flooding his senses and he wouldn’t have it any other way. The tip of his tongue catches your clit, and he can feel your thighs twitch. Your hand is in his hair, and your eyes lock on his immediately. He almost cums untouched at the blissful smile you give him. You whimper as his tongue runs along your folds harder this time, stopping to give your clit an open mouthed kiss. It throbs under his lips, and he can feel his hands shake. 

If this was the last time, he would take his time. He would drag this out until he couldn’t, when the sun rises again tomorrow, when someone inevitably walks in. He didn’t care, he had you in his arms again. 

His tongue joins his kiss, sliding to press into you briefly before pulling away to watch the concoction of your slick and his spit slide down. Before it can drip onto the desk, he rushes to lick it away, swallowing it down with a guttural groan you’ve never heard from him. It's lethal, as his hooded eyes flicker over your face before he shuts them completely, diving between your legs and eating you like a man starved. 

It's messy, spit unstopped from dripping while his tongue moves against you. He’s trying to taste all of you, all at once. He’ll lick your clit, and then dip down to tongue into your entrance, feel you clench around him before moving back up to suckle. He can feel it drip down to his beard, soaking the hair, but he did nothing to stop it. 

“Jayce- wait-” Your pleading, a whimper falling past your lips as you grip onto his hair. Your elbow was screaming in pain as it digs into the wood below you. Yet, what mattered to you most was the starved man between your legs. He ignored you completely, wrapping his arms around your thighs to lock you to him. He quickly shakes his head, tongue calculated as it hones in on a specific pattern on your clit. It feels like heaven and hell all at once. Rapidly, your release is building. It starts as a tickle in your gut, and then festers into a burn. Your muscles start to lock and shake, your lungs seize and before you realize you’re not breathing, he slides a quick hand across your tummy, tapping quickly, bringing you back. You gulp down air, your hips trying to hump into his mouth. 

“Please- slow down-” he only groans in response, pulling away and taking a deep breath before going back down. He goes back to flatten his tongue against you, slowly dragging it up before taking your clit between his lips, sucking hard.

Your back arches, thighs shaking and you moan. It almost hurt, how hard he was sucking, his tongue flicking against the bud until he released you and continued circling. You're pulsing beneath him, tears gathering as you drag him closer by the hair. His beard was scratching the sin of your thighs, a welcoming burn. 

His fingers soon join his mouth, tips teasing against your entrance before he’s sinking two into you. He doesn’t stop until knuckle deep, twisting his hand palm up and curling his fingers while dragging them out. Your hips trying to get closer, or further away, you didn’t know. The pleasure was immense, heart racing as you let go of his hair to grab the edge of the desk, thighs trying to shut around his head. 

He pulls away just enough to look up at you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes pathetic. He’s drunk off your taste, of how wet and tight you are around his fingers. He’s begging you, resting his head against your thigh as his tongue circles your clit. 

“Just like that-” you whimper, trying to gulp down enough air, yet still breathless as he nods so obediently. His eyes brighten, watching how your mouth drops open, body tensing. Yet, he knew it wasn’t enough. You were on the brink, teetering on a cliff you didn’t know you’d survive the fall of. 

Jayce didn’t give you time to prepare, he moved his fingers faster, curling them against your sweet spot while surging forwards with his mouth to suck hard onto your clit, moaning around you. 

Your release hits unexpectedly, a dam breaking in your gut and you slap a hand onto your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. Your slick and cum cover him, a flood of your release dripping down his hand. Your vision is white, sobbing into your palm as your hips shake against his grip. It's electrifying, the warmth that spreads like wildfire through your veins. You didn’t know if you wanted him to stop, or keep going. Yet, he didn’t give you a choice on that either. 

He moves his hand faster, tongue flicking against your clit rapidly. It makes your whole body freeze, not knowing what to do. You just came, how could you be so rapidly gearing up to cum again?

While his fingers torment your sweet spot, he pulls back for air, his arm fully enclosing your thigh so his thumb could reach, circling hard and fast. He watches you with wide, desperate eyes. Breathing deeply, licking his cum slicked lips, “One more- please,” he whimpers. 

He had to be lying, right? He was so unforgiving with you, your wetness echoing around the room. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, hyperventilating as you felt the build up once more, yet this time, it was faster. Your previous orgasm hadn’t even faded before this one started, It was building into a monsoon of pleasure. It made your ears ring, your eyes shut tightly and whether you liked it or not, you were going to cum again. 

“Jayce!-”

“Oh my, god-”

Your ears start to ring, thighs tremble, and Jayce’s mouth is back on you. It’s overwhelming, the pleasure that greets you on the other side. All you can do is face it head on and your orgasm washes over you once more. It was so much more intense than the last one, you swore your legs went numb. 

It could’ve been minutes, or seconds, but Jayce’s mouth is back on yours, tongue pushing past your lips and you can taste your own cum. It's filthy, his wet beard against your skin as he pulls you so close your hips hang off the side of the desk. Somehow, he had gotten his pants pushed down to his knees. His hands are desperate as he maneuvers your shaking legs around his hips, shirt pulled up to show the expanse of his stomach. 

His cock was throbbing, thick and long with its tip an angry shade of deep red. Pearly pre was leaking down the side, shining against the light as he moves to rub his cockhead against your slick folds. Whimpering, you shudder, legs tightening around his waist as he pushes the tip into you. 

“Oh god, I’m not gonna last long-” voice cracking, his hand splaying against the wood to your side, his other looping under your hips to hold you up. Swallowing against a dry throat, you grab onto his forearms, his body pausing. 

“My sweet boy,” you whimper, “you need it that bad?”

You always spoke at the most inconvenient times, he thinks. His hips jerk forwards, sinking deeper into you with a whine, shivering at how tight and warm you are. You were always warm, always welcoming him with open arms and a loving smile. He missed you so much, craving for this warmth while next to the fire he made. This is the warmth he wanted when he was shivering, thinking of nothing but you when he was climbing that damn ravine. 

