#the way i had to resist the urge to draw him in the cat ear headset i own

[natabatts]

He’s so cringe I love him

[waayoutofline]

Murder On The Dance Floor (part 4)

(from the When the Cat and the Mouse Go For a Midnight Dance series) | Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Prompt: Vigilante!Reader x Agent!Natasha

Summary: Natasha isn’t having the best of luck in trying to bring one of the ex Hydras general down. You however may be able to assist her. Will you two be able to cooperate? Or is it your fate to always stand on opposite teams?

Warnings: Angst

WORD COUNT: 2560

A / N: I'm sorry for being so late with this update, uni is beating the shit out of me :´) I had a bit of difficulty in trying to piece the last parts of this sorry, as I didn't expect for it to be longer than three eps-- oops. However, we are near the end! I'll do my best to try to post the next part by next weekend :) Thanks for reading and have a nice day <3

***

It wasn't complicated with white, rich, narcissistic men. You could see it in the way their eyes draped over you—a glint of overconfidence merging with a sick sense of entitlement. It never failed to make your stomach churn in disgust.

You had once been under the control of disgustingly self-assured men like Ashford. Treated as a mere object designed for their sick interests. Still, overpowering them with their own foolishness came naturally, and a part of you found joy in trapping them.

It thrilled you, especially to see their terrified expressions morph into desperation just before their downfall.

But that familiar thrill didn’t come this time. Instead, a pressure on your chest weighed you down, an unfamiliar sensation that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. The exchange with Natasha had shaken you. It’s ridiculous, you thought. Since when did you feel bad for doing what you did best?

“I couldn’t help but notice your eyes back there,” you started, carefully positioning yourself in a way that exuded naivety. Your arms rested delicately in front of you, drawing his gaze to your exposed skin. You mentally huffed at his complete lack of subtlety in ogling you. “Is everything alright?”

Your voice was remarkably soft, contrasting with the heavy bass vibrating through the air. Each word was pronounced slowly, deliberately, with a hint of a slur as though you’d had one too many drinks.

“Oh, nothing bad, I assure you.” He replied, his grin oozing overbearing confidence. But that’s exactly how you preferred it—unsuspecting and malleable. “Quite the contrary.”

You giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad. I actually was…” You paused with overdone hesitance, fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the tablecloth. “Never mind, I—”

“What is it, darling?” he interrupted, leaning forward as though entranced by your feigned shyness.

As if baffled by his encouragement, you stammered. “No, I… It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

His greyish eyebrows shot up, his body leaning closer, practically dangling on the hook you’d set for him. Got him. “Well, you’ve come so far. Might as well say it.”

“…Well, if you insist. I um fear I made a few mistakes when I felt your eyes on me. I just couldn’t help it! I’m such an admirer of yours.” you finally spat out, letting your expression shift into that of a star-struck teenager meeting their idol for the first time.

“An admirer, you say?” he teased further.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead nodding shyly and lowering your gaze in mock embarrassment.

“Yes, Mr. Ashford. Your reputation precedes you. I may or may not have gone to some of your… um…” You paused, letting the silence stretch just enough to make his eagerness blatantly obvious. You cut the distance slightly while looking around a bit. “Clubs. Just to see if I could catch a glimpse of you there.”

Your voice dropped lower as you spoke, but he still caught every word. You saw it in the way his grin widened, his ego practically swelling before your eyes. His expression darkened slightly when you mentioned his extracurricular activities.

“I appreciate a young woman like you taking an interest in my… enterprises,” he said, his tone thick with self-satisfaction. “But tell me, what do you expect to gain from this conversation, girl?”

He spat the last word as if asserting his dominance, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you paused, biting your lip in what appeared to be reluctance. Letting him think he was in control of this interaction would ensure that you’d get exactly what you wanted.

“I don’t want to come off as too forward, but… I was wondering if maybe…” Your hand moved closer to his sleeve, your fingertips just barely grazing his wrist. Your fingers twitched, as if you were anxious to tug at his sleeve. “You could help me. You’re a man of experience. The guys my age just don’t… command attention the way you do. I could always learn from that. If you’d agree, you could give me my first—” You paused deliberately, smirking as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Lesson, after this?”

He chuckled, his grin widening, his eyes darkening with a twisted kind of amusement. “Ah, I do admire your boldness. But I hope you understand that if we were to have these… lessons, they’d require a certain level of discretion. And, well, closeness.”

He reached out, his hand catching your wrist. His grip was authoritative, disgustingly possessive, as though he already thought of you as his property.

“Let’s do this,” he said, his voice low. “How about you keep dancing with that little friend of yours for now, hmm? I’ll be attending the VIP party after this. Who knows…” He leaned closer, his grin widening. “Perhaps we’ll see each other there.”

You forced a bashful smile, nodding demurely as if flattered by his attention. Inside, you were seething, but you let none of it show.

“Oh, I’d love that,” you murmured, your tone soft and eager.

His grip on your wrist finally released, and you clenched your jaw to avoid pulling your hand away as if you had been burned. Smiling delicately on cue, you swiftly moved away, merging into the crowd. Your pulse quickened, but you tried to ignore the racing thoughts swirling in your head.

You would usually be more thrilled, knowing you had achieved your objective—a step closer to bringing down another disgusting individual for good. But the satisfaction was dampened by the heavy shadow of Natasha’s worried expression.

Funny. Usually, you would have felt euphoric at finally coaxing real emotion from her firm, steel demeanour. But this wasn’t as gratifying as you thought it would be.

Whatever this was—this ache enclosing your chest—it had to go away. You couldn’t afford to let it linger. After all, she depended on you.

The music resumed its usual rhythm, signalling that the final round was about to begin. Shaking off the nerves crawling over your skin like ants, you let out a sigh. But a presence behind you made it harder to settle yourself.

“Guess who just skyrocketed our chances to win.”  

Finally daring to turn around, you were met with her reluctant green eyes. She said nothing else, her silence cutting deeper than any snappy remark could. Flattening your smirk slightly, you accepted her offered hand and moved back into position.

The air swirled around you both, heavy with tension. Not your usual kind—the teasing dynamic you’d come to expect—but something sharper, almost suffocating. Trying to distract yourself from the unease, you focused on sneaking glances at Ashford over Natasha’s shoulder.

Even when he sent you a sly wink after speaking with Cole, the unrelenting heaviness didn’t lift. Natasha remained silent, offering no biting commentary or judgment. Her quietness made the unease sharper, more difficult to ignore.

But what her mouth didn’t say, her body did. Her movements were now sharp and constrained, a stark contrast to the almost goofy rhythm you’d shared earlier in the evening. Her expression was unreadable, her jaw set. Whatever flicker of worry or emotion she’d shown before had dissolved into a mask of cold professionalism.

“Natasha, I—” You started, the words clumsy and uncertain, unsure if you even should say something.

She cut you off before you could find your footing. “Let’s just get this over with,” she said finally, her voice not unkind but detached.

The words stung more than you wanted to admit. It's unfair, you thought. Ten minutes ago she was practically begging for you not to talk to him with utter worry in her eyes and now she was behaving as if none of that happen. If she didn’t want to care, then why dare to say nothing at all? Why mess with the dynamic you two had?

Fine. If she was playing this game, you decided, then you would too.

“The mission is the priority, right?”

You forced a smile, matching her tone.”Of course, Agent Romanoff.”

Her grip on your waist faltered slightly, her eyes lingering on yours for a brief second, but then she steadied herself, pulling you back into the flow of the dance.

After that, it didn’t take much. The last competitors, exhausted, crumbled under the pressure, their flashy styles dulled by fatigue. With Ashford’s support behind you, their disqualification came swiftly.

Honestly, you barely remember being called to the podium. The crowd clapped enthusiastically as Cole placed a tiara on your head and handed Natasha a large bouquet of flowers. A photographer called for a group photo, and you barely registered Ashford’s presence sneaking up beside you. The deliberate way he moved closer left no doubt about his intentions.

Your body tensed ever so slightly—a reaction you thought would go unnoticed. But this was Natasha, after all, and she wasn’t just anyone.

With a long stride, Natasha placed herself squarely between you and Ashford, leaving his eager hand grasping at nothing but air. Her body was as warm as ever as she pressed against your left side, her arm resting—almost protectively—on your shoulder. The sudden intimacy of the gesture stole your breath.

You could feel the heat radiating from her, the soft brush of her remaining perfume teasing your senses and making it nearly impossible to think of anything else. The weight of her arm was grounding, an unspoken claim that demanded attention without a single word.

It caught you completely off guard. Given her disapproval of your recent… choices, you’d assumed she would leave you to deal with Ashford on your own. But instead, she was here, firmly stepping in and ensuring the middle-aged man didn’t get any closer.

Some of the tightness in your chest loosened at her intervention, though the flutter of nerves in your stomach was an entirely different problem.

Shortly after, the dreaded VIP card was finally thrust into your hands—the culmination of the first part of the mission. At least it was over. You sighed softly, glancing toward Natasha.

Her eyes met yours for the briefest moment, something unreadable passing between you before she broke away. With a shared understanding, you both headed off in separate directions to change into something more casual.

The mission wasn’t over yet. There was still the after-party to survive.

***

“Got eyes on him,” Yelena muttered through both your comms, finally returning. You were confused by her disappearance, thinking that Natasha wouldn’t allow you to go unnoticed for even a moment. Still, you said nothing. “South entrance, on the balcony.”

Twirling your margarita, you subtly glanced in the direction. Hmph, for being so wanted, he sure was… rather disappointing to look at. His red hair was slicked back with what seemed like an entire bottle of hair gel, his eyes reddened (clearly affected by the unrelenting smoke surrounding him), his beard slightly unkempt, and his suit was overdone. He wasn’t very tall either—Natasha was easily a head taller than him.

So, he wasn’t the charismatic type of renowned criminal. You could work with that.

“Oh, I see him alright…” you answered, your mind already racing with all the tactics you’d need to make him talk. As if on cue, Natasha’s voice cut through.

“Raven, for the love of God, stand down. We must proceed carefully.” She reminded you, making you huff in annoyance.

“Yeah, I know, careful. Got it.I can be that” You swore you could feel Natasha arching brow rising at that. Still, you did managed to follow their plan. Rather boring if they asked you, but effective.

The two of you had to eliminate his guard team without causing any commotion, using Yelena’s assistance. Afterward, Yelena would cut all the electricity, and that’s when you would swoop in, distance him from the crowd, and take him into custody.

The first step wasn’t really complicated. Perhaps it was from the years of fighting alongside each other, but Natasha and you moved as fluidly as you did on the dance floor while incapacitating Horvat’s security team. One of you would divert attention, and the other would take someone down. It was almost like a dance of sorts, the two of you working in perfect tandem.

With a flick of your wrist, you spilled the drinks on the last two men at the bar, making them more susceptible to Natasha’s sneaky spider bite. You almost flinched when they were hit, remembering the sting of them too well. The two of you caught them just before they hit the ground, casually draping them over your shoulders as if they were just two random drunks who’d had too much to drink.

Natasha said nothing as you positioned them suggestively, one on top of the other. At her inquiring gaze, you just shrugged with a mischievous smile. “What? Look around! People are both making out and passing out.”

Before you knew it, the area had mostly cleared, which should make it easier to get to the former Hydra general without much resistance. It was almost going to good when the light and the music were shut down, Natasha slipping to Horvat’s side and pretending to be one of his guards to take him to “safety” in between the slightly panicked crowd. You meanwhile parted the way, opening one of the backdoor exits so the three of you could slip away though the stairs.

Maybe it was the exhaustion from dancing all night that caught you both off guard, or maybe it was the eerie silence in the absence of Yelena’s usual sarcastic commentary after she cut the electricity. Whatever the reason, neither of you expected to be ambushed by a full squad of heavily armed men just as you reached the exit.

The cold night air bit sharply as you and Natasha froze in place, her grip on Horvat reluctantly loosening. He laughed, unsteady and throaty.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize my own guards?” Horvat rasped, his almost unbearable, scratchy voice grating as he stepped into view. Glancing over his shoulder, he sneered, “It’s going to take more than this flimsy plan to take me down, Black Widow.”

You managed to hold back a scoff. Excuse him? You were here too!

“Dispose of them,” he barked, gesturing to his guards. Then, catching the rising guns next to him, he added, “Jesus, do it quietly you morons! The last thing I need is the entire Avengers team on my back. Just do enough damage to teach them a lesson.”

With that, he turned and was escorted away, leaving you and Natasha surrounded. Your eyes met hers, a mutual understanding passing between you as you positioned yourselves back-to-back almost immediately.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” you said, amused, as the guards advanced with electric gauntlets and other shiny gadgets. “Black Widow and Raven fighting side by side? Please.” You snickered, shifting into a defensive stance.

Natasha hummed in response, her tone cool but slightly teasing. “Just try to keep up.”

You smiled faintly as the familiar spark of your usual banter flickered back to life. Perhaps not everything was ruined after all.

“Oh, you’ve got it twisted, Widow,” you shot back with a smirk, echoing her words from earlier that evening. “You’ll be the one trying to keep up with me.”

It could have been the wind, but you swore you heard her chuckle.

Time for the second dance of the night. 

[dragonakito360]

Lyney Cat Hybrid Boyfriend HCs (Sfw and Nsfw)

I blame my friend for inspiring me to write this. But I still had fun thinking about it, so was it really that bad?

Lyney x Fem!Reader

CW: Minors DNI, Slight Yandere (Just to be safe I'll add that), Biting(?), Rough Sex, Breeding, Penetration, and technically a monster cock.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

SFW:

I really wanna believe Lyney is a cat hybrid like his sister Lynette. Perhaps he takes a special suppressant that makes his cat features less prominent.

His ears would be small enough to be completely flush in his hair, and his tail small enough to hide in his clothes. The only thing visible in his cat trait would be his eyes. The glow in the dark, and see just as well in the dark too.

Why would he do that? Having one cat on stage makes it special, unique, don't you think having two makes it less so?

Of course like most medicine, I doubt taking the suppressant constantly would be healthy. He has a few days where he doesn't take them.

So imagine your surprise when his cat ears spring up, and being in casual clothes, his tail moves freely around.

Yes, he'll allow you to touch them. But only if you promise to be gentle.

If you pet his head and scratch his ears, he'll be snuggling up against you and purring. Same goes for when you sleep together.