He doesn’t think, only slides his hips forwards until his pelvis meets yours, clit throbbing against his skin. He almost reaches down to thumb against it, but decides not to when he feels your walls clench around him like a lifeline. His moan travels through the room, across your skin and wraps around you like a blanket. 

“I do,” he says, almost apologetically. Shaky hand leaves the desk to rub the skin of your tummy, before slowly pulling out until just the tip remains, and thrusting back in. The stretch is borderline painful, causing you to whimper. His gaze flickers back up to you, a frown twitching his lips. 

“Don't stop,” you whisper, hips pitching upwards, his hand forcing you back down, “keep going, baby.”

Nodding, he breathes deeply before continuing, his hips moving at a continuous rhythm. 

Jayce was always careful with you, soft touches and worried eyes always a staple when his cock is inside you. But now, his hand that rests on your tummy is slowly pressing into you. It makes you tighter around him, your cum from before forming a white ring at the base of his cock. He moans at the sight, tilting his head. You would always be perfect for him, cunt sucking him back in when he tries to pull out. Your ankles hook together behind his back, and he closes his eyes to bask in the pleasure while listening to you whimper and moan beneath him. 

You watch him intently, feeling his fingers flex against your skin and you try to keep up. His hips wont stop accelerating, skin slapping against skin as his head falls against his chest, eyes opening into slits as he watches his cock disappear into you. 

“So good,” he slurs, his shoulders tense as his body slowly pitches forwards until his forehead rests against your chest. With shaking fingers, you move to undo your shirt. Your breasts come free and Jayce immediately starts to suckle on the skin between them, your head thumping against wood, back arching into his mouth. Your nipples harden into buds when the cool air hits them, Jayce groaning before taking one into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it before taking it lightly between his teeth, pulling away with it, and then letting go. 

“You’re doing- fuck,” you curse, eyebrows furrowed, “You’re doing so good, sweet boy-”

Nodding, his hips falter as he speeds up his pace, your body jerking up the desk until he growls, grabbing your waist to drag you back. Your hands grab onto his arms, nails threatening to dig into his skin, but you hold back. He’s already gone through so much pain, why inflict it further?

His hips dont stop, though, and you gasp, “wait-”

“I-” he gasps, fingers gripping onto the tops of your thighs, shaking his head as he roughly starts abusing your cunt. The pleasure was almost painful, burning under your skin until you felt it within your bones. “I’m sorry-” He sobs, a tear falling from his eye. Eyes wide, you watch him with parted lips. He was frantic, hands shaking as he kept thrusting erratically. There was no rhythm, just a desperate race to the finish line. 

“Jayce-” you whimper, hand pressing against his lower stomach, trying to slow him down but he grabs your wrist, pulling it away. He bring s it up to his mouth, kissing your skin before dragging it to rest above your head, his fingers intertwined with yours. He could feel your cum dripping from his balls, no doubt pooling on the floor between his feet. There's tears gathering in your eyes, that familiar burn flaring in your gut once more. You couldn’t cum again, not after the torment he put you through with his mouth. 

“I need you,” he sobs again, looking at you with sparkling eyes and parted, gasping lips, “need you so bad, sweetheart.”

It burns so good, that fire beneath your skin, and you realize that if he keeps going at this pace, you won't have an option but to cum again. Jayce, though, didn’t seem to care. It almost scared you, but his grip on your hand was shaking, and his eyes kept clenching shut with pleasure.

He was pushing through the sting of his brace digging into his leg, of the burn in his thighs. He was rapidly chasing that high he wanted so desperately, forgoing anything else but himself. Jayce was a giver, always making sure you felt good before ever thinking about himself. Yet, now, when your hot, wet, throbbing cunt was wrapped so nicely around his cock, all he could think about was himself. 

“Please, please, please,” he begs, words slurring together as he roughly takes what he wants, your tears finally fall from your eyes, and he leans down to kiss them away, kissing down your cheeks until your lips are on his again. He moans against them, biting your lip until you open your mouth to let his tongue in. Yet, this time, he waits. He waits until you move your own, trying to lick into his mouth but he stops you when he wraps his lips around your tongue, sucking desperately onto it. Moaning, you grab his hair, pulling him closer. His chest rests against yours, hot skin against skin, and it forces his pelvis to grind onto your clit. You’re sweating, beads rolling down your back while his skin slides easily along yours. A delicious burn festers, sinking deep into your bones and up your spine until you have to choose but to whimper and pull away from him. Walls fluttering, Jayce bites the skin of your neck, licking against the salty sweat, not slowing down in the slightest until you're pushing your hips up against his desperately and moaning so loudly he wonders for a split second if the people outside could hear you. He didn’t care, not when you clung to him while your pussy was clenching his cock like he was a lifeline. 

He feels the flood of your wetness around him, how it leaks down his cock and onto his thighs, but he didn’t care. Pulling away from your neck, he pushes himself up enough for leverage to keep thrusting, trying to find momentum to keep going and find his own unraveling. Your fingers find his cheek, and his eyes find yours again. 

You looked beautiful, golden and glowing while you stared up at him with sparkling eyes and bitten lips. His eyes move down your body, finding the deep red splotches that would no doubt bruise in the morning, to your beautiful chest that bounces every time his pelvis meets yours, to the way he was disappearing inside you. 

Pinpricks behind his eyes, Jayce paws at you, trying to find purchase when he can feel that pleasure building in his stomach. Your voice is in his ears, comforting him while he rapidly starts to reach his peak. His thigh shakes, stomach clenching, and he desperately hangs onto you. 

“(Y/n)-” his voice doesn’t sound like his own, a broken cry that reaches your ears before he sobs, hands grabbing your thighs to wrap them higher on his hips, letting him hit deeper inside you. He was faltering, you realize, his hips stuttering as they met you and in a desperate attempt to help him, you pulled him in each time with your legs. They were burning, shaking under the pleasure of your orgasms, but Jayce needed you, and you would stop at nothing to help him, even if it meant ignoring the spiked pains that came knocking at your door. 

You’ve felt overstimulation, but never to this extent. Jayce didn’t give you any room to breathe, thrusting into you so desperately you couldn’t discern what was pain and what was pleasure. All you knew was Jayce. His beautiful eyes that looked at you like you hung the stars, like you were all that mattered, that would get him to the end. Drool dripped from his lips, and he made no attempt to lick it away, it mixed with his beard. You try to pull yourself together, to formulate words from the thick fog that rested behind your eyes. He didn’t look any better, you realize with a smile, that he was so deep within himself it would take a while before he managed to crawl back out. It was only you that flooded his senses. He needed you to guide him, to help him reach this peak he couldn’t seem to find all on his own. 

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You groan, voice rough, watching as his eyes ignite with lightning, your voice a beacon. He nods, eyes squinting through the pain until he moans, nails digging into your skin, “my good boy?”

He whimpers, tears and spit dripping from his eyes and lips, his body pitches, but he catches himself on the desk. His hair falls into his eyes, and you can finally reach him. Trembling hands cradle his face, wiping away the tears before pulling him closer, licking from just below his bottom lip, to the inside of his mouth and against his own awaiting tongue, swallowing the drool before kissing him gently. When you pull away, he’s gasping, eyes shut tightly while his shoulders tense, he’s going to cum. Teetering on that edge, but a small part of him wishes that it didn’t. He wanted to stay like this for longer, wanted to feel your warmth and your touch and to be reminded that he was home. He was safe with you, no pain or misery could reach him as long as he was in your arms-

“Gonna fill me up, puppy?”

He’s right there, he can feel it threatening to snap. That blissful pleasure that’ll wrap around his bones, make his muscles spasm, make his head swim until he can no longer think of anything at all but your voice in his ears and the sight of you beneath him. There's a ringing, and then his hearing stars muffling until all that surrounds him is the sound of his breathing.  

“Oh god,” he whines, mouth dropping open as he dumbly nods against your hand blinded by his own pleasure as his thrusts stutter and he can finally feel that swell in his stomach burst, his cock throbbing as he fills you up with his cum. You moan softly, feeling him jolt and throb. Grip tight, he was whining and sobbing through it, shoulders twitching. His thighs were shaking, threatening to give out from under him if it wasn’t for his hands and leg brace giving him some semblance of support. 

“Such a good boy,” you whisper, kissing along his jaw and neck as he trembles. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, stopped by your finger and you pulled back with a smile from his neck to push back his damp hair. Half-lidded eyes stare back at you, and you keep your legs tight around his waist while he slowly drops against you, his weight settling onto your body. You heave, hands gripping his trembling shoulders and with a smile you move him until his face is resting against your neck. 

Breathing heavily, you can feel him slowly softening inside you, but you make no effort in moving. Your body is buzzing, fueled by the afterglow of pleasure and while you slowly thread your fingers through his hair, Jayce is gripping onto you tightly. 

Your fingers scratch against his head, and his body shivers beneath your touch. Slowly, he comes back to reality, opening his honey-colored eyes to look at you in bliss. Not all of his weight was on you, legs still somewhat steady enough. And as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, his fingers move to brush over your cheeks, just under yours eyes. The pads barely touch your lashes, and you smile as he leans down to kiss each cheek, and then your nose, and then your lips. It’s soft, tentative and brief before pulling away. He swallows, wetting his dry throat, and finally speaks after the minutes of silence. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” you sigh, smiling brightly, and Jayce can feel that desperation tug at him from the pit of his stomach. He almost died, he almost left you alone in a world that only he seemed to be able to fix. 

Slowly, he pushes himself up, watching you wince as he slowly pulls out. A mixture of his and your cum seep from you, spilling onto the desk. He raises an eyebrow, watching it leak from you and after you snap your fingers, he jumps back to reality once more. Pushing yourself up to sit, you look around the floor before spotting your pants, he follows your gaze, and on shaky legs and reaches down to grab them. First, you grab the underwear from the pile, trying to clean up the mess you both made, before sliding your legs into the fabric and pulling them up until you couldn't. He fixes his pants in the process, ignoring the wetness that clings to his skin. He quickly buttons them back, breathing deeply before looking back to you. 

Reaching a hand out, you ask Jayce for your help silently, he smiles softly, holding onto your hand while you drop down from the desk, legs almost giving out. Laughing, you both reach down to pull your pants up, forgoing your panties that now sat soiled on the desk. Finally releasing his hand, you lean against the desk and start putting yourself back together. While you button your shirt, he buttons his. When you button your pants, you make a show of trying to hook fabric onto a non-existent button, playfully glaring at him, while he buttons his. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers when your laugh fills the room once more.

“You’re buying me new ones,” you scold, pointing a finger at him before brushing down his clothes. Trying to make him presentable to the public once more. His hair is brushed away from his forehead, and when it falls back into place for the third time, you give up with a huff. Stepping back to look him over. His face was flushed, and with burning cheeks you reached out to wipe away the remains of you clinging to his beard. Smiling under your touch, he catches your hand before it falls back to your side, a sad look in his eyes as his thumb brushes over your knuckles. Your other hand joins it, thumb brushing across his wrist and your eyebrows furrow, finally noticing that his cuff is gone, replaced by a webbed design that reflects the unique stone. 

“What happened to you, Jayce?”

He doesn't know what to say, letting your finger brush over the now smooth expanse of skin. 

“I wanted to come back sooner, but I-” his voice pitches, cracking as he feels that heat behind his eyes again. You shush him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. 

Jayce was no stranger to the feeling of dying. He almost experienced it when he was a boy, trudging through the snow with his mother. He almost experienced it when he was bringing parts back from Zaun, his lab locked and an explosion knocking him against the wall. He felt it when the explosion threw him from his chair in this very council room, when he fell into a deep ravine, breaking his leg and struggling to survive for weeks. 