What a clingy cat. But that's what makes him adorable, no?

If he purrs, he definitely hisses. He's learned to surpress that since he was young, but if he gets jealous towards someone... Well now, he can't help it at that point.

He'd have the urge to scratch their face off, but he resists doing that. That would be rather... Unbecoming of his charismatic self. Besides, he has other possible ways of handling things.

That is, to show outwardly open affection to you. Prove to that person you're his.

Just like any other cat, Lyney's stomach is a sensitive spot. Very, very ticklish and he doesn't mind if you wanna tickle him, he trusts you! Just don't tickle him out of surprise when you're outside, he might accidentally scratch you.

He'll be sure to give a thousand apologies for it though. And maybe a rose or two.

NSFW:

MASSIVE BREEDING KINK.

He can't help himself, it's his primal instincts taking over when you two have intercourse.

His cock is a little thinner than average, 6", bulbous and red tip, and extremely sensitive. His dick has rough, rounded barbs around the base of his shaft.

Those barbs rubs against your walls and clit just right. It was an unexpected pleasure for the both of you, since they were sensitive for Lyney, and it makes him cum pretty easily even without much stimulation.

He retracts his claws (His nails) so they won't hurt you when he plunges them into your hole to finger you. But he'd use them to sensually graze his nails softly too.

His favourite position is doggystyle (Or rather, catstyle?) And prone bone, but he wouldn't mind other positions. He just knows that particular one makes him certain you'll be properly bred.

He'll either hold you by your hips or pin your hands above your head, with his chest pressed against your back. He'll praise you for doing so well, how well you'll take his seed, and for the beautiful bump for when you bear his children.

The thought of you pregnant just riles him up and turns him on.

He's got naturally high libido, but oh boy, good luck during his heat cycle.

He'll be clingy, snuggling against you constantly that you'll have to shove him off. That doesn't stop him, though.

And once you're home, well...

He'll be thrusting into you roughly, overstimulating you over and over again to cum inside you without a moment of rest.

And if you try to get away and act up? He's not above biting you at the back of your neck.

It's his cat instincts needing you to stay longer. Even after you've had what, 5 orgasms and a ton of his load in you?

He'll realize what he did and make up for it later by drawing you a bath or patching it up.

Mandatory snuggles after sex. No exception.

And he'll be keeping his dick inside of you all night. You don't mind cockwarming, do you? He's just making sure not to waste a single drop of his semen inside you.

Hope you don't mind not walking for a while. Don't worry, Lyney's taking care of you well throughtout the mating season.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Hope you enjoyed my hcs! I was thinking of writing more monster(?) Human headcanons, not limited to animal hybrids. It's just fun to think of the possibilities.

If you have any concerns or suggestions, feel free to give a comment or ask!

[binbogummy]

Those couple posts you made about the reader's earlier interactions with Azi and Crow have me lowkey curious. Are you gonna do any more "early" dynamic stuff?

Yes, actually! The two fics I have planned for after the one I'm working on now will both be "early dynamic" based, as you put it.

For now, though, here's a very silly, little out-of-context drabble I wrote. Figured it could lay a little groundwork for what to expect in the future.

~

"…"

"Hm…"

Your expression was deeply pensive, lips pressed into a thin line as you sat cross-legged, staring down at the small, round, prepackaged sandwich in your hands.

Grape.

Not that that made any difference right now.

You sighed, giving it a gentle squeeze through the wrapper. The bread yielded softly beneath your fingertips, until you reached the center. The heart of the sandwich. The peanut butter and jelly of your PB & J.

Still frozen.

You tutted to yourself, leaning back to cast a glance around the bookshop.

Your gaze flicked over to Mr. Fell's— Aziraphale's— desk where he was currently sitting, hunched over some old tome, scribbling notes in a nearby journal and humming idly all the while.

No, definitely not.

Which meant your best option was the sharply dressed demon trying his best to look invisible in a seat in the corner.

It was an art, really, one he had nearly perfected. Existing just enough to be present, but not enough to be acknowledged. And it usually worked, especially in Fell's quiet, little bookshop, where the few "customers" that entered had the social grace to ignore him in turn.

Too bad you weren't a customer.

Sandwich in hand, you stood and strode his way.

"Mr. Crowley," you said, stopping just to the side of where he sat.

He twitched at your voice, like he hadn't heard you approach. It was barely perceptible, but you saw the way his shoulders stiffened and the subtle way his fingers curled like a cat resisting the urge to swipe when startled. His head lolled in your direction slowly and when he finally glanced up at you, it was with the restrained awkwardness of a grown man stuck babysitting a child he didn’t know.

"Yyyyyes?" he drawled, his smile was all too easy to read in the mild offenses it carried at your presence.

You squinted down at him in thought for a moment before proceeding. "So, you are like a demon, right?" Technically, you knew the answer to that. You had for a while. So it was meant to be rhetorical at best, a setup for the question to follow.

"And here I thought we were past those kind of questions."

You ignored the sarcasm, simply nodding as if confirming something to yourself. "Uh-hu. Uh-hu. Great." Then before he could tell you to sod off, you lifted the little sandwich, crinkling the wrapper to draw his attention to it.

"Can you use your-" you paused, waving your free hand vaguely in the air before giving up and settling for a little wiggle of your fingers. "Your thing. You know. That thing you guys do. Can you unthaw this for me?"

Crowley blinked at you from behind his glasses. Then, tilting his head, he made a show of digging a pinky into one ear and clearing out an imaginary blockage.

"Come again?"

"My—" You scoffed lightly, shifting your weight like you were already annoyed at having to repeat yourself. Then, more pointedly this time, you held up the sandwich again, poking it rapidly. "This. My uncrustable. The middle's still frozen. So can you thaw it out? I've seen you do sll kinds of weird stuff before."

Crowley’s mouth opened, then shut again. He squinted, and then he stopped, swallowed whatever he had been was about to say, and began again.

"You want me to perform a miracle... on your sandwich?"

"Sure, if that's what you call it." You nodded.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and forced any real irritation out of his voice, replacing it with dull exasperation. "And why, may I ask, are you asking me to do this?"

Instead of answering the question he was actually asking, you launched straight into an explanation that he neither needed nor wanted.

"Okay, so usually, I buy an Uncrustable on the way here for lunch, right?" You held up a finger as if making a very important point. "But just recently, I found out you can buy them in these big packs for way cheaper, so I did that." Another pointed gesture with the sandwich itself. "But they come frozen, so you have to let them thaw before you eat them. I brought one today, and I thought it would be ready to eat by the time I got around to it, but it's not. See?" You crinkled the wrapper loudly again, indicating the frozen center with increasing urgency.

Crowley stared. Then, with the exaggerated patience of someone who had no desire to be involved, straightened in his seat and slowly peered around you at Aziraphale, who was not so subtly glancing over at your ongoing interaction with the demon from his desk.

"And why, exactly, are you asking me and not, oh, I don't know, him?" He flicked a finger at the angel.

You made a face and turned to glance over your shoulder. Aziraphale, realizing he had both your attention now, quickly ducked his head back into his book and resumed his writing.

Your nose scrunched at the sight, and when you turned back to the demon, your expression was a vague but deeply unimpressed grimace.

"Mmm....No thanks."

"No thanks?"

"No thanks."

"Right," he muttered and waved a hand, as if that could somehow wipe the topic of your request to the sidelines. Still weighing the pros and cons of engaging any further, he huffed. "Remind me again... what exactly is it that you do around here?"

"Whatever I’m asked, mostly," you replied easily. "But I’m on my lunch break right now."

"Your lu—" Crowley cut himself off and made a show of glancing around you again to the clock on the wall. "Didn't you just get here?"

"Yeah." You confirmed. "But I can go whenever I want."

"...Oh really?"

Aziraphale, who had apparently abandoned any pretense of not eavesdropping, piped in from across the room.

"Indeed! I've read that giving ones employee the freedom to determine their own break schedule does wonders in fostering a positive work environment," he explained, his tone pleasant and scholarly as he kept his eyes on his work.

"Did you now," The demon said flatly.

Aziraphale beamed. "Oh, yes! Studies have shown that something as simple as a sense of autonomy greatly increases both productivity and job satisfaction. All while sustaining an atmosphere of mutual respect in the workplace~"

"Yeah. That." You agreed.

Crowley’s head slowly turned from the angel, back to you. His expression was unreadable, but you could practically feel the incredulity radiating off of him.

You blinked innocently and crinkled the pastic of your sandwich again. Hoping to get back on topic.

"Right. Great. Fantastic. Love to hear it." Stopping halfway through an exaggerated breath, Crowley shot to his feet. "This has been a riveting little back and forth," He began, dusting off his jacket and taking a long stride forward. "But I think I'll leave you two to it."

You took a step after him, lifting your uncrustable hopefully, as if that alone could change his mind. "Wait, but my—"

"Not my problem," he cut in smoothly, already making his way toward the door.

"But—"

"Enjoy your lunch break," he called over his shoulder, raising a hand in an exaggerated farewell as he stepped outside.

Silence slipped back into the shop as you stared after him, your PB & J falling in defeat to your side.

Aziraphale cleared his throat gently.

"Well, my dear, if you'd like, I'd be happy to—"

"No."

~

[cruesuffix]

IM SOBBING THIS CAT MICK AU IS SO ADORABLE I CANT

mick eating his food at the Elektra dinner meeting and he's purring away making the happy cat noises like in that video, his pupils dilated his tail flicking happily as the rest of the band is resisting the urge not to react and stay professional 😭😭

LITERALLY AUUUGGHH!!!

also you’re so right about the boys having to resist the urge of reacting to micks little noise and having to be all professional. something to think about too… maybe the record execs start to get curious. like of course they’re professionals and all. they would get down to business and talk about their contracts and all that stuff but… if they had some free time… maybe they’d turn their attention to mick. of course, mick is too busy enjoying his food to really notice they’re all staring at them. even better… maybe the execs don’t actually talk to mick, but ask the other guys about him.

“hey, what breed is he?”

“does he have better hearing cause of the ears?”

“does his tail ever get in the way onstage?”

just a lot of very curious questions, but asked to the rest of the crue like they’re his owner or something. all while mick is just happily eating, not paying attention to any of them. and the crue just has to answer questions about their little cat guitarist. oh and maybe one of the execs asks to hear mick meow but the guys have to tell them that he doesn’t just meow for anyone and that he has to be very comfortable with the people around him to just meow openly (even though he’s purring and making content little cat noises in front of all of them… he draws the line at openly meowing. idk he’s weird that way!). the night ends with one executive accidentally petting mick and nearly getting his hand bit off lmaoooo.

(also, can you tell how much i love this au too? i just love kitty mick so bad!!)

[wishingyouback]

In The AM.

[01:45am] late nights with minho;

It’s a quarter to two in the morning when you stumble upon minho in your apartment kitchen with his hands on his face.

Though his back is facing you, you can almost picture the look on his face. His eyes closed, hands resting on his face to either try to subside the growing headache he had or, he was just exhausted with amount of workload he had piling up. You frown to yourself and lean against the doorframe of your kitchen, being quiet and careful to not stir him from his thoughts, to take a proper look at him.

His body is slumped in comparison to his usual lean position. His hair is ruffled, looking as if he had run his hands through it a million times to rid of the worries in his head. You’re about to walk over to him when Minho turns his head to look at you. Your eyes immediately catch his and he can’t stop the smile he has growing on his face. You bite your lip to contain your excitement and make your way into his arms that opens warmly for you.

When you wrap your arms around his neck, he finds solidarity in your embrace and hums. You feel his body relax in your warmth and you almost want to cry at how tired he must be.

“How’d you know I was there?”

“I heard you open your door,” he looks at you then kisses your forehead lightly which makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. “I’m sorry I came so late. Practice took longer than usual.”

Minho rarely talked about work — not because he didn’t want to or didn’t trust you. He trusted you with his entire life and if anything, he adored you to bits. It was just that, whenever he would be around you, you helped ease his worries. You took the pain away before he could even acknowledge it; you were his escape from reality because when he was with you, it actually felt like nothing else in the world mattered except for the moments together like right here, right now.

He was extremely thankful for you, and he always made sure to let you know that. If he couldn’t say it, he’d show it.

For your first day as a couple, the hazel haired boy surprised you with flowers at midnight because he was busy with practice the entire day. When you reached a month, he bought you the bracelet you had been eyeing the time the both of you went shopping for his lovely cats. Needless to say, Minho was an attentive lover. He knew you inside out — everything you did together felt so intimate and you felt incredibly lucky; even privileged at times to be privy to these type of affections from the man who was once shy in front of you.

You pull away from him to stretch your arms, closely resembling a feline creature he was fond of, which makes him smile.

He keeps you close to him with his arms wrapped gently around your waist as you stand between his legs that he parted to make room for you. “Did I wake you?”

You hadn’t seen each other for two weeks. Though that was considered the shortest time you both have been separated, you missed him a lot more than usual and you were glad you made a spare key just for him to make his entrance any time he wanted. You shook your head.

“I woke up to get a glass of water,” you then rested your head on his shoulders, relaxing in his arms when he started to draw small patterns on your waist. “Did you just get here?”

He checks his phone and nods. “Just a few minutes, actually. We had a last minute meeting too.” He says this with a sigh.

He covers it up with a shrug but you know Minho and you know the difference between his usual nonchalant attitude to this one.

After a moment of silence with him swaying you from side to side and you laughing at the little jokes he would whisper in your ears, you stand up properly and sternly place your hands on his shoulder, making him tilt his head up to look at you. He sees the blank look on your face and sits up to mirror you.

You don’t have to say anything for him to know what you’re asking.

Even if it was just a look or a stare, Minho could read your body language and he recognised it even if you thought you were being subtle. He was alert; protective even, especially when it came to you.

“We learnt this choreography today,” you listen intently and play with the roots of his hair, something you noticed Minho liked even when he would jokingly push your hands away. “It wasn’t difficult, but it wasn’t simple either. I know we’ve done harder but— I just can’t get this one move right and it’s frustrating.”

Your heart suddenly grows heavy and you feel the sudden urge to want to reassure Minho that he’s doing amazing, so you do.

You take a step closer to him, place your hands on his cheeks, making his lips pout a little but make him look into your eyes.