It was after falling into a ravine, breaking his leg, struggling to survive for weeks that he realized how precious this life was. While he was trying so desperately to advance Hextech, to bring an ease to sorrow for other people, he was ignoring the fact that he was alive and breathing. He had you, living and breathing in front of him, and no longer did he want to take that for granted. He wanted you to live the rest of your life with him, safe from the threat he managed to create. 

He wouldn’t fail.

[navybrat817]

Would ceo Bucky and his girl attend the met gala? If so, any ideas on dresses perhaps!

They would, nonnie! As far as the dress, it would depend on the theme. Are we talking recent theme, a past theme, or a made up general theme?

Goes With the Theme

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky thinks his suit goes with a gala theme. You slightly disagree. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Established relationship, banter, flirting, implied sex, implied breeding, brief mention of past insecurities and bad ex, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he worships you. A/N: I blame @whisperlullaby and @targaryenvampireslayer. Before our couple has Cupcake and Bean. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky refused to tell you in advance what he was wearing to the upcoming gala. He said something about him wanting to surprise you. Of course, he knew exactly what you were wearing since he wanted the designer to make you a gown fit for a queen. He would’ve thrown in a tiara if you asked. It was too much, really.

But if you asked Bucky, nothing was too much for you.

The amount of money spent was just about worth it when he exited the bathroom and looked ready to drop to his knees when you spotted you in your dress. The colors suited you. The fit was like a glove. It was a work of art, really.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered, his eyes turning a darker shade of blue as you carefully twirled. It was exactly the reaction you wanted. “How exactly am I supposed to keep my hands off you tonight? A man can only take so much.”

“Because a lot went into this dress and you’re not allowed to tear apart,” you smiled before you took in his appearance.

Bucky Barnes turned head wherever he went and the head to toe black ensemble would be no exception. The slicked back hair was a good look on him and there was no denying that your man knew how to accessorize. He also wore enough custom suits for you to know what did and didn’t suit him. He would never fail to make you stop in your tracks from a single stare.

The man never missed a thing though, regarding you carefully as you stared. “You don’t like what I’m wearing,” he stated.

“No, I love it,” you assured him. And you did. You didn’t want him to think otherwise since the man could turn a paper bag into a thing of art and beauty if he chose to. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” He asked, holding his jacket open so you could get a glimpse of the shirt beneath molded to his torso. “I think I look good.”

You blinked and took a breath so you could answer him. Why did he have to be so distracting? “Not like you need the ego boost, but yes. You do look good,” you said. His smirk almost made you lose your breath again. “But does it really go with the theme?”

“What?” He shrugged. “Isn’t the theme ‘floral’?”

“It is and flowers are usually bright,” you pointed out. “You couldn't have gone with a floral jacket?”

“This is my interpretation of the theme.” He pointed to one of the black flowers. “Besides, this is a flower and it’s on my jacket. Therefore, it's a floral jacket.”

You tried not to smile. It was tough to argue with that logic. “Okay. Yes. There are flowers on your jacket, but-”

He cut you off with a smug smile. “So, I'm right.”

And wasn’t it just like a CEO to argue like this? And wasn’t it just like you to enjoy it? “You’re utterly ridiculous,” you giggled, gesturing to yourself. “Not to mention, I'm pretty much wearing the opposite of you!”

“And people will still know we’re together, Mrs. Barnes,” he winked. You loved being his wife. “Do you know why I wore this?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because a black suit? Any man can wear one. I’ll blend in with the crowd. But you in your gown? All eyes will be on you, as they should be,” he explained, your cheeks hot as he swept his gaze over you. “And I know I won’t take my eyes off you for a second tonight.”

“Oh,” you breathed, clearing your throat at the unexpected tears that clogged it. Your ex tried to make you feel bad about your body when all Bucky wanted to do was celebrate and worship it. More than that, he saw your beauty beneath the surface. “Thank you.”

Though you wanted to argue that Bucky wouldn’t blend in with the crowd. It wasn’t possible. He was too striking for that with his blue eyes and jawline. Too dominant with his large body. And too well known.

He didn’t care about that kind of attention. He was the kind of man who wanted to show you off. Not as a prize or because you were his, but because he loved you.

His eyes softened before they went dark again. “Fuck, you are so beautiful. A goddess,” he said, his voice rough as he stepped toward you. “We may not even make the gala.”

As much as his compliment warmed your heart, boosted your confidence, and dampened your panties, you shook your head. “Oh, no. Don't you even think about it. Do you know how long it took me to get into this dress? That doesn’t include perfecting my makeup. We are going.”

You nearly lost your nerve when he groaned and took another step toward you. That sound was one of your favorites, especially when it was your mouth, hand, or pussy drawing it out of him. “Cupcake, you’re always a vision. You don’t need a fancy dress or a stitch of makeup to be beautiful,” he said, licking his lips. “And you don’t need to wear a stitch of clothing right now either.”

“No.” You firmly pointed a finger at him. You were lucky he didn’t grab your wrist to kiss it. “You promised we'd make an appearance and the last thing you need to do is tell people we didn't show because you couldn't keep it in your pants for a few hours.”

The kicked puppy dog expression was one you had seen on Steve Rogers before, but it was adorable on Bucky. You held your chin high because you’d fall into his arms if you didn’t. “Fine,” he conceded, gripping your chin with infinite care. “But I make no promises that I'll behave in the limo on the way home.”

You’d enjoy your small victory over your handsome CEO and husband for the time being because he’d make you pay for it in the best way later. “Yes, Boss.”

“My perfect wife,” he whispered, delicately moving his hand along the column of your throat. Did he feel how fast your heart beat? “I may just have to knock you up before the night’s over, Mrs. Barnes.”

Your womb clenched at his words, imagining the filthy things he’d grunt in your ear as he bred you. It was almost enough to make you skip the gala, but why not build up the anticipation? “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t, Mr. Barnes,” you said, moving close enough for your lips to touch his.

The breath that rushed out of his lungs was like a kiss, teasing what would come before the night was over. “Don’t tease me, Cupcake.”

“Who said I was teasing you, Boss?” You murmured, pulling back before he could kiss you properly. “Time to go.”

He swore under his breath as he adjusted his pants. You were the only one who could get under his skin. “I’ll knock you up in the limo. Don’t test me.”

Your smile widened. What Bucky didn’t know was that underneath your dress was one of his favorite lacy floral numbers. A surprise and reward for him going to the gala. It would make him fall a little bit more in love with you once he undressed you.

Plus, it went with the theme.

“Looking forward to it.”

Another out of order AU. I'm so sorry, lovelies. And sorry to the nonnie for not fully answering the question! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[eupheme]

— a good, good neighbor

john hancock x f!sole survivor/reader

rated e - 2.8k

tags: friends-with-benefits vibes, mutual yearning & jealousy, mention of chem usage, references to threesome, horny!desperate!hancock, desk/office sex, semi-public sex, piv, blowjobs

prompts: “i want to fuck you so badly” + “i'm simply enjoying the view. it's not every day i get to fuck someone so pretty.”

“How did you imagine us?”

“Every way,” Hancock husks, “Keeping my cock warm while I work. Eating you on the desk or bending you over it.”

“Hell, I’ve even thought about the balcony. I’d take you right over the fuckin’ railing if you’d let me.”

(Or - when you come back from a mission, Hancock can’t wait to get his hands on you)

Despite the bustle inside the Third Rail, it’s all just dull noise.

Hancock can’t say he’s heard a word Fahrenheit has said. It’s not his fault she had cornered him inside the entrance, right as he was on his way in.

Where he has a perfect view of the bar.

A perfect view of you, where you perch on one of the stools in front of Charlie. Looking like a dream, in your soft, faded clothes.

Not that he doesn’t like your vault suit. The way it fits like a glove around your hips and thighs, the swell of your tits.

He’s always been a fan.

But there’s something about this - how you look like you belong here, with him. It’s been a while since he’s felt his heart stir, but you really seemed to have woken it up.

His partner huffs, finally stepping to the side. Her own plans tonight, eyes already drifting over to the stage. A long-suffering sigh - a hand that pushes her undercut back, a scrunch of her nose.

“Remind me to let you two… debrief next time, before I talk to you.”

Hancock grins, only now coming back, “You got it, sister.”

He owes her one. Tomorrow he’ll sit down and really listen, but it’s been a long fuckin’ week and the chems he downed in his office are just now taking effect.

Tipping him towards being too high to be jealous that you’re talking to another ghoul - a sentiment that he’s only just becoming acquainted with.

That was never really his style, before now.

And just a tad too sober to suggest Deegan just join them, if your conversation doesn’t wrap up soon.

Really fuckin’ soon.

It’s as he sidles up to you that he notices just how good you truly look. Scrubbed clean from the wasteland, and he’s already imagining you in the Rexford, hands sliding over your wet curves in the shower.

Getting ready to come here, applying that pretty shade of red that darkens your lips - a treasure found on a recent favor you did for Daisy.

Something that had kept you away for days, his jaw gritting as you had left without him.

It’s the same shade as his coat - and that does something, too. A clenching in his guts, a wash of need as he imagines it marking up his cock. A pretty ring around the base, staining his skin.

Christ, he needed to get it together.

Your eyes brighten when you see him, “I was hoping you’d find me. Heard you were still working.”

He fits against you, leaning on the bar. A hand draping across your shoulder - eager to touch, as your head tips up to his.

“Never too busy for my favorite girl.”

The smile you give him, those pretty painted lips stretched wide, shoots straight to his cock. Uncomfortable, where it strains against the front of his trousers - and maybe, he just might be head-over-heels.

He needs to get out of here.

“You want to get out of here?” He asks - the back of your neck warm where his palm curves around it, thumb brushing over soft skin.

Feeling the low hum in your throat, as you answer.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“I want to fuck you so badly.”

Hancock growls it in your ear, as he wrenches the door to the Old State House open. Bypassing your room at the Rexford, opting for something closer.

He always seemed to like you in his bed. Late nights turning into slow mornings, getting acquainted with the soft drag of fingers against skin. Comparing scars until you’ve learned each and every one.

You think he’d keep you there, if he could. If you both weren’t so prone to wandering.

The rough admission sends your pulse racing. Never expecting to miss someone like you did him. Never thinking you’d get a chance like this again.

But something about being with Hancock feels so easy. Something invisible that ties you to him, but that tether is never-ending. Both of you always finding your way back to each other, in a slow orbit.

Never knowing what it truly meant to know that someone had your back - until you were looking down the barrel of something you weren’t supposed to come back from, out in the wasteland.

Knowing he would be there, as soon as you called.

“Then fuck me,” You sigh against him, at the landing of the second-floor staircase. The railing pressing into your back as his tongue licks into your mouth.

Hands fisting in the collar of his frock as his hips roll against yours. Getting turned around in path back to his room.

Ending up across the hall, in his new office. The door still cracked open as you both stumble inside. A soft sound of surprise when you find yourself bumping up against a heavy wooden desk, instead of the couches you’ve come to know so well.

He’s already herding you to the other side, moving his chair out of the way. Hoisting you onto the edge, before stepping between spread thighs.

Mouthing at your jaw, hands slipping beneath your shirt.

“Wrong room,” You sigh, as your arms wrap around his shoulders.

“Right fuckin’ room.” His hips meet yours, rolling himself against your core, “Know how many times I’ve dreamed about having you in here?”

The thought of him thinking of you has your thighs tightening around his hips. A needy moan when his hand fondles a breast over the fabric of your bra, before it’s slipping beneath.

“How-” You start, and then squeak as his fingers pinch against the tight peak of your nipple, “How did you imagine us?”