“That’s not your fault, baby.” Minho’s about to deny it but he knows you have more to say, and doesn’t interrupt you. “I know I won’t understand how you completely feel, but I want you to know that I’m so proud of you and that I know you’re already doing your best. You always do, and the boys know that too.”

You stare up into Minho’s eyes and he decides that there was not a single word in the dictionary, he was sure, that could describe just how beautiful you looked tonight.

You weren’t glammed up, nor were you in the least bit trying considering you were asleep, but he decides that this is his favourite look on you. You’re wearing one of his shirts, given it was a lot bigger on you than on him, it fit you perfectly. Your hair was tussled, evident from the tossing and turning you did in your sleep, and your cheeks are more pink then they usually were, but you looked so beautiful that Minho couldn’t resist the kiss he gives you when you’re about to say something in reply.

You smile into the kiss and he suddenly feels so energised that he swallows your giggles and hums a satisfied tune against your lips. When he pulls away, he pecks your cheeks then your nose.

You can’t stop grinning after this, feeling your face heat up. “What was that for? Not that I’m complaining.” Again, you look up at Minho with the softest look he has ever seen and he nearly melts at the sight.

“Just thankful.” Is what he says which makes you raise your eyebrows as if to ask ‘for what?’ and he knows it isn’t to tease him. You genuinely don’t know what for, and he’s more than happy to tell you. “For you, angel.”

You bury your head into his chest at the new pet name and he already knows you’re blushing. He bites back his inner cheek to stop himself from laughing, but it’s not use because a giggle slips out and you’re pulling away to look at him again.

“Stop.” You whine and he laughs harder.

After a moment, you feel Minho draw figure eights on your back with his fingers and you feel yourself moving into him more to hug him again. He always had that affect on you.

“You wanna know something?” His voice is so low that if you weren’t in his embrace, you wouldn’t have heard it. He looks down to check if you’re listening and you are, you’re already looking at him.

“I’m so in love with you.”

You break into a wide smile and let out a shy laugh. The both of you have been together for a year now, yet you still get giddy at the compliments he gives you; the things he says to you, especially when he tells you that he loves you. It wasn’t new to hear, yet every time he said it to you, you couldn’t help but feel like it was the first time.

Minho found it endearing. He loved seeing you happy and most importantly, he loved loving you. You were his person, his lover and partner in everything.

“I’m so in love with you too.” You say when you wrap your arms around his neck so he can hug you properly. He presses a kiss to your temple.

“You wanna head to bed now?” You nod.

“Let me get a drink then I’ll join you.”

He hums an answer and lets you go get a cup but before you can take another step, he grabs your wrist and when you turn, you feel his lips land on yours. You’re about to react when he pulls away as quickly as he started it, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“I’ll see you in bed, baby.” You roll your eyes playfully at the older boy let him go. He reluctantly lets go of your hand that he squeezes before leaving and you grab your drinks feeling nothing but pure happiness completely consume your body.

<3

a/n if you made it ‘till the end, thank you so much for reading ily, i do. & if there are any errors, let me know and i’ll fix them ♡ happy reading(s)!

— you’re always loved. x

[hawksugarbaby]

Loki x reader-

Lamentis - 1

Smut

Chapter includes: Angry fucking, knife play-ish, slight blood play, hair pulling, choking, degredation (giving + recieving), sucking on fingers. 

You panicked as you and Loki sprinted to a tiny shack to haul up in, his hand wrapped around your wrist in a vice grip to move you out of the way of the falling debris but your panic was batting with your irritation. Of course he brought you here, the once place you had an overly high chance of dying as the world caved in above you and meteors struck the ground lighting up craters under your feet. 

Loki ripped the door open pushing you inside and slammed it closed behind him. You huffed and held your knees trying to catch your breath as Loki watched the world end from a tiny window then walked over to you holding your face gently. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt are you?” he asked, checking for anything from a minor cut to a broken arm and you shook your head pulling his hands off of your cheeks and turning around. You growled in annoyance at your situation and your fingers curled into a claw shape signaling if he wasn’t careful with his words he would be choked to death. 

“DID YOU EVEN LOOK!” you shouted but you were still facing the wall, knowing you would feel guilty if you turned around, it wasn’t his fault you ended up here but you wanted to be angry because of where you were. If you turned around it would be impossible to be angry. 

“Look? Look at what?” he asked, his sapphire eye’s drifting below your waist to look at your ass jiggle when you impatiently tap your foot. And he resists the urge to grab the soft flesh and pull you towards him. 

“At the temp-pad! We’re stuck on Lamentis-1 you Idiot!” you hiss and spin around again feeling the sting of your own words that he didn’t show any hurt towards. However you didn’t need to see his reaction to tell they hurt. 

Loki blinked and stepped forward, flicking his dagger from his sleeve and pressing the tip to your neck. “I could kill you.” 

His words are an empty threat and you know it but you can’t help but tempt him and toy with him. Spill the anger until it floods into his cup and you argue then makeup with a soft kiss you wouldn’t want from anyone else. The best kisses are after the worst fights when you’re desperate to make it up to each other because you’ve missed holding his hand or he hasn’t braided your hair in too long and he misses the feeling of your soft locks weaving between his fingers. 

“Go for it then” you whisper and lean forward, digging the point of the blade slightly further into your neck, moving away from drawing blood. “You’re highness.” 

It’s filled with venom, the way you say his title and it’s probably the reason he moves so quickly pushing you against a wall and switch the position of the blade so the whole edge is lying on your throat and Loki’s leg is wedged between your thighs his other hand slammed against the wall next to your head caging you in. “Don’t call me that” he growled. 

You try to avoid moving, knowing his leg is dangerously close but you need to shift the weight from your tippy toes to the heels of your feet, accidently grazing your clothed pussy on his thigh and you mewl quietly at the contact. your face begins to burn an electric pink and you turn your face away looking at anything but Loki. surely he didn’t hear it. It’s impossible it was so insanely quiet so no he couldn’t have heard it. 

The cold, flat, metal of his dagger pressed against your cheek and turned your face towards him, a light dusting of pink gracing his cheeks and a smirk pulling on his lips. His hands slipped down to your waist pulling you down so you were straddling his thick thigh “Oh dear pet it seems you just can’t stay mad at me can you?” he purred in your ear and you watched your reflection in the blade, witnessing your pupils dilate and red creeps up your cheeks while your chest heaves in and out and he pushes his thigh against you drawing a soft whine. “You sound pretty like that.” 

His laugh is smooth like butter and you swallow thickly “you think I sound pretty anyway” he twirls your hair around his fingers and let’s the knife drop slightly “you couldn’t kill me anyway. You love me too much” you roll your eyes and he grins leaning forward to catch your lips between his. You warp your arms behind his neck leaning further into the heated kiss grinding on Loki’s knee for friction. 

His hand curls around more hair innocently until it’s gripped and pulled back yanking your head backwards. a string of saliva connects your lips and your unmatched panting fills the room. “We need to leave” he reminds you, turning your head toward the small slit for a window in the metal and pulling your hips closer to his bulge straining against his trousers and you bite back a moan. 

“We wouldn’t need to leave if you’d looked at the fucking temp-pad.”

Before you could blink Loki’s hand was wrapped around your neck squeezing the sides and you were robbed of air. His other hand fumbled with his gleaming belt buckle and unzipped his torn trousers, singed around the cuffs from the heat of the meteor impact. “I think we have time. I am an idiot though so how would I know” he hissed hiking up your short skirt and ripping your opaque tights to reveal your soaked underwear. “Aw look at you darling your dripping just thinking about me” he hummed. 

You coughed and he loosened his hand around your neck still keeping it there, his thumb running up and down gently. “Sorry love I’m actually thinking of fucking Judge Renslayer behind the bar” you tease back and he growls rubbing his other hand against your folds and manouvered his fingers around the fabric of your underwear dipping into your cunt. “A-ahh~ you’d love that wouldn’t you hm? Want me to cockwarm you behind the bar while you're on trial, with everyone watching. Just a pretty whore for everyone to see” his cock twitches in his boxers and he pulls the grey fabric down releasing his length from it’s constraints. 

The tip of his cock hits his stomach making a wet patch on his white shirt and you reach for it immediately. Loki swats your hand away earning a glare in betrayal and he chuckled heartily “what? Does my slut want my cock? I thought I was useless? How could I make you feel good, pet?” he shoots your words back at you only for you to reach for his cock again. His hand tightens around your neck once again and he pins you back against the wall. “Cat got your tongue?” he snickers. 

“No I just don’t think I should waste my words on someone who got us stuck in an apocalypse” you croak, words dripping with poison that could corrode the blade of his knife that was now laying on the floor. His fingers slowly pumping inside you ran up your slit and his thumb ran circles around your clit making you quiver against the wall and he pulled your underwear to the side lining up his cock with your entrance. 

“How lucky I didn’t want to hear you talk anyway” his cock pushed inside you quickly and he let go of your throat grabbing your hair instead and pulling back your head. You gasped for air gulping down breaths and his cold lips travelled up your throat leaving a dark plum mark on the base of your throat. 

He thrust slowly, the edge of your lacy underwear dragging along his cock as your soft walls enveloped him forcing a groan. You moaned loudly and gripped his shoulders pushing your hips forward to swallow his whole length. “Fuck Loki~” you sang dropping one of your hands to rub your clit. “You're so big oh jeez” you moan. He smirked to himself and began to thrust faster at an even pace earning gentle whines with each thrust of his hips. You squeezed your eyes shut unwilling to see the satisfied look on his face knowing he’d got what he wanted, your submission and your silence and you could envision the shit eating grin on his face as he pummeled his cock into you ruthlessly taking out all the aggression you’d spoken into him on you. 

“Am I still a disappointment? It sounds like you approve of me after all. I fear there’s been a miscommunication?” he growled nibbling on the lobe of your ear. 

You lolled your head to the side whimpering into the humid air. “Y-you haven’t made me cum yet. I don’t… I don’t think someone as incompetent as you could do such a thing a-anyway” you gasp through heavy breaths and Loki’s thumb brushes the front of your neck making your breath hitch and your words catch in your throat. 

“Aw sorry pet I wanted to be gentle with you and take my time but I see you don’t deserve that today” he flicks his hand out and in a puff of green smoke the dagger flies into his hand and up to your throat. “What a cute little whore you're being for me” his finger swipes over the gleaming blade that was inches away from taking your life. Every time Loki thrust into you the blade slipped and slightly grazed your skin, a pearl of blood trickled down your neck and if you didn’t love the god in front of you with your whole heart you’d fear he’d take your life. 

“I’d argue you’re the whore, taking me here at the end of the world even when we’re at each other's necks. Such a slut” you bite. 

Loki chuckles and shakes his head resting in the crook of your neck while still drilling his cock into you. Your stomach began to feel tight and your moans were breathier, higher pitched, more frequent. 

“I disagree darling this feels very fitting” his gentle tone is a break in the waves for you to swim and you roll your head back to look at his sapphire eye’s and brush the hair plastered to his forehead with sweat off of his face. 

“Maybe your right” you whisper leaning in to capture his lips with yours and the fine edge of the blade dug slightly further into your flesh drawing dribbles of red along the dagger. “Would you still kill me if you could?” you wipe the red staining the lapels of your blazer, the remaining trickles meeting between your cleavage, made apparent by the plunging neckline of your dress. 

“Why would I do that when we can have fun like this?” he chuckled and thrust his hips harshly to emphasise his point. 

You can see your orgasm dangling on a frayed string in front of you. Just one more string. 

One more push. 

One more cut. 

“Coward” you hum. Your eye’s dance with mischief and Loki still’s leaning closer to you but removing the knife from your neck. If he punishes you, he can do it himself without a ridiculous knife. 

“Speak up pet I’m not sure I heard you?” he laughs, dragging his hand between your breasts and smearing the blood further down your chest. His hand latches to your breast and you gasp at the gentle massaging of your breast, his rough fingers tweaking your nipple, staining the swell of your chest red. “I thought I heard you call me a coward.” 

You chuckle followed by a moan as his hips slowly restart pumping into you. “Oh wonderful, your hearing still works.” 

He growls and shoves 2 of his fingers in your mouth, the salty metallic taste of your blood clinging to his skin and he drills his hips into you at speeds only a god could achieve. Your stomach crunches and your eye’s roll back, searing hot pleasure rolling over you and vision going white. Velvety walls clamp around Loki’s cock and he grunts struggling to move with you sucking him in. he takes his fingers out your mouth and grips your waist after wiping the digits on his jacket “darling if you keep this up i’m going to- FUCK” he shouts in response to you rutting your hips towards his desperate for his cum. 

“Come on your highness you wouldn’t want to let me down now would you” you pant. He grunts slowly rocking his hips against yours with your walls fluttering around him and his jagged breath tickles your cheek. The thrusts begin to slow and get sloppier, untimed and you roll your hips to meet his lazily. 

“Where?” he asks bluntly. 

You shake your head closing your eyes and rest your head backwards on the wall speaking into the air. “Don’t care” you moan lewdly and a string of curses leave Loki’s lips. 

“I’m cumming” he groans stilling his hips inside you as he shoots thick ropes of white cum into you painting your walls white. 

You both catch your breath and hold each other to your chests clinging like safety nets. Loki pulls out of you and tucks himself back into his trousers admiring his cum seeping out of you. “Are you quite satisfied?” he asks, glancing up at you leaning against the wall. 

“Of course I am. You always leave me satisfied love” you drop your skirt back down so it covers mid thigh and shuffle over to him. “You know I don’t mean what I said yes?” you stroke his cheek gently and he nods, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“Of course darling. And you know I’d never kill you” he reassures you, not that you needed the reassuring in the first place but it’s comforting that he feels the need to tell you. “Let’s leave the knife out of it next time however” he nod’s to your neck waving a hand over it to fix the wound. 

you shrug and chuckle “I don’t know I liked it” you pull at your ripped tights sticking to your thighs and fix your underwear “any chance you can do something about the mess you made” you giggle. He begins to raise his hand before his eyes go wide watching outside the window and he pulls you toward him turning so he was covering you like a shield as a blast of heat went off around you. 

“Can it wait until we escape the apocalypse?” he asks in a hurry, opening the door and guiding you out by the small of your back. 

You nod and rip off the tights completely feeling as though you’d be more comfortable walking around in no tights than sticky ripped ones. “Definitely” you say and both take off in a sprint. 

[gojology]

Strawberry Flavored Pocky.

pairing : teen! gojo x gender neutral reader warnings : the big three: unedited, most likely badly written, and some cursing. also there’s like.. graphic imagery that gojo and reader exchange to eachother. it’s just banter though! wordcount : 2273 a/n : for that one anon that wanted teen gojo. my stroke of genius always occurs when im eating strawberry flavored pocky i swear.. anyways yeah this is unfiltered writing n it’s probably like not the best tbh and maybe i didn’t nail teen gojo’s personality but u know what this was so fun to write

     The sound of the tear of the wrapper containing the Pocky you had just bought was music to your ears, crinkling with every touch. Your fingers are itching to grab for the deliciously coated sticks, but you’re stopped by someone none other than Gojo Satoru himself.       “What’d you get?” he inquired, seemingly unbothered by the face you were making, he hadn’t even greeted you with a simple, “Hello.” he sat down on the bench seat right next to you, uninvited.       In his hand were many bags of various sweet treats, you could only make out some familiar ones- ramune flavored gummies, a bag of chips, vibrantly colored candy. Your lips quirk downwards, exhaling, turning to face the setting sun.       “Just some Pocky.” you flatly respond, beginning to pick the biscuit up. Contrary to Gojo’s wide choice of snacks, you only really had one favorite- Pocky. Specifically, Strawberry flavored Pocky. The sweet, yet somewhat tart aftertaste treat dominated your mind almost day and night. It wasn’t everyday that Yaga would be lenient enough to take the four of you to the local convenience store. You were waiting for Shoko and Geto to finish shopping to finally head home for a night of yummy snacking.       Gojo sighs, lazily dropping the treats right next to his side, they sat idly, limply resting on his thigh as he crossed his right leg over his left knee. His hands warmly nestled into his snowy white hair, his elbows jutting into your personal bubble.        “Not one to chat, are you? What’s the problem? You scared?” his tone is teasing, and you jerk your head to face his. Your head is tilted, like your confused, but in reality you’re just astounded how obnoxious he was.       “Why in the world would I be scared of you? You wouldn’t lay a finger on me. Yaga-Senpai would rip your limbs off one by one and fling you into the horizon! And he’s not even that far away, I could report you to him if you even get on my nerves in the slightest.” you shot back, huffing and taking your first bite on the biscuit. You instantly melt.       He flashes you a toothy smile, and you stiffen, did he ever take anything seriously? “Oh my, so riled up. Only scaredy-cats would talk about how not scared they were. Look, you’re even shaking-” he gestures to your just slightly shaking, tightened grip on your Pocky. “-I win, Y/N! Boo hoo, case closed, gimme your Pocky~”        “No, fuck you and your fat ass trying to take my Pocky, I’m not shaking from fear anyways.” you sternly retort, warmth rushing to your cheeks for whatever reason. “I’m shaking because I’m resisting the urge to duct tape your mouth shut and gouge your eyeballs out.”       He chuckles warmly as if your gruesome detailing was humorous, he probably didn’t know you meant it. He too, ripped open one of his snacks. “Calm down, Y/N. I was joking, I could buy Pocky’s whole stock and probably also buy my position up as CEO if I wanted to. I wouldn’t leech off of you, sugar.” readjusting his crooked, circular shades, he looked down at your now slack grip on the wrapper.      Unanswering, you’re grumbling instead. Under your breath, you’re curious as to how Gojo hasn’t realized how obnoxious he was, and how much longer could he survive without his head exploding from how big it was from his inflated ego?      Gojo grinned. He was all too aware of those things, but who really cared?      “Not unless you let your guard down!-” unable to finish the rest of his sentence, he yanked up the wrapper from your hands, using the extent of his long arm to dangle it high above your head. Your reflexes are far too slow to react, causing you to glare at him in a mixture of shock, hatred, and disbelief.      “Give-” you jump, arm reaching towards your snack, but he backs off, snickering and still dangling it above your head. “It-” now you’ve leapt up on the bench, grabbing at the wrapper to no avail. “Back!-” whimpering and flailing your arms out, every time you came close to retrieving your rightfully owned pack of Pocky, he’d simply throw it to his other hand so carelessly it pissed you off. All the while giggling, juggling it like a clown.      A breath of laughter escapes his lips as he looks at you, prancing around like a circus act on the bench, yelling curses and many death-wishes to his clan. Your eyebrows are knitted together, and he can’t just help but realize how adorable you were when concentrated in getting something- so stubborn.    “Okay, okay!” and as if Gojo had flipped a switch, you simmer down, looking at him with an impatient side-eye. “You want it, doggie?”     “Refer to me as doggie, and I’ll send a pack of strays to ravage you.”       Gojo exhaled out of his nose. “You’re a funny one, doggie.” did he just dismiss the conversation you two were having literally 2 seconds prior? “I’ll ask this again, do you want to get your treats back?” his eyes are glinting with amusement and child-like glee. You were almost sure that he had started calling your beloved Pocky as treats because of just how well it suited the nickname Doggie. It looked like you would be getting no where unless you paid no mind to him calling you such a.. Derogatory name.       Grumbling and studying the concrete you were currently trampling on, you exasperatedly sigh.       “Yes. I do want my Pocky back.” you grunt, averting your gaze to anywhere but Gojo’s shoes.       He perks up in approval, drawing out a long, “Hmmm?” as if he hadn’t expected you to give up so easily. “What are the magic words, Y/N?”       This was so humiliating.       “Please?” you politely say through gritted teeth. If it weren’t for the general public bustling about, you would’ve lunged for his unruly hair and tear it out of his scalp.       “Hah! You think I’m gonna do that sorta bullshit?” he crosses his arms, Pocky tucked safely under his arm. You wince, thinking about how the biscuits may potentially be snapped in half. Did you really want your snack still? It probably smelled like Gojo’s armpit sweat, death, and all the bad things in the world combined. “You’re gonna have to earn it, Y/N, in a game.”       Now convinced that Gojo was the manifestation of all the bad karma that you had avoided, you stare at him with wide eyes and fear, the irritation long gone. Games, no, scratch that, literally anything with Gojo only resulted in a small, or maybe large piece of your sanity torn away from you, lost to the infinite dark abyss. Maybe that’s why Geto seemed to slowly go insane everyday.       “On second thought, I’ll just go-”      He cuts you off, alarm now displayed on full view, his face contorting back to neutral. “Wait, no! It won’t be hard. Pinkie promise.” extending a pinkie towards you, you gently slap it away. The mood change was so instant, you were still shocked, that, and he was almost a legal adult and still believed in pinkie promises.      Still hesitant, you quirk an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’d rather spend another two dollars than play whatever game your planning, unless you tell me about it.”      “That’s a given, besides, it won’t take too long, Y/N. I think you’ll like it.” he replies cheerfully, leaning and whisper-yelling into your ear, fruitfully jolting you up. Seriously, did he have any idea what personal space was?      After just a few seconds of thinking, you roll your eyes in defeat. “Okay, what’s this game?”      His incredibly long fingers inserted themselves inside the crinkling wrapper, pulling out a slender stick. You’re almost sure your salivating, and subconsciously swallow the lump at the back of your throat. “Okay, rules of this game are... Hm, we both place our mouths at both ends of the stick. You get the pretzel part because that part sucks.” mischief flickers in his eyes briefly. “Whoever can get down the Pocky longest without being afraid of kissing and pulling back, loses and doesn’t get the Pocky. Whoever stays in their place wins. I’ll throw in some money, deal or no deal?”       “This doesn’t sound.. Fun.” you were still skeptical, but curiosity was blossoming rapidly inside of you. Could you really resist such an intriguing request? The guy was rich, and he did say he’d throw in some money. Gojo probably hated the thought of you, too. You could probably get up and close, get him to cower away from the thought of locking lips with you, and you’d be on your merry way.       “Um, actually, never mind. Let’s do this.” you chirp, the weariness had depleted completely. Besides, Gojo would pester you into doing it anyways, this would effectively save time. The expression on his face was indecipherable, silently wishing to yourself to see his eyes. You wonder if they’re wide open, in shock of your acceptance.       He gently placed the biscuit between your lips, his thumb brushing against it. Your breath hitches, now he’s up close. The shades adorning his handsome features, concealing those vivid blue eyes of his made your heart pace quicken in just seconds, maybe it was because he could see you- and you couldn’t. Your gaze shifts to the tufts of white hair hanging above his forehead. His bangs look lusciously soft, so soft you wonder what it’d be like to ruffle his unruly hair, what did it smell like? What conditioner did he use?     Your cheeks darken, but you hope he doesn’t notice it. This was what people thought of when they saw pretty people up close, it wasn’t like you had a thing for him, he was just attractive, that’s all.      “You look real stupid holding that stick between your teeth and looking at me.” he comments, charmingly smirking as you give him another death glare, unable to speak in fear of dropping the Pocky stick. You could count each individual hair strand he had on top of his head with the amount of time he was taking.      Chomp.     You take the first bite, and you can’t help but realize how much your heart is fluttering about in your chest. Eyelashes fluttering, nerves getting jittery, the exchange was strangely intimate. No kidding, of course it was- if the two of you were adamant and continued to chomp on the stick, it would only end in a kiss. There was no way around it.      He takes a bite too, his lips look curved in a dopey smile, but there’s not a single word traded between the two of you, just tiny, slight nibbles. It would be eons until someone finished, and you were growing impatient by the minute. Quicken the pace. Quicken the fucking pace.     So you did the unthinkable, you quickened the pace.     Taking a large bite, he pauses for a minute- as if to think, before taking an even larger bite. Now, 2/3′s of the original stick is gone. One more large bite, and a kiss would follow suit. Now, you’re sweating bullets, eyes bouncing from him, back down to the microscopic sized Pocky. His lips are so, so close. Soft, plush pink, so glossy you’re inclined to ask what brand of lip gloss he uses. You can hear his breathing grow heavier, why wasn’t he giving up?      The two of you don’t take a single bite, plainly avoiding the objective, the world around you had evaporated into thin air. It’s you, and Gojo Satoru.      You nibbled a little bit more, and then you make up your mind. You’re going to kiss-       Growing chatter grew closer to closer, and you realize Shoko’s monotone and Geto’s lively voice, alongside a very disgruntled Yaga.       “Yeah, she’s pretty hot. I actually liked the movie- Uh...?” the steady rhythm stopped against the concrete. Immediately, you straighten and clear your throat, spitting out the Pocky stick into the nearby grass. Gojo follows suit, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and twirling around. “Oh hey, Geto!-”       “Are we interrupting something? Something.. Important?” Shoko quizzes, struggling to stifle her giggling. A sheepish smile was displayed widely on your face for the world to see, hands behind your back like you were hiding something. Gojo, on the other hand, is facing the other direction, whistling and staring at the now setting sky.       You stutter, cheeks growing even darker. Yaga looks as disgruntled as ever, facepalming and murmuring to himself. Geto looks ecstatic.        “MY MAN!” he beams. “WERE YOU GOING TO-”       “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Shoko shushes him in response, turning her head back to the two of you. You looked like you had just seen a ghost. “We thought you hated Gojo, we’re just...” her head is cocked slightly, an understanding expression on her features. “Just surprised, is all.”       Spluttering, you try to explain yourself- but no sound comes out. Your mouth is opening and closing, struggling to find the words.       “I do hate him... I just... He.. Pocky.. He uh...”       “Sheeeeeeeesh! Poor Y/N over here is going through some shock right now!” Gojo muses aloud, he places an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in under his arm. There’s a small, coy grin on his lips. As if he didn’t try kissing you 1 minute ago. “Just ignore them, anyways, what are we having for dinner tonight? I heard there’s a really good KBBQ place down the street that just opened..”      As much as you hate Gojo, his ability to escape anything did come in handy.    Well, maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you were leading on.     You’d go as far as to say.. Maybe you enjoyed some parts of him.      

[juletheghoul]

Sub Terra

So in honour of the upcoming milestone of 300 (still shocked tbh) I am posting this completely self-indulgent Dio (the one and only goth king) fic. It's short and I always keep these things open-ended because you never know. I'm dedicating this to my fellow -former-goth/emo teen @mouthymandalorian

Literally talked about how both of us would have been ALL OVER Dio as teens and because of this we are fucking kindred lol.

Dio x F!Reader

Pairing: Dio x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Language, Smut 18+ dirty talk, Oral-female receiving (dio begging you)

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

It wasn't the classiest of establishments, but the music was loud, and the drinks were cheap.

It was a busy night and you kept to yourself - it wasn’t hard having perfected the death glare in case anyone got too close.

You noticed a small group of girls crowding a tall lean guy across the bar. Even though the music drowned out everything around you, you could almost hear the pretentious tone he was speaking with.

Dio.

You knew him, everyone knew him. The only person living life at the ‘next level’, in his opinion of course. It’s almost annoying how attracted you are to him, tall and lean - that neck. Rings and earrings adorning his golden skin, reflecting brightly when hit with a light. Annoyingly drawing your eye to him each time.

Even with all of the black clothing, all of the accessories, the long black jacket, the circles under his eyes - you wanted him. You saw him talking to a group of eager women, looking almost bored. You could see him - taking note of each of them, deciding which one was worth his time, none of them ever were.

His dark eyes flash up to you then and he smirks, expecting you to turn away shyly like all the other girls do. His gaze was intense and it shamed you slightly to admit that it sent a bolt of arousal straight through you but you didn’t show it. You held his gaze, your face the very picture of boredom. You raise an eyebrow at him in challenge when he didn’t look away and you knew then you had him. He smiled slyly, looking back to the girls vying for his attention. You turned, giving him your back, smiling at the face he'd surely make to realize your disinterest in him.

Girls were a game to him, a hunt - he was the same to you. It all comes back around.

You felt him slide in next to you as you watched the crowd- could feel his eyes burning into you from your periphery. With you sitting on the stool - he towered over you, taking up so much space.

You ignored him - keeping your eyes focused on the crowd and your drink.

“What’s your name?” He said it directly into your ear, much closer than necessary. You told him - without turning to face him. You could feel the electricity coming off him in waves, trying to get you to look at him. You resisted - you wanted to see if he would get tired of it and leave. He didn’t.

“I’m Dio, what are you drinking? Let me get you another.” You felt him turn to get the bartender's attention.