His black eyes are hazy when he pulls back. A shine on his lips from where his tongue soothed a mark left against your neck.

“Every way,” Hancock husks, “Keeping my cock warm while I work. Eating you on the desk, or bending you over it.”

You whine at the thought - a jolt of pleasure arcing through you as his hips jerk against yours, grinding against your clothed core.

“Hell, I’ve even thought about the balcony. I’d take you right over the fuckin’ railing if you’d let me.”

God, it’s tempting. Heat flaring to life in your cheeks at the thought - knowing he would.

He’s opened the doors to a lot of new aspects of yourself, but there’s still a shred of your old-world modesty that clings to you.

But it still sends a liquid warmth pooling in your belly. He can feel the way your hands tighten their grip that you’re picturing it too.

The balcony is out of the question, but the rest…

Your palms push at his shoulders, and he allows you just enough room to get down. To flip around until your hips are flush with the edge of the wide desk.

“Why don’t you show me?” You coo, with a glance over your shoulder, “Mister Mayor.”

There’s a flash of teeth with his smile - words as sweet and smooth as honey, “Sweetheart, call me that again and I’ll show you anything you want.”

His hand is quick to press at the small of your back, bending you across his desk like he had imagined. Your hand slipping down to work at the button and zipper of your pants, where he’s already gripping at the fabric to tug your layers down.

Hancock’s hips press into your bare center. Nudging the hard, clothed curve of his cock against yours, fingers already smoothing over your skin. Gripping on before nails drag over the curve of your ass, then slipping between your thighs.

You stifle a moan when he touches you, all slick and swollen already. A day-long lingering anticipation of seeing him, keyed up by his own laid-bare desire.

“You miss me, doll?” Hancock husks, when he finds how wet you are. The tips teasing your clit as he frees himself.

Fingers petting at your folds. Slicking them up until he can smear your arousal against his cock - the rough skin shining in the windows of light that peek in from the city outside.

“Yes,” You whine - he always seems to pull things from you, when he has you like this. Making you soft, willing to lay yourself open if it means he keeps touching you, “Hancock, please-”

The word strings out - as he grasps at your hips, tugging you back just as he drives himself deep into you. This is what you needed - the aching stretch, the way your blood sings already.

Squirming when he stays still, slipping half-way while his hands keep you pinned against the desk.

“Don’t slow down now,” You huff, as you rock back into his touch.

Hancock’s own laugh is low and throaty - you gasp when you feel his fingers slip from your hip. Boldly tracing where you stretch around him, letting his thumb rub at your clit until he can feel you clench.

“Just enjoying the view.” He husks, “It’s not every day I get to fuck someone so pretty.”

His words shoot straight through you, settling in your heart. So much understood and even more left unsaid.

You’re used to the before, when there were neat labels and expectations. Left on uneven footing now, with how the world has changed.

Maybe even scared to bare yourself fully - to let yourself feel so deeply for another person again.

But surely this - this partnership, his words, him - must mean something.

“It could be.”

It slips from you with a sigh, too late to snatch back. Something fluttering in your belly, a heady mix of apprehension and pleasure as he growls - a sharp thrust that has him filling you again.

A shift of his fingers until he’s circling your clit, with just the right pressure that he knows you need. A shallow roll of his hips that starts slow, and steady.

“That right?” His voice is low, lilting up at the end.

You couldn’t really ask him to join you - but tonight, you could pretend. The time you had spent together on the road was some of your best moments in this aftermath.

But you respected his decision to stay, to work a little harder at this Mayor business. Even if it had left you unsure of where you stood with each other.

Even if you did miss him, want him by your side.

“Yeah,” You manage, “Keeping touching me like that and, yeah-”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he answers, “Sunshine, you’re gonna have a harder time getting me to stop.”

He makes good on his promise.

A hand catching under your thigh, hoisting your knee onto the desk top. Opening you up further - a stifled cry pulling from you when he nudges deeper, stroking a spot inside you that steals your breath.

The door is still ajar - the thought of your whines and the slick drive of his cock has your heart pounding.

You’re sure he’d love that too - the shout of his name as he makes you come, echoing to where the drifters sleep above, and where the Watch lingers. The sound of his hips knocking yours into the desk, the rhythmic creak of old wood.

It still lingers as a whimper - bitten back as the pleasure builds. He hasn’t forgotten in the time you’ve been apart, pounding into you again and again. His touch circling just as he bottoms out, a pressure in his own belly with each gasp he pulls from you.

“Fuck, John.” You keen - a number already seeming to tick down inside you, with each circuit of his fingertips, “I’m gonna come-”

“That’s my girl,” He coos - keeping the same rhythm, the same steady pound that threatens to break you, “Give it to me. Soak my fuckin’ cock, sweetheart.”

His girl.

It echos - your cry going silent, when as the pleasure washes over you. Leaving you trembling as you ride out the waves of pleasure, meeting the thrusts that grow lazy.

You needed this, needed it as much as he does. So much packed noise inside your brain going quiet the harder he fucked you, now blissfully silent.

“Look at you,” It’s muted, as your back arches - as you drip around his cock, “You feel so fucking good, not gonna last-”

Almost as if he gets off to this - making you come. Taking you apart, until each breath is a wrung-out gasp, your fingers curling into fists.

It leaves you thinking that if he’s staying here - if he’s been thinking about you, you’ll give him something to remember.

Another check off of his list.

“Hancock,” You breathe - eyes heavy and dazed as you glance over your shoulder.

Where he’s arced over you - grinding himself deep. His own gaze blown-wide with need as it tips to meet yours.

“Come in my mouth,” You beg, “Let me taste you.”

Eyes flicking to his chair, still pulled up next to the desk. He’s always been able to follow you, a rough sound in his throat when the catches what you mean.

“Fuck.” His hips stutter, before he’s slipping from you, “Yeah. Yeah, doll. Anything you want.”