You finally turned to him, he was swimming in his jacket and you wanted to crawl into it with him. He smelled like cigarettes and a spicy cologne, hairspray and liquor, not too strong but strangely appealing. You finished the rest of your drink in a large swallow and put your empty glass on the counter.

You could see him looking down at your cleavage, licking his lips at the gap between the dress and the lacy bra you wore. He saw you looking and it didn’t deter him. He drank what you thought was absinthe as he continued to look you up and down - you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he’d be drinking absinthe.

You kept your face neutral and let him drink his fill, not failing to notice the girls at the other end of the bar staring daggers at you.

“I don’t think your friends like me.” You looked up at him, subtly gesturing to the girls watching your conversation with an acute intensity.

“Oh they’re not my friends, they just want my attention.” His smugness would normally have turned you off, but you couldn’t help but be attracted.

“And what do you want?” You swirled your drink as you licked your lip, mirroring his earlier gesture back at him.

“I want your attention.” He leaned in and you pulled back smiling.

“Did you think I would just give it to you?” You laughed as you drank your drink in a couple of gulps, the burning in your throat grounding you. You walked away - knowing in your heart he’d follow you. He did not disappoint.

You felt him grab your hand as he caught up to you and pull you towards him, crowding you, curling his body to surround you as he spoke into your ear.

“I like the chase, and I can make it worth your while. Let me taste you.” he placed an open-mouthed kiss at your pulse point. You let him work himself up against your skin before pushing him away with a laugh.

“I’m not convinced - you gotta make me believe you really want it.” you pulled back enough to see his expression, his eyes were dark. He was enjoying this.

“Believe me, I want it - I want to make you cum on my tongue.” He made to kiss you again and you once again pulled away. You briefly looked to the girls at the bar and if looks could kill, you’d be a bloody heap on the floor.

“Why don’t you go ask one of them - I’m sure any one of them would let you do whatever you want.” you kept your hand on his chest - keeping him at bay. He looked back briefly, before turning his attention back to you.

“I’m not interested in them, I want you.” His hands were at your waist - pulling you close to him, it was so tempting to let him kiss you but you were enjoying his desperation.

“Who says I want you?” you laughed in his ear - biting it to get him really riled up. He groaned and lowered his hands to roughly grab your ass through your skirt.

“I think you do - I think you’re intrigued and curious, and I think you’re going to let me lick - what I have no doubt - is a very pretty pussy.” You let him get close but quickly grabbed his jaw - holding him a hair's breadth away from your mouth.

“It is very pretty - but it’s not for you.” You licked his lip before shoving him firmly away from you. You had a bold idea - quickly making sure no one was really paying attention you swiftly reached under your dress to pull your panties off. His eyes widened as he watched you quickly shimmy out of them. You threw them into his face and you saw him shudder.

“That’s as close as you’re going to get.” you walked away from him to head up to the mezzanine of the club you were in. He didn’t follow you right away - standing there clutching your - very noticeably wet - panties to his face. He was rapturous and it took him a couple of minutes to reign in his excitement.

You kept an eye on him as you made your way up, after a few minutes he stalked his way up the stairs two at a time to reach you. The look on his face was dangerous in its intensity. When his eyes locked on you, it was like butterflies burst in your stomach. How far were you going to push him?

As far as you could.

You looked over the balcony at the crowd dancing below. The second bar up there was closed off, leaving it empty.

He pressed himself against your back, the proof of his excitement straining against his dark jeans and the curve of your ass. His arms resting on either side of you - blocking you in.

“You can’t tell me you’re not excited- your panties are soaked, let me lick it.” He bit at your neck as you surveyed the crowd.

“Beg. Beg to lick my pussy.” You turned to look up at him, head tilted playfully although your tone was anything but. His pupils were blown wide, enjoying this way more than he’d care to admit.

“Please baby, please - let me lick it. Let me kiss your cunt. I want it so badly - look how bad I want it…” he guided your hand to press it against his cock. It took everything in you not to gasp.

“Fine, kneel.” His eyes widened and you swore you felt his cock twitch under your palm. He quickly got down onto his knees and kissed your belly through the dress.

“You want me to do it right here?” He was smiling up at you, asking the question even as he lifted your dress and brought your leg up to rest on his shoulder. You nodded, smiling.

“You said you wanted it, you even begged like a good boy. Let’s see how fast you can make me cum.” You grabbed his hair and pushed it towards your aching cunt, spreading your lips open for him with the other hand. He moaned at the sight.

His tongue was heaven.

His hands grabbed at your ass to get closer to you, sucking your clit into his mouth. You moaned at his enthusiasm, you almost hoped he wouldn’t be good at it but he was. You ran your fingers through his hair, holding him in place as you ground yourself onto his tongue.

“Oh god right there-“ you moaned, you were close already. The fact that anyone could come up was exciting you even more. You felt filthy and powerful as you looked down at him, his dark eyes locked on you.

You felt him slide a finger into you and you threw your head back with a whimper. The wet glide of his tongue, steadily sliding over- again and again. The rhythm of it driving you into a frenzy.

Your grip on his hair tightened and he moaned onto your skin, the vibration throwing you over the edge. You came with a moan, clenching around his finger. Drenching him in your arousal.

He licked you until you pulled him away from over-stimulation. His face was that of the cat who ate the canary. All smiles and bravado as you pulled your dress down.

“Was it everything you wanted?” You let out a sigh as he got back on his feet, adjusting himself in his pants.

“Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You let him kiss you then, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hands grabbing at your ass again. You pushed him away and his eyes were unfocused, he was ravenous.

You said nothing as you dragged him out of the bar by the collar, his shirt bunched in your hand.

He followed you like a puppy and you smiled the whole time.

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

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[darkistmalfoyhead]

You’re My Everything

“Did you see that?”

“What the f-”

“The correct answer is no, no you didn’t. Now walk faster.”

Draco Malfoy grabbed her arm, pulling Hermione into the crowds shuffling the streets of London. There was no time. He didn’t care that muggles could see them and people were staring. If they didn’t go now, she would get hurt.

For shits sake, why of all days did an Auror have to insert their ass into his business. And why, of all people, did it have to be her? Not that he didn’t mind having her around- quite the opposite, really.

More heads were turning. He picked up speed, cursing. It didn’t help that she doubled as a popular figure in the parliament for the Ministry. Or that she was wearing a now-muddy ball gown as they dashed through the sidewalk.

“Draco Malfoy I am going to murder you in five bloody seconds if you don’t tell me what’s going on,”

Her eyes were blazing. A hand shot out, reaching for a seam in her dress. He barely managed to intercept it, lacing her fingers in his.

“If you pull your wand out, in five seconds we’ll both be dead,” he snapped, ignoring the warmth of her skin. Instead, his attention was directed over his shoulder. Ice settled in his stomach as hundreds of leathery, winged creatures exploded into the air behind them.

“Shit,”

“What the hell are those?” she breathed. His hand fumbled for hers and within seconds they were off. Screeching filled the air, unearthly screams following them. This time she ran without complaint.

“They wouldn’t be here if you’d let me finish the damned ritual,” he growled, tugging her into a dank alley. “Thanks to your meddling self, there’s a giant hole between the demonic plane and ours. Climb.”

She stepped up onto the fire escape, quickly scaling the rusted metal.

“I think I ought to ask why you were illegally summoning demons in the first place,”

“And I think you shouldn’t,” he retorted. She smirked, grimly shaking her head.

“Typical you. We go out for drinks on Saturday and once I’m convinced you’re mentally stable, you decide to end the world,”

It was becoming increasingly difficult to not look up her skirts. Apparently Hermione was having similar thoughts because with a loud crack she disappeared, reappearing on the fifth story.

“Put your wand away,” Draco barked, flinching as a deep purple thing swooped over the stairs. He uttered a strangled noise, nearly falling off the fire escape. Hermione amusedly drummed her nails on the brick, waving her wand. With a sudden jerk, he appeared on the roof.

“I just saved your life. If you’re going to take me away from my job of saving those down below, at least try to have some sense in your brain,”

“We’re dead, you idiot,”

She looked at him with confusion.

“Why are we dead? Pray tell me, who do you think is responsible for dragging me onto a roof where demons are trying to claw my face out?”

To make her point, she drily lifted her arm, incinerating a bat-like creature in the swarm above.

He hissed. “Get down. Now.”

“Not this stupid listen-to-my-command-bu-,”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence. Draco tackled her, covering her on the concrete with his body. Hermione flailed and protested beneath him, making him painfully aware of her proximity.

And the screeching began, followed by the whooshing of wings.

“You’d better shut it,” he murmured in her ear. “These things only have one way to stay anchored here. Magic fuels there existence so they need to consume it non-stop. They don’t need your precious muggles. At the moment, the only people who can summon it in the middle of London are us,”

“But I’m a muggleborn,”

Her breath was hot on his cheek. “You just did magic three times, no? The problem with muggleborns is that because they don’t have magic in there blood they instinctively draw in impossible amounts before casting spells. You just let hundreds of fucking demons know that you have what they want.”

She shuddered, her breathing becoming uneven. Her irises dilated with fear. In response, he pressed himself harder against her, covering her face in the crook of his neck.

“You want to stay high,” he continued, his voice becoming hoarse, “Because the wind carries your signature away. If we didn’t keep moving after you apparated, it would have been suicide. And I’m in this ridiculous position because if demons can’t see you, it’s immensely hard for them to find there target,”

He shuddered as the sound of wings thundered closer. She was trembling now, her wand freely rolling away.

“Why do you care?”

He stiffened, fingers digging into the ground.

“I’ve known you for two years and in all that time you hardly ever do anything for anyone. For crying out loud, you missed Pansy’s last birthday to stay at home with your cat,”

His jaw was clenched, firmly tucked over her head as he tried to regain some semblance of control. “Because I don’t have any attachment to anything anymore. So I thought that after I accidentally unleashed hell, I might as well save someone I know,”

He felt her smile into his chest. The sensation caused him to inhale sharply. She did it again.

“At the very least I can say that I’m glad it’s you I’m pressed up against and not the councilman,”

“I’d bash the bloke’s nose in if he went anywhere near you,” he growled.

“Nice to see therapy is helping your violent tendencies,”

Draco smirked, trying to ignore the feeling of claws on his back. Don’t move or they kill you. Don’t speak(he wasn’t doing so well with that one), don’t do magic. He resisted the urge to thank his dead father for his useful advice on killing demon hordes.

“Linda’s great. It’s just the fat bastard isn’t,”

“Mhm,”

Suddenly there was an ear-shattering scream and hundreds upon hundreds of wings flapped around them, the feeling of cold weight on his skin growing worse. He closed his eyes, pressing his nose into her hair.

They were clawing at his body. It was almost like she was too powerful for them to ignore.

“We’re going to die aren’t we?” she whispered, her voice cracking. He squeezed her tighter, covering her eyes so she wouldn’t see his blood. Or the silent screams of pain now etched on his face.

“I suppose I’ll confess my secrets,” Hermione continued, her voice wavering. “I once stuffed Ron’s teddy bear down the toilet because he was being a prat,” This earned her a weak laugh. “And I happen to like you a bit more then I should,”

And in that moment, he froze completely.

“Too much, hm-?”

Draco Malfoy guided her lips against his, ignoring the pain, the noise, the sheer terribleness of the environment around them. He’d wanted her for so, so long that the ache where she was supposed to be had grown into a dull throb. Now it was back but this time it felt like paradise.

She groaned, causing him to growl in response. He pressed himself into her, drinking starlight and parchment.

And then he shielded her between his arms, calmly, sated as the demons ripped away at his clothes, his body. He remained unwavering.

Because it was his fault.

Because she was truly his everything.

Because Hermione Jean Granger was worth more then his life.

He remembered her cries, her pleas for him to wake up. The weight began to leave his body as his blood spread around her, smothering her scent.

All was quiet. Draco Malfoy died smiling with his hair stained crimson.

[princess-of-riviaa]

Wicked Rose

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Rosa Malvada (OFC)

Summary: Geralt is sent on a mission that sends him to the doorstep of vampire Rosa Malvada. Steamy smut insues.

Warning(s): dirty talk, biting kink, SMUT, blood, both characters are very dominant

Word Count: 3092

There were countless reasons to enjoy an immortal life. The power was intoxicating--there was no greater feeling than knowing you were the greatest threat in any given room. The access to knowledge that stretched across every part of the realm, the secrets that stayed trapped within country borders--all of it there for you to revel in. But the greatest thing of all, the thing that brought satisfaction even in the darkest of nights, was being the kind of monster everyone believed vampires to be.

A regular vampire proved to be a challenging opponent, even for a skilled warrior. The Higher Vampires were impossible to kill. With their wit and strength, they ran circles around mortal men. Not even the legendary witchers could end them; only a Higher Vampire could kill one of his brethren, which had only happened twice in all of history. And Rosa Malvada, Princess of the Higher Vampires, was the most feared and powerful of her entire clan.

Geralt of Rivia, the most famous witcher along the west coast, had been stalking her for three days now. He’d been careful, calculating every movement before he made it. It was cute, actually, how much effort he put into being stealthy. Little did he know Rosa had noted his presence within the first twenty minutes of his days-long hunt. She’d considered draining the blood from his body and burying him in some forgotten part of the woods. Who was he to think that a centuries-old Higher Vampire--a princess of their clan--wouldn’t note his presence? How dare he think she would fall into his trap! But she’d been curious. She’d never seen a witcher hunt, and it had been appealing enough that she’d played the part of a happily oblivious vampire, letting him follow her from town to town, never letting him realize that she was drawing him ever closer to her nest.

The night of the full moon, Geralt had decided to make his attack. He’d been smart enough to drink one of those witcher elixirs he kept on his body--a wise precaution she had to give him credit for. But even that magical potion couldn’t take her down. Not before she found out why he’d been hunting her. Not before she’d have her way with him.

His boots were near-silent as he strode through the abandoned halls of an ancient castle along the coast of Temeria. It had been Rosa’s home since an ancient royal family had decided to abandon it due to the rumors of an evil vampire lurking in the halls at night--a rumor that had proved true, since Rosa had been sloppy enough to leave behind a mess of the guards’ bodies she’d drunk from. The family had been so scared they left with nothing but the clothes on their backs. The belongings they’d left behind were now part of Rosa’s trove.

Geralt pulled out two swords from his back, careful to make his movements as silent as possible. His ears perked up at every breath of the wind. That witcher elixir had heightened his senses, Rosa realized, and if she wasn’t careful, her game of cat and mouse would come to an end much too soon. She watched from the shadows as he stopped at the end of a hallway. He looked like a mountain in all that black armor--a mountain she wanted to climb. The sight of him was distracting--

Until he cocked his head, a predator finally spotting his prey.

“The shadows won’t hide you from me.” He spoke in a whisper, but Rosa heard him perfectly, as if he’d whispered the words in her ear. Rosa stood in a corner of darkness, and with thirty feet of distance between them, she thought it would have been harder for him to spot her. She was impressed.

“What makes you think I’m hiding?” she purred in response, moving through the shadows so he could catch a glimpse of her blood-red eyes.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he admitted as he turned to face her. That perfect face was paler than usual, enough so the veins under the surface of his skin were visible. And those eyes--darker than the shadows that now cloaked Rosa. He was the pure embodiment of death.

Rosa had never wanted a man more.

“Then what are you doing here?” She forced her tone to remain clipped, despite the desire starting to pool between her thighs.

“A descendant of the family who once lived here,” he began. “He’s paid me to return a lost family crest to him.”

Over her dead body. “Everything within these walls belongs to me. If they wanted some family crest, their ancestors should have brought it with them before they fled this place.”

“I’ve been paid to finish the job,” he insisted.

“Whatever amount they’ve promised you, I’ll double it.” She had more than enough gold to spare. Make enough calculated kills, drink from the right kind of people, and inheriting chests of gold becomes as easy as breathing.

“Come out of the dark. Maybe I’ll consider your offer.”

“Drop those blades,” she compromised, “and I’ll go anywhere you want, Witcher.”

Metal clinked against stone, a riotous sound amongst the silence of the dead castle. Geralt’s hands went slack at his sides. It was a mirage. An act of relaxed calm hiding a hunter about to pounce.

Rosa was precise with her movements, careful to never move within his reach even as she evaded the cover of darkness. His eyes slid along her body so sensually that her body burned everywhere he looked. It was almost enough to get her to step towards him. Almost. She lifted her chin higher, confident in the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts that he now took in. Blood-red hair curled down her back, stark against the white dress she wore.

He sniffed audibly before muttering, “I didn’t know vampires could be aroused by anything other than blood.”

He could smell the lust dripping between her thighs. It only made her want him more, somehow.

She retorted, “I didn’t realize witchers could be so attractive.”

Silence filled the air as they stared at each other, both resisting the urge to close the distance between them and take what they both were craving.

“Afraid to want a monster, Witcher?” she taunted.

A warning growl was the only response he gave.

“I’ll pay you to leave empty-handed tonight, to return to the man who paid you and insist that this precious family crest no longer exists.” She took half a step towards him--the only amount of distance she dared to close between them. “I’ll pay you in gold. Or, if there’s another form of payment you’d prefer, I’d happily let you indulge in that too.” The smile that tugged at her lips was flirtatious. It only grew as Geralt’s gaze dropped to her mouth, those darkened pupils missing nothing.

He was silent. A man of few words. That was fine--Rosa would be sure to fill the silence as he filled her tonight.

She spread her arms. An open invitation. All he had to do was take it. “Come on, Geralt. Take what we both want.”

Still, he hesitated.

“Would you prefer it if I beg?” she wondered.

He pounced. Half a second passed before he had her pressed against the wall, her back pressed tightly against his chest. She ground her ass into his hard-on. Oh, fuck. The stories of a witcher’s girth weren’t just stories. One of his hands moved to her hip, grinding her body against his erection, while the other tugged hard enough on her hair to force her to look up and back at him.

“I’d like to hear you beg,” he growled.

Yeah, right. She dug her elbow into his stomach hard enough to make his grip loosen on her. A second later he was the one trapped against the wall. She held onto his wrists with a grip so tight not even a witcher’s strength could get him out.

“Sorry, darling, but I don’t beg for anyone.”

Before he could say anything, she licked up the column of his throat. His witcher heart was slow, but his pulse still made her toes curl. She longed to know what he tasted like, longed to know if he tasted better than he would feel when he was balls-deep inside of her.

The sensation of her tongue on his skin made a low growl elicit from the back of his throat, a sound so intoxicating that Rosa did, for a moment, contemplate begging him to fuck her if she had to. She needed this man inside of her, needed him to mark her up and fuck her so well she couldn’t walk right for a day afterwards.

“You don’t beg?” Geralt's voice was a low timber in her ear, making her shiver with arousal. And then his hand was around her throat while the other one went to the sensitive mound between her legs. “Then you’ve never had a Witcher fuck you.”

A moan fell from her lips before she could stop it. Her body was pure reaction now; there was no more room for her pride to decide what she would do. She was merely a reaction to every move Geralt made. She was at his mercy.

In one flash of movement Geralt picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her off through the castle like game he’d just proudly hunted down. He stopped at what was once the duke’s quarters, but had been Rosa’s quarters for centuries now. The room was filled with piles of clothes, books, and gold. Crimson sheets were thrown about the bed on the far wall, which was where Geralt strode for now. He was gentle as he set her down but the look in his eyes was wild and ravenous. She had no doubt her eyes held the same kind of animalistic hunger.

“Ever fucked a vampire before?” she questioned as she sat up and started untying his breeches.

“No,” was his simple reply, his voice a deep, rumbling baritone that made Rosa’s stomach knot with need.

She pulled down his breeches enough for his cock to spring free and--wow. Whether it was the Witcher mutation or Geralt had been blessed by the gods themselves, Rosa didn’t particularly care. Not as her mouth literally watered at the site of his thick, long cock, already glistening with precum. Dark curls swirled around the base of his shaft. A thin vein ran along the length of his cock from base to tip and she practically moaned. She wrapped her hand around his length, softly caressing the velvet of his sensitive skin as she began to jerk him off. He growled in approval. It wasn’t long before her skilled hand had him bucking his hips, desperate for her to increase her pace so he could cum. But she continued her slow assault on his throbbing cock, enamored by the look on his face as she teased him. Precum continued to fall from his tip. It mixed with her hand to make a sinful squelching noise. That, along with Geralt’s grunts and growls, was the only sound in the room.

Rosa finally pulled her hand away when she decided she’d tortured the Witcher long enough. His eyes were lidded, heavy with lust, but they widened with arousal as he watched her lick up every last drop of the precum on her hand. With a growl that promised her unbecoming, he splayed a large hand on her stomach and pushed her back. He climbed over her as she relaxed against the bed. His right leg instantly moved between her own, his knee finding a home against her aching pussy.

“My turn,” he growled before moving to hover over her heat.

“Wait,” she called out, her body already humming with intense heat. “You really want to get me off?”

The look in his golden eyes was answer enough.

“Then let me drink from you.” Her voice was breathy, too overcome with lust to sound normal anymore.

He paused, and that lust in his eyes was replaced by a look of distrust.

“I won’t drink too much,” she promised. “But for a vampire, drinking a partner’s blood while being intimate with them is better than anything else. It’ll make me cum long before eating me out will.”

“Which vein is best?” Geralt asked in a low, curious voice, but there was still hesitancy written all over his face.

“The closer to the heart, the better,” she admitted. “Anywhere would do, but blood from the heart, or anywhere around it…” She closed her eyes as she thought about the intoxicating taste of blood straight from the heart. It had been a long time since she’d let herself indulge in it, since tasting blood that sweet normally sent vampires into a frenzy. But the memory of that nectar on her lips made her legs clench, it was that good.

“You stop when I tell you to,” Geralt demanded. His tone was stern, but he was giving in. Indulging her.

Her heart began to beat faster at the thought of drinking from him. “And if I don’t?” Rosa wondered, opening her eyes to look at him again.

The answer to her question was written in his eyes. If she didn’t stop, if she gave in to the monster inside of her, he’d kill her.

“As you wish,” she complied.

He reached a hand towards her. For a second she thought he was reaching for her neck, wanting to pull her towards him for a kiss, but his hand stopped between her breasts, at the dress still covering them. A second later and the dress was torn to shreds, her breasts falling free. Her nipples were already hard from arousal and a low sound of approval fell from Geralt as he observed it. His eyes scanned the rest of her body with hunger.

“Your turn,” she demanded, longing to see his body in all of its naked, muscled glory.

He rose to his feet and began undressing, teasing her as he moved slowly. All she had to do was spread her legs and one look at the sight of her glistening folds made him rush his movements. His body was a glorious maze of muscles and scars--a picture perfect warrior. Dark curls that matched the hair around his cock swirled around his chest and trailed a path down his stomach. An ancient kind of power and strength radiated off of him. Gods, did she want this man inside of her.

Geralt gave her only a few seconds to take in his naked form before he was on top of her, his mouth devouring hers. His tongue was hungry and demanding as it pushed past her lips and collided with her own. She moaned into his mouth as he ground her hips against hers, his cock rubbing against her clit and sending electricity through her veins. Her arousal spiked, and suddenly she could feel her fangs coming out, and before Geralt could break the kiss, she bit his bottom lip. They both moaned--him at the sensation of being bit for the first time, surprised that it could be so arousing for the victim; and her because his Witcher blood was the finest wine she’d ever tasted. Her legs clenched around his hips as she swallowed the first drop of his blood.

It was then that he chose to plunge deep into her folds. She released a cry of pleasure that made the walls shake. Her walls squeezed around him as he continued to enter her, his cock going ever deeper and farther inside of her. Geralt muttered something in a language Rosa didn’t recognize, but she got the message clear enough from the tone: he was loving this as much as she was. The pain of his cock splitting her open was a welcome hurt. It turned her on and made her walls clench even tighter around his length, which only made his growls and moans deepen.

“Fuck me, Witcher,” she cried out.

He obliged her. His hips began to move at an exhilarating rate and the sensation of his cock penetrating her at such an inhuman speed threw her over the edge in a matter of moments. She threw her head back as she cried out, her fangs only elongating further as she came around his unrelenting cock.

Even after the waves of ecstasy calmed inside of her, Geralt didn’t stop fucking her. His hands had moved to her hips in a deathly grip. She was sure to have bruises from where he held her.

“Let me drink from you,” she cried out.

Without even stopping his thrusts, he tilted his head to the side, inviting her to suck at his throat. She pulled him closer to her and clamped her mouth around the soft skin of his throat, letting her fangs break the skin slowly. His movements became sloppy as she began to drink from him, as if it were as much a turn on for him as it was for her. She drank mouthful after mouthful of his sweet nectar. Her entire body lit on fire as they attacked each other, her with her mouth, and him with his cock. This was how she wanted to die, she decided--her mouth around his throat, him balls deep inside of her. It was the closest to heaven she’d ever get.

Geralt let out a broken moan as his cock spasmed inside of her. A second later his hot seed poured inside of her, dripping down her legs and onto the bed. Geralt came longer than most men did, which must have been another aspect of the Witcher mutation, but she loved it, reveled in every second of it. And when he was done, he collapsed on top of her. She pulled her mouth back and forced her fangs to retract. Blood dripped down his neck and dried on his shoulder.

“I didn’t realize you had a biting kink,” she murmured minutes later.

“Neither did I.” He was on his back beside her now, his eyes closed and a droopy smile on his face.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” she said, admiring the few of a Witcher fucked out beside her.

He let out a humm of agreement, and then his breaths deepened and slowed. She fell asleep beside him, a smile plastered onto her face. It was the best sleep she’d had in decades.

[sserpente]

A/N: Requests from @watermelon1568, @lokisgirl5, @cocoamoonmalfoy and anon. This is so fluffy and maybe a little silly, but in a good way! Enjoy everyone and have a good Christmas Eve! ♥

Words: 2635 Warnings: so much fluff, mentions of blood, implied smut

Additional NSFW warning: This Imagine contains implied period sex, just in case this is something you are uncomfortable with.

Loki might be a tiny tad OOC in this one because the requests were just so fluffy but I did my best! Enjoy!

-

Loki sighed. There you were again, running around with a list in hand looking much like the one Santa Clause had been carrying in that Christmas film Thor had forced him to watch. For the past few days, weeks almost, actually, you had been collecting everyone’s Christmas wishes like a squirrel collecting nuts for the winter. Even he knew everyone’s Christmas wishes by now. You had truly asked everybody, even the cleaning women who came to tidy up the entire Avengers facility once a week.

Loki could not quite put his finger on what it was that fascinated him so much about you—all he did know was that he too wanted to get you a Christmas present, if only just to see the surprised look on your face. He almost snorted. It was disappointment he felt, disappointment and envy because he longed to be the one to put a smile on your face on Christmas Day—and he didn’t even celebrate Christmas, not really.

Furthermore, he had not failed to notice how you avoided his presence like you were playing cat and mouse. You had, much to his surprise, asked him for his Christmas wish too the other day, all timid and unable to look him in the eye and Loki had been so taken aback he had not known an answer. The God of Mischief was many things but he was not blind and not stupid—he was perceptive. Villain or not, you were into him—and he was going to get your confession.

Smirking to himself, and determined to put an end to playing tag, he followed you into the empty hallway on your way back to your room, pushed past you and then unceremoniously blocked your way.

“O-Oh… hey, Loki.” You chirped.

“Are you in a hurry?”

“I, uh, actually, um… n-no?”

“Well, you did ask me what I wanted for Christmas, did you not?”

“Oh!” Your face lit up. “Oh, yes! Yes, what would you like?”

Loki thought about it for a moment. He needed an answer fast to not look like a moron now.

His lips parted. “I do miss writing with a quill and ink. Could you acquire a set for me? Surely, they are still being used on Midgard.”

Geez! How had you not thought about that? Loki truly was a scholar with all those books in his room, and that was a marvellous idea. “Y-yes, of course!” You responded, nodding eagerly in the process. But when you moved forward, Loki, instead of letting you pass now, put his hand against the wall so you were trapped.

“Hmm… Is there a particular reason you always get so nervous in my presence?” He asked. Your eyes widened. Fuck.

“Y-you… you tried to… you almost took over t-the p-planet, you k-know.” You lied quickly.

“Ah, yes. Of course… that must be it.” He responded with a knowing smirk. Oh, fuck. Did he have to be so god damn gorgeous?

“You never said what it was you want for Christmas, my dear.” He said then, blue eyes locking with yours. Your heart skipped a beat—no, actually, you were wondering whether it was still beating at all. You did have a Christmas wish, of course and you wanted to do backflips all across the hallway that Loki of all people took an interest in what you’d like—or maybe he just wanted to make conversation. Keep calm.