You’re sinking to unsteady knees in front of him, as he drops down into the chair. Knees spread wide as your hands run up his thighs, to where his cock hangs heavy against the unzipped fabric.

Already missing him inside you. A rough groan when your hand wraps around, before you’re swallowing him down. Tasting yourself smeared across him, as your cheeks hollow, your fist pumps.

“So fuckin’ perfect, you know that?” Hancock hisses, the words coming out ragged. Hips bucking into the wet suction of your mouth.

No teasing this time, no kitten-licks. Just the familiar weight of him on your tongue, the jerk of your spit-slicked fist.

A ragged sound slipping from him when your eyes drag up to meet his. Peeks of reddened and rough skin along the way that make you want to take a bite as well.

Noticing how he’s marked up with you - faded shades of red stained on his lips and chin. Littered across on his cock, down to the base.

You think you like the look of it, something warm flickering in your belly - an echo of the pleasure he gave you before.

Wanting him to think about you every time he sits here, after you leave. The feeling of your mouth around him, how hard you made him come. Leaving your own mark on this room, as well.

He groans at the way you watch, the soft lap of your tongue. How you squeeze him bringing him closer - waiting for him to show you how much he needs you.

“Fuck. You’re gonna make me come, gorgeous.” It’s a rough warning, as his hand cradles your jaw. The bite of nails against your neck, as his hips buck.

The groan he makes is loud and low - shameless - as he comes. His cock throbbing in your mouth, each pulse leaking his spend as you swallow him down. Coaxing every drop from him, until you’ve taken it.

Keeping him in your mouth, after - your tongue sweeping lazily across his skin, until he goes soft. Easing off him then, letting your head rest against his thigh.

Hancock’s head still tips back, lost in that soft haze. The shallow rise and fall of his chest, a week’s worth of want spilled across your tongue.

“Was that like you imagined?”

There’s the tilt of his head as he grins, his thumb reaching to press against your lower lip - a low growl when you nip at it.

“Even fuckin’ better.”

The room shifts in front of you - Hancock’s boot propped against the desk, sending the chair back and forth on a slow sway.

Your legs thrown over the armrest, where you sit in his lap. The sounds of Goodneighbor muted outside, as the lights spill across the floor in the dark room.

“Thought I’d stick around a couple days.” You tell him, “Skip out later this week, maybe.”

“You just got in.” He rasps, fingers tracing a pattern against your shoulder, “Got somethin’ going already?”

You hadn’t planned on it. Had been hoping to stick around Goodneighbor for a while. Spend some time with him, before heading out.

But…

“Edward asked me to do a job for him,” You stifle a yawn, your head tilted against his, “Some girl he works for ran off, said she does that all the time.”

Duty always calls.

"Edward?" Hancock’s brow lifts.

“Deegan?”

His tongue clicks against his teeth, a soft pinch of his fingers against your skin, “Didn’t know you and Deegan were that chummy. Edward, huh?”

Your elbow sinks into his ribs, and he grins.

“Well, you don’t gotta wait on me,” He hums, already thinking ahead. “You wanna get this show on the road tomorrow?”

A small mark puckers your brow as you lean to face him, your gaze searching.

“I thought you stopped running.” It’s soft - a question, hidden in your words.

Hancock huffs, “Not running.”

His voice drops - a softness to his beetle-black eyes as he thumbs at your chin, drawing your mouth down to his.

“Just realized I’d rather be by your side.”

With his admission, the hungry press of his lips…

You think you fall just a little harder.

loved the idea of a desperate/lovey Hancock paired with a sweetly oblivious “what are we” Sole, haha 💖 thanks for reading!! and for this perfect request!

[vwoop-prince]

YJ S3 Dick, still in the midst of his fever dream, hides underneath the 'souvenir' instead of behind some boxes, and accidentally opens the airlock trying to take care of the Parademons. The others get it to close... but not before Nightwing is thrown into space.

There, he stares at the ship holding his friends and mentors. There, he wishes more than anything that he can, somehow, survive. There, he tries to live, if only so his family don't have to bury him like Jason.

There, Nightwing dies, wanting to save everyone, even with the cold seeping into his bones far too quickly for a regular section of space.

Then, Dick opens his eyes to... Earth? There's a little house, and grass, and trees, but there's a bubble of green over it all. Outside of that green was an entire castle, one that looked like it should have far more support beams than it does for even a hope that it stays standing.

And the sky was swirling shades of that same green. It makes him think of Lazarus.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day." He whips his head behind him, a bit too fast for Earth's atmosphere, but it doesn't hurt him. Past the bubble of green was a blue-skinned adult in purple robes, the insides of a grandfather-clock fitted inside their torso, and a black staff with a stopwatch on its top. Beside them was a man with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, a crown of frozen fire dancing above his head, and the most galaxy-like cloak Dick's ever seen clasped to his shoulders. He's wearing... a hazmat suit? Maybe? The twinkling stars and odd lighting of wherever he is were giving him a bit of a headache.

But in front of those two, within this bubble, was...

"DICK!" Wally shouted with unrestrained glee, a blur overtaking his spot for barely a heartbeat before Dick's stuck in a crushing hug that he reciprocates once his brain stops feeling like its melting.

He doesn't know how long it took for them to calm down, but the man with the crown spoke up after a time, as Wally was still wiping their faces free of tears. "Welcome to the Infinite Realms, Nightwing." Dick barely even registered that he was still wearing his suit, but now it felt suffocating. "I suppose you're the one Clockwork was holding out for; There shouldn't've been enough Ectoplasm around you to form a Ghost, and your physical body's still in space. I can see why you like this one, though, Clockie," he states flippantly, turning to his companion. Almost like he didn't expect Dick to pay too close attention to what he was saying.

"Either way, there's two options for you." The man didn't let Dick swallow his tears and question anything. Dick's not sure if he's grateful or not. "First: Stay in the Realms permanently. You'll see Kid Flash whenever you want and learn to be a Ghost with the denizens of the Realms. Maybe find your parents."