“Oh… it’s silly. Not really possible.” You replied sheepishly, gasping when he hooked a finger under your chin to gently force you to look up at him. He was definitely going to be the death of you.

“Tell me.” He urged you on.

“The only thing I… I’ve always wanted to have a dog. A loyal non-human companion, someone to cuddle with when it’s cold and who will never judge me but love me just the way I am… and they are just so cute! But that’s not possible,” You repeated quickly. “Imagine an innocent little puppy when everything’s on fire and another alien race attacks the planet!”

Loki hummed. Dogs were not common on Asgard. He himself had had a pet snake growing but released it into the wild after Thor and his friends had repeatedly stolen it to play silly and dangerous games. He could see why you kept that wish to yourself. Living among the Avengers, a dog might get in the way during missions—he did not doubt it would be helpful and capable of tearing off their enemies’ faces but your worry for it would distract you from a fight.

Still… perhaps there was a way. A smirk grew on his lips and your flustered reaction to it pleased him, making it grow wider.

-

It was early Christmas morning when Loki returned. It had taken him all of his wit and cunningness to leave the Avengers facilities unattended and without anyone asking suspicious questions but he had succeeded. The wooden box he was carrying—with many holes in them so the little creature could breathe—Loki sneaked across the hallway and past your room to hide his present for you in his own, already imagining your priceless reaction… was he hoping for a hug? Oh, he was. When was the last time anyone had hugged him? Perhaps you would, upon receiving the fluffy little creature in the box.

The dog winced. “Shh! Quiet, you silly little creature, you are going to wake up your mother!”

It was then he heard an ear-piercing scream coming from your room. He nearly dropped the box, turning on his heel to storm into your room like a tornado annihilating everything in its path. Your bed was empty, the sheets ruffled. There was a small beam of light coming from your bathroom—the closer he came, the more he could make out the rustling of fabric.

“I bloody hate being a woman…” You murmured to yourself, making the God of Mischief frown. Alarmed, he stepped closer and entered the bathroom without knocking—he barely remembered to set the box aside to draw his daggers if need be.

You were sat on the toilet, your white Christmas pyjamas with candy canes and gingerbread men on them soiled with blood. Loki’s eyes widened. There was blood on the floor too… and on your fingers.

His fingers were itching to materialise his weapons, yet he could see no enemy who could have attacked you. You gasped when he barged into the room, concealing your nakedness from the waist down with some toilet paper.

“What in the nine happened to you?” The amount of blood was almost concerning for a mortal. Had someone surprised you in your sleep? Who had managed to break into the Avengers facilities in the first place?

“How did you get in here? No wait, you’re awake already? Umm… Merry Christmas?” You swallowed. Talk about embarrassing yourself in front of the God of Mischief.

“We need to get you to a healer… a doctor, that is what you call them here?” You stared at him for a moment.

The last thing he expected was for you to burst out laughing. The whole situation was so hilarious you even forgot to be nervous around him for once.

“Oh, Loki… I’m okay, I’m not dying, I promise. I got surprised by my period, is all.”

“Your… period? Your period… as in your menstruation cycle?”

“Yes. Do women on Asgard not have that?”

“They do but… not like this.” Heavens, he felt stupid. He had thought you were dying, openly shown his concern… and you had laughed.

“Loki…” It was like you had heard his thoughts. “Thank you for checking on me. I was just being frustrated but I promise I’m okay.” You had probably disturbed his sleep but the fact that Loki cared enough to come to your help, admitting that just perhaps… he actually liked you. “W-would you mind?” Loki raised his brows, his lips parting.

“Yes, of course.”

He turned around for you to get dressed again (never before had you been more grateful for the pile of more or less dirty laundry on the floor next to your toilet) and nodded, only realising now that he had indeed just proved that one way or another, he had taken a liking into you. It was then the dog winced again just outside the bathroom door.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. In fact, I shall leave you… how did you get out of that box?” Eager and curious, the puppy must have somehow knocked its wooden box over. When Loki looked behind him, he found the lid on the floor, the young dog hurtling towards you.

“Oh my god! Hey there, little guy! Where did you come from?” You giggled when the dog attempted to jump up on you. You picked it up, grinning when it licked your face. “Aren’t you adorable?”

Loki pursed his lips. Oh, great. Now he was getting the hug. He furrowed his brows. Heavens, this was an innocent little puppy. Against all reason, he already loved the little guy with all his heart himself, how could he possibly feel jealous?

“You were not supposed to see it yet. I was going to put the box under the Christmas tree.”

“R-really? You mean… he’s for me? Oh, Loki… but h-how? I mean… I love him. But how can I keep him safe here? Is that really a good idea?”

“Well… he is, in fact, not a normal dog.” Loki remarked.

Your eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

“Dogs are rare on Asgard but there are indeed a few traders who raise them. This unprepossessing creature has a life expectancy five times as high as Midgardian dogs—not to mention it is stronger, more intelligent and much like Thor and me, more resistant to pain and injury.”

“You’re a superdog then, aren’t you? Yes, you are, such a good boy. I need a name for him.” You announced. Loki raised his arms. That would be your decision. His pet snake had never had a name. “I’ll think of something.” Smiling, you stepped forward and kissed Loki on the cheek whose lips parted in surprise.

“Thank you so much. I didn’t think you would… why did you?” He said nothing in response. He couldn’t possibly tell you that he wanted a hug and that the only person he wanted it from was you. Your lips on his face had already felt like liquid fire, warming him from the inside out. Heavens, what was wrong with him? You were a mortal. He couldn’t possibly like you this much.

“You should go back to bed.” He said after a while, clearing his throat. “It is still early.” You nodded. He was right. Besides, you and your little puppy needed to get to know each other.

Needless to say, however, you couldn’t fall asleep again after you had gotten changed into new pyjamas and then cuddled with your new pet. Loki had gotten you a dog. Why? He owed you nothing, and quite on the contrary, you highly doubted Loki would even bother to get the rest of the Avengers a Christmas gift.

-

In the meantime, Loki himself returned to his room, shaking his head in the process. He was being ridiculous. The other day in the hallway, he had still managed to remain composed but the more time he spent around you, the softer he became for you.

He had been worried for you upon seeing all that blood and it had scared him. Love and affection weren’t exactly emotions he got to experience a lot and then for a human of all species…

He realised with a start just what it was that was happening to him. He was courting you, wasn’t he? He had not done anything alike in years, the last time for a beautiful Asgardian woman who had turned out to take more interest in Thor than him.

Loki was no expert on dating. He had never had the need for it… not until you. A growl escaped his lips. How dangerous for his already shattered heart would it be to give in to his desire and make you smile again? To feel your lips against his skin once more?

Another growl. He was addicted to you already. Jumping up from the bed, he left the facilities again, this time to head a few miles west. Frigga had always said that love goes through the stomach. He might as well try that strategy out.

-

About two hours later, there was a soft knock on your door. You stirred, eyes fluttering open. Your puppy—you had still not thought of a name for it—had curled up in your arms, still sleeping soundly.

“Yes?”

The door opened to reveal Loki. With a smirk, he produced something from behind his back—a box with the logo of your favourite pancake shop on it. Your jaw dropped.

“Merry Christmas.” He announced.

“Oh my goodness… Loki, you are so sweet.”

The God of Mischief raised an eyebrow. “Sweet is not exactly what I was hoping for.” He replied, albeit smiling.  You sat up carefully to not wake the puppy, accepting the pancakes all the while licking your lips hungrily. Now that was one way to start Christmas Day.

“How about considerate?” You tried again, smiling up at him sweetly. Loki smirked, hands clasped behind his back. He almost appeared a little… awkward.

You longed to ask him why he was doing all this but then again… you could think of only one answer. It couldn’t possibly be, no?

“Care to share? They are really good.”

“It appears so. The entire restaurant smelled like a sugar realm.”

“Is that a thing?”

“No.”

“Oh… pity.” He chuckled.

Twenty minutes in which you silently ate with relish went by, the puppy still sleeping peacefully in your bed, with you unable to stop petting it all the time. Once you had finished the very last bite, you simply dropped the empty takeaway-packaging on the floor.

“Thank you so much, Loki. I couldn’t have imagined better Christmas presents.”

He nodded, watching your every move as you moved in to give him another kiss on the cheek.

This time though, in just this moment, Loki turned his head to face you again, your lips landing on his instead. You gasped, even more so when he deepened the kiss, moving his mouth gently against yours, tongue slipping between your lips to taste you. Oh my god. Loki was kissing you. Loki was kissing you!

It felt like a demon from Muspelheim had set his body on fire, from the inside out. Loki was ablaze. Unable to stop himself, his arms came up to pull you closer into his body until you were straddling him, your fingers digging into his clothes. You both knew where this was going.

There was no doubt you were going to wake up the little dog when you pushed him back on the mattress, overcome with a sudden confidence and hunger that made you feel invincible. Loki did not object. The only reason you hesitated was the fact you remembered just then that you were on your period. Reluctantly, you pulled away.

“Loki… maybe we should do this… another time. My… period, remember?”

“A little bit of blood will not stop me from ravishing you, my dear.” Your heart skipped a beat.

“A-are you sure?”

Loki nodded slowly and intimately, his blue gaze never leaving yours.

Next thing you knew, the both of you lost all of your layers of clothing one by one. Scratch making a list for Christmas presents for your friends to make them happy… you couldn’t quite believe that Loki actually reciprocated your affection for him. This certainly was the most amazing Christmas yet.

-

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either for caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[behindyourbarrette]

like you a latte - matcha latte

← previous | series masterlist | join my taglist | next part ->

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader

a/n: SURPRISE i felt like dropping this a DAY early!!lololololol but here it is! i appreciate the love on the last two parts so so soooo much :) can’t beliEVE WE ARE HALFWAY DONE!! reblog if u enjoyed

—

Needless to say, Twilight Time isn’t very crowded on Thursday afternoons. 

You rarely pick up closing shifts anymore—for reasons totally unrelated to the doctor who almost exclusively arrives in the morning—but you’re covering for Sally, and it’s a nice day out. The rain has let up in favor of mild weather, the sun just barely peeking through the clouds as people drift past the shop. Despite the fact that there’s more foot traffic on the street, not many people come in to order. You don’t blame them. Why have hot coffee on a day like this?

Your back is turned when you hear a group enter, and your heart soars at the prospect of tips. For whatever reason, most people are more inclined to tip when they know their friends are watching. You call out to let them know you’ll be right with them, and after you’re done fidgeting with the settings of the coffee grinder, you turn. 

It’s Spencer. But he’s not alone.

There are a total of four people before you, each intimidating you in slightly different ways. They’re all agents, as evidenced by their not-so-concealed carries. You recognize a few of the characters. Spencer’s told you about JJ, who you assume to be the friendly blonde, and Penelope, who is a vision in fuchsia. That leaves Emily, who’s whispering to JJ, eyes fixed on you. You try to absorb the sight, them together. Spencer looks at ease, a wide smile on his face as he looks between you and the group.

“Hey, Spencer. These your coworkers?” You crack a nervous smile, knitting your fingers together. He nods, introducing them each in turn. JJ grins in your direction, and Penelope waves at you with a fingerlessly-gloved hand. Emily reaches across the bar to shake your hand. You get the sense that there’s something Spencer hasn’t told you.

“What can I get you guys?”

Spencer shrugs, defaulting to JJ and Emily. Penelope pipes up, eyes bright as she peers at the menu above you.

“Do you have matcha, sweetheart? I’ve been meaning to try that. It’s great for your skin.” You nod, pulling a cup out and inscribing Penelope’s name on it. JJ and Emily both order americanos, exchanging a sheepish grin. After setting their cups aside, you turn to Spencer.

“Genius, you should really try the matcha. It’ll give you brain power. Not that you need any more.” Penelope does jazz hands to emphasize her excitement, and Spencer shrugs. You watch them interact for a moment before you realize he’s turned to you for your approval.

“Oh. I really like matcha. It’s green tea, and a matcha latte tastes light and sweet. I think you’d like it.” He nods, and orders it hot. Penelope orders iced; you smile as you consider that they compliment each other, eventually turning away to prepare everyone’s drinks. They’re all relatively simple, and you manage to include latte art in the hot drinks. Spencer’s is last, and you flick your wrist to finish the design. Crossing the bar, you hand each agent their drink in turn. 

Penelope sips at her drink first, the bright green matching one of her rings perfectly. Spencer eyes his dubiously, poking at it with a wooden stirring stick. 

“It’s very green.” He whispers to Penelope, who cackles in response. 

JJ catches your eye as you watch, lingering between the bar and their seats. With a smile, she waves you over. 

“You’ve totally ruined other coffee for Spence. We had to come try it for ourselves.” She whispers, leaning down. You aren’t sure how to feel about her tone; there’s a glint of something in her eye, something playfully secretive. You’re not sure what part of this you’re not in on.The idea of Spencer mentioning you at all is foreign—sure, you’ve told your roommates, and your coworkers found out that you do, in fact, have a favorite regular. Still, you never considered the idea that you bleed into other parts of his life. You steal a glance at him while JJ compliments her americano. He’s sipping at his matcha, a green mustache left behind. 

“You have a magic touch, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever had coffee this good in the states.” Emily flashes you a grin as if she can sense your nervousness. You relax a little, asking her about her work abroad instead of getting lost in your head. She strikes you as a diplomat, and a compliment from her feels like something to be savored. Penelope raves to you about the health benefits of matcha, and you immediately feel welcomed by her. If you were to run a study comparing the approachability between pink polka dots and pantsuits, you're sure that polka dots would win.

“Are you an agent, too?” You ask, stirring your own iced coffee with a straw. Eyeing the clock, you’ve decided that this counts as your break. Tyler be damned. Penelope giggles, shaking her head.

“Oh God no. Well, technically. I’m a technical analyst, so I work on the computer and tech end of things.” She explains, and you nod. It makes a lot of sense. While both JJ and Emily exude the energy of most cops—authoritative, with a critical eye—Garcia does’t fit that mold. It’s this that draws you to her.

You learn that JJ has a son named Henry, a surprisingly Southern boyfriend to match, and that Emily has a cat named Sergio. Despite their highbrow titles, you don’t feel out of place. It’s easy to sip at your coffee, the cup cool against your fingertips, and listen.