"But..." Dick pulls away from Wally, keeping him at arms length, eyes flitting between them. The two outside the bubble were distinctly... ghost-like, so the mentions of 'Ghosts' make sense. But Wally looked... alive. A bit pale, a bit thin... but alive. Dick can't see any of his own skin to see if it was blue or tinted that way, but the Nightwing symbol on his chest kept flickering between its own blue and this 'Realms' green. "But--What about the others? What about you? Why can't you come home?" The last two, he focuses on Wally, because now he can feel a heartbeat beneath his gloves. Wally's alive. He's alive.

His friend just shrugs. "Something about their portals not fit for the living? I'm meant to wait for someone to figure out a permanent portal, but they won't tell me how long that'll take." Wally glares at the... 'Ghosts'? There was a heat to it, but it also seemed like this was a well-worn argument.

"The permanent portal was always an 'if', Wallace West. And that is entirely dependent on if Richard Grayson takes the second option," the clock Ghost--Clockwork?--speaks up. But instead of the adult Dick was expecting, there was an elderly Ghost in their place. Still with the time motif. Was that... more literal than Dick took it?

"Yes, the second option..." The crowned man glares daggers at Clockwork. The temperature dips below comfortable. Dick tries to blink the spaceship and stars out of his sight, withdrawing his arms from Wally to try and warm himself. Tries to remember he's not in space. "The second option is that you return to your body... changed. You'll be able to protect Earth better, stay with your alive family, save the Lost Ones... for a price."

Dick doesn't know if he should ignore the plural in 'Lost Ones'. He doesn't know if he's reading too much into how, in this Realm, apparently only his parents were able to be found. Where's Jason? He doesn't dare hope, but...

"What's the price?"

The man smiles and a ring of blue forms around his waist. It splits in two and travels up and down his body, replacing the cloak and whatever clothes he was actually wearing with a NASA shirt, worn jeans, and red sneakers actually duct taped together. The blue tint to his otherwise tan skin fades completely. His hair turns black. His eyes turn blue.

He was like a taller, slightly slimmer, way hotter version of Bruce.

The man walks through the bubble, but doesn't disturb the grass beneath his feet. "You become the Ghost King's vassal." Dick flinches away and almost hides behind Wally. "Not my idea! But, well... it is either this, or your permanent death."

"What does becoming a vassal do to him?" Wally asks, gently trying to stop Dick from breaking his ribs with how tightly he was hugging himself. Does he even have ribs?

"He gains my powers. Ice, electricity, invisibility, intangibility, flight... He becomes a Halfa. He becomes what I was, in life. Just... needing to make offerings to me, now and then. Something like that, at least. I give him powers, he gives me a chunk of, I don't know, chocolate once a week. Like a warlock."

Wally keeps talking to the man, keeps getting information that he knows he should pay attention to, but something in his chest screams to accept this deal, and he can't focus on anything else.

Nightwing can protect. He can return to life and go back to Blüdhaven, be the Vigilante they need. He can visit Gotham every now and then, help with cases and stop criminals from harming others. He can see his brother. He can see his friends. He can eat Alfred's cookies, and have little get-togethers with Babs and the Team--hell, he can argue with Bruce.

And all he has to do is... give an offering to this guy? The Ghost King? Every once in a while?

"There's no other price?" The King turns his attention to Dick. His eyes had shifted to a blue-green that almost hypnotize him. The green swirls, the blue forms and melts like snowflakes, and he can't look away.

He takes another step forward and Wally steps to the side. There was familiarity between them. Wally deferred to him. Dick can't quite tell why. Though, with how Wally hasn't once looked at Clockwork, maybe it's because he's... grounded? Are all speedsters in trouble with, what, the Ghost of Time? That... actually makes perfect sense.

"I'll be honest, Nightwing: You've impressed me." The weight behind the King's words lifts the ones that've been on his shoulders since he was nine. "You remind me of myself. Maybe, if I wasn't a Halfa... If I had a mentor... I could've been like you.

"Despite Clockwork's insistence over the years that I get back in touch with the living, I've held off. When he eventually suggested that I help create another Halfa, I locked him in his tower for twenty years. I didn't want anyone to go through what I had. But, now... I see that you won't. You can't. Even if you hide this deal--our shared powers... You'll still have people by your side. Strong people. Smart people. You can already handle yourself. And I'd love to see what you can do--who you can save--with my help."

There was maybe two inches between their faces when the King finishes speaking. Dick roves his eyes across the other's face, trying to find the common and familiar ticks that show lies and deceit and manipulation. All he finds is sincerity and genuine care.

Wally plays with his fingers from the corner of his eye, gaze hopeful as he looks between the two of them. Wally, who was alive and breathing and able to leave if he accepts. Eventually. Somehow.

Dick Grayson sends a quiet apology to his parents and hopes they will forgive him for being a little bit selfish.

"I accept."

He flings his eyes open. Above him, domino mask too wobbly to be properly secured anymore, was Robin crying and begging him to wake up. His hands were sloppily placed over his heart. Batman was trying to drag him away, the firm set of his jaw screaming grief.

Nightwing gasps once he registers his lungs burning.

There's a large cacophony of noise, multiple bright suits and people hounding over him, and the distinct artificial taste of slightly-too-much oxygen that the ship with the Parademons had. That he flew out of and died. He was still too cold.

Someone moves their arm beneath his knees and shoulder and Dick passes out.

(Dick 'Nightwing' Grayson dies in space. Ghost King Danny Phantom likes this too-human Hero. They split their souls in half, take one piece of the others, and all they know is that Phantom is now Nightwing's Patron Deity. Danny uses ice, for electricity killed him. Dick uses electricity, for ice killed him. They are opposites, and yet so incredibly similar. Clockwork was looking forward to when Danny starts putting off his paperwork to hang out with his new 'friend'.)