“Are you in school? Spence mentioned that you majored in literature.” JJ sets her cup down, flexing her fingers against the air. You feel yourself flush now that the attention is on you. The fact that he chose this detail to divulge sticks between your ribs. You haven't told him much about your work—he insisted on reading your thesis, and even reread the source material to better discuss it with you—but apparently, what you have discussed has made an impression.

“Yeah, actually. I’m in my second year of law school.” You admit. Emily nods in approval, reaching out to high five you.

“Damn. With all the assholes you deal with in customer service, you’ll make a great attorney.” You high five her with a small smile on your face, stealing a glance at Spencer. He seems elated, clearly enjoying the dynamic he’s observing.

“Do you want to go into criminal law?”

JJ asks, eyes wide with curiosity. You shake your head ruefully. They take it well, shrugging their shoulders. To their credit, their branch of law enforcement deals with the process prior to prosecution. You shudder at the idea of what happens after they catch the bad guys.

“No, not really. I’m looking at either the entertainment or environmental sector.”

The group murmurs, and the conversation devolves into small talk about law. You look to Spencer for an escape, and he suggests that they take a walk. Once the girls have trickled out of the room, each hugging you goodbye, you’re left alone with Spencer.

“Hey.”

You laugh at the simplicity of his greeting, turning to toss your empty coffee cup into the trash. Spencer flushes a deep shade of red, raking his hands through his hair.

“Your friends aren’t how I expected. Really cool, though. Especially for like, Quantico professionals.” You wipe the counter down, and the reality that you’re on the clock hits you, a little dizzily. Did his coworkers really just want to meet Spencer’s barista? The realization tastes a little bitter, and you bite back any further questioning in favor of looking up at him.

“Yeah. They’re like family.” He looks out the window, hands deep in his pockets. His whole demeanor is stiff, and you resist the urge to reach out and force his shoulders down from his ears.

“Did you like the matcha? I wasn’t sure you would. I used the oat milk you like.” Slowly, he relaxes. With a small smile, he nods.

“It was good. I like most teas, I’m finding. It wasn’t too sweet.” You add matcha to the mental list you keep, of drinks he likes. It’s become your mission to expand it. In the months since he started branching out, you’ve managed to add a few drinks to his core rotation. 

“You know you’re one of my friends too, right?”

This catches you off guard. You pause in the motion of sweeping the floor, carefully raising your eyes to meet his. While nervous, he sounds sincere. When met with your silence, he continues.

“I just wanted you to know.” 

You nod carefully. The implications of this are something you’ll consider later, when you’re alone. He’s only confirming something you’ve already known, but something about it stings. The word crosses your mind briefly, but it sticks. It’s bittersweet.

“I know.” Your voice is low, soft against the din of the coffee shop. Spencer doesn’t look satisfied, opening his mouth to say something then closing it again. He glances between you and the window.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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@everyonesfavoritepipecleaner @coldlilheart @idonotexiste @aberrant-annie @onyourfingertips @bakugouswh0r3 @uptowngotmedown @infinite-tides @chaosconcerns @littlewritersinspace​ @okivia @forever-not-gonna-sink​ @insert-gay-here​ @just-another-persona123​ @winniemjf **if tags don’t work, check your visibility settings

[ready-to-obeyme]

[OM!] Reverse AU: Demon Brothers (+ Diavolo) Headcanons

- original idea came from this lovely post so please check it out if you haven’t already bc it’s so cute!! I couldn’t stop thinking about the boys collecting our character cards and desperately trying to complete events and chapters just as we are afjasldkfjasfjdts

Scenario: We’re the characters in the game and the demon brothers (or would they be human in this au??) play Obey Me! and collect our cards, play the events, etc...

Reverse AU: Demon boys collect cards of YOU instead of the other way around

Ranked from most invested to least invested in the game + headcanons on how they play (while stanning you ofc)

EDITED: there is also a related follow-up post of Reverse AU [here]

--

Leviathan

VIP VIP VIP

the man would die for every UR+ 

stans you so hard; cries whenever any new card of you comes out

a collectionist at heart, but he knows there's a fave in his otaku heart of his

every event holds a special place in his kokoro

Idk how he gets sleep grinding for all your URs considering how fast the events come and go without breaks in-between

If he had a terrible sleeping habit before, it’s WORSE now

honestly, this game right up his alley so he's an expert-- he's probably the one to rant about the game and convince his brothers to start playing too

"Add me so we can give each other AP!!"

he says, but he spends a lot of money to get all he needs so he doesn't really NEED his brothers to play with him

very happy when he gets to rant about the game with his brothers

Casually plays OSTs from the game, sometimes on blast and his brothers don’t even bat an eye because they all play the game hehehehe

cheers when he gets you as a surprise guest; uses wikis to make sure he does you right (he once made a wrong move and your dissent dialogue crushed his heart-- so never again)

never ranks below 100 during events

Mammon

baby tries really hard to save up for a good event card or UR+ but always ends up pulling desperately for your cards

relies on his luck to get what he wants, and when that doesn't work out, ends up putting money into the game

probably prays before each 10x pull and free draw

he's not rich enough to win aaaaaaaaa

fell in love with your character almost immediately and has not looked back since

you are Best Character; probably fights with Levi about who loves you more

gets pumped when he sees your cards; the other character are ehhh even though that's probably not the most strategic way to play

doesn't understand why he can't just have three of you on the dance team all at once

Screams whenever he loses a dance battle (“I’m so sorry!!!!!!’ he tells you as he quickly levels you up and throws a ton of glowsticks at you)

suffers when his brothers get the cards he wants-- though tbf he also brags about pulls he gets that his brothers didn't 

when did this game become a competition? 

Satan

f2p but he works really hard to get the cards he wants

diligently saves up and spends all his pulls on a UR+ card he absolutely MUST have

collects all the wallpapers, dialogue, and chats of every card he has of you

stares longingly at the URs and has to resist the very real urge to just buy stuff

invested in the story, the characters, the nuances, and the LORE 

thinks of theories and ideas on how the world works and the facets of each character

probably write on blogs and posts fanfic

...his bros don't know about that part tho so shhhh

The animal event really grabbed him by the DICK

If there is a card of you with cat ears and a tail-- hhhhhhhh

Spends ALL his draws during this event and invests all his time and effort into unlocking the devils flower and regrets NOTHING (o´ω｀o)

Lucifer

tries to not get invested

then gets invested deeply in both the storyline and the characters that he completes all the levels asap and grinds everyday to fill out the devil flowers

Takes break between work by opening the game

Refreshed with you on the home screen

Feels like dying when Diavolo catches him SLIPPIN’ peers over his shoulder and asks him what game he’s playing

Also feels like dying when Barbatos catches him humming the opening screen song

tries really hard not to buy anything and he succeeds for quite some time but alas came the hydrangeas 

he started off by buying some devil (human?) points… and it escalated

slippery slope-- recharge missions took him by the neck and then he gave in to being VIP (might as well, since he can afford it…)

outwardly calm about playing the game, enjoys talking with Satan about the possible lore and having something to bond with Levi

inwardly pretty invested: adores the interactions, remembers what options are best for each surprise guest dialogue 

Asmodeus

posts about all his Good pulls, especially when he gets the new UR+/UR cards 

the type to unlock all the devil flowers for the flex but also for the aesthetic 

scrolls through devilgram (uhh human...gram? so instagram) and unlocks every story asap

thinks the game is adorable whenever he gets to interact with you as a surprise guest

probably doesn't have a high preference for any particular card but absolutely LOVES the pretty ones 

love love LOVES the fan art that people draw of you

Hums to the opening screen song in the shower or even the opening video (that he voices hahah) 

gets frustrated when the levels get hard and he has to grind but so far hasnt given into buying anything

Not as invested as his brothers but he does spend money just to get a REALLY nice UR+ card like the rain event 

Water does wonders for aesthetics（=＾0＾=）

Belphegor

the game is too fast-- so many events for him to care about that he sometimes drops off the face of the earth to play it or drops the game and takes a break from it for a while

there is no in between with this dude

he can only invest in the game when he feels like it, if he feels somewhat motivated 

thinks the dance battles are funny

slightly upset when he doesn't get the cards he want from gacha but it's too bothered by it

has like at least one UR of you from an event that he didn't expect to get and that's good enough for him

the bed head cards got him feeling some type of way ////

had notifications for his AP during that period of time; has never grinded harder

Beelzebub

what can i say? the man gets lucky from free pulls all the damn time

least invested, but does enjoy reading the story and the characters; just gets kind of lazy when he gets stuck on levels 

does his best to level up enough to continue the story and unlock your gram stories but has a hard time grinding to unlock devil flowers

which is understandable considering the amount of URs he has 

i could probably see his brothers fight each other to get his account when he thinks about giving it away 

plays more often during events because he likes the extra interactions from the game with you 

Bonus:

Diavolo

Lowkey does not know how to play for a while but does log into the game just to make sure he gets his free pulls

His knowledge of the games grows EXPONENTIALLY and by the end of the first week

he’a asking Lucifer to add him, what cards he has, should he invest in this event or not

Lucifer isn’t sure if he’s happy with this development or not 

Definitely has Barbatos join in on the fun too :333

Barbatos somehow ends up being as equally invested as Levi but the only way any of them can tell is because he revealed himself to be top 10 at one event

Adores every UR card of you and asks Lucifer if he should just sign up and be VIP

Does get extremely lucky at times

“Lucifer, what’s the difference between a UR+ and a UR? Huh, why? Well, this card I got has a UR+ on it--”

Ranks probably above Asmodeus and below Lucifer in terms of how invested he is into the game

[nonbinarychaoticstupid]

fifteen (hugging each other) if you want? (any ship/pairing/anything you feel like) aaaa

:0 skjckiskjdshd i was going to do carulia bc AA but then i fell into the lumity hyperfixation and this was born dksjdjksdjknjf this is the fastest i have ever written for a prompt

ft amity being ridiculously soft and in love and probably a lot of spelling mistakes idk

They drop Willow and Gus at their respective homes before midnight sets in - Amity even helps Gus crawl in through his window, which is nice of her, Luz thinks. She's too sore and tired to do anything except stand behind her, watching the street in case Odalia comes tearing down it on top of another abomination (probably with teeth this time, because who knows what happened after they ran away from the warehouse), gripping her sore arm and thinking about how her heart started pounding in her ears earlier, how she flushed when Amity grabbed her shoulder and hurried her outside and had to stare determinedly at the stars for a good ten minutes before she could look her in the eyes again, how -

"Luz?"

She jumps. It's Amity - of course it's Amity, she's been anxiously hovering around her and mumbling apologies for her parents since they were sure they weren't being followed - and she's holding out her hand and offering her a small, awkward half-smile, and Luz's heart gives a funny little jump, and then a second as she takes it and laces their fingers together.

And then a third, this time for a different reason altogether, when Gus pokes his head out of the window above them and waves.

Amity waves back (She really likes us now, Luz thinks, grinning up at the illusion of Gus's disembodied head propped on his balcony), and when they set off down the street, she feels her own grip tighten ever so slightly around her hand.

She lets out a long breath. Everything is fine. It's a beautiful, silent night, and she's wandering down the prettiest street in Bonesborough and holding Amity's hand, and there's still abomination gunk in her hair, but everything is... fine. Great, actually. And Amity is smiling, which is awesome, because Luz has never seen her smile at anything like that before.

She could get used to it, honestly.

Amity glances at her and smiles again, softer, slower. "You're making your idea face."

Luz blinks, resists the urge to reach up and feel exactly what face she's making. "Oh, am I? I have an idea face? That's pretty cool, actually. Or is it? Because then everyone knows what I'm thinking. Nah, still cool. I have an idea face. Yeah. I'm intimidating and cool. A bad boy, if you will."

She laughs. (Luz's heart does the funny little jumping thing again. She wonders, distantly, if it shows.) "The literal walking definition of a bad boy, you goof."

"Baddest boy in the Boiling Isles. Lesser witches cower before my star power."

Amity laughs again. She has a really nice laugh (like, wow), and it's still making something in her chest feel funny. "Luz the Bad Boy," she says, somewhat giddily.

"Azura the Good Witch and her edgy cousin." She squeezes Amity's hand, swinging their interlaced fingers between them. It's not often they get moments together like this, and she's starting to understand now what it is that's making her heart race and her breathing feel funny, and she thinks, a little distantly, that spending time alone with Amity is going to be - weird now, and - "I'd read that book."

"Please don't tell me the next thing we do is write it."

"Oh, we?" Luz turns to grin at her. "There's a we now?"

And Amity - Amity flushes.

"Yes - I, um - a - a we, sure, I don't - I dunno, uh - we as - as in - um -" She bites the inside of her cheek, glancing away, and Luz's heart does the jumping thing again.

"Wow, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she mumbles, grip loosening on her hand, and she chews on her lip and squeezes it tighter. It probably isn't the best move, but Amity... Amity seems to respond well to it - she squeezes her hand back, and when they round a corner and officially make it out of the main town, Luz notices that they're walking in sync. The realisation makes her smile.

"Amity," she begins, and Amity jumps.

"Hm?"

"Are you gonna go back to your parents tonight? I - I don't think that's really safe. You - you could - uh, you could stay with us, if you want. Just until school tomorrow. King won't sleep on your clothes if I tell him not to, I swear."

She smiles at her over the space between them - the same soft, slow smile that made Luz's heart do the Thing again earlier. "I - thanks for the offer, but I'll probably go to Skara's. She's used to it. Me coming over after an incident, I mean."

"Stuff like that's happened before?" Luz whispers, and she meant it to sound casual, not... tense. "I'm - I'm really sorry, Amity. I'm sorry for pushing you earlier."

Amity shrugs. "You didn't know. It's not like I go around telling people. And it's not - it's not a big deal, anyway."

"Amity, that necklace -"

"Luz," she mumbles, not unkindly. "It's not a big deal. I can handle it. I've got Edric and Emira."

"And your father?"

She shrugs again, slower this time. "He doesn't care. Mom could dangle us over the edge of a cliff and he'd be more concerned with the soil density than, you know, his children."

Luz can't think of anything to say except "I'm sorry." She reaches out with her free hand, touches Amity's shoulder, and she gives her a long, warm look. And they fall silent.

And Amity's head falls gently onto her shoulder.

--

The silence lasts for the majority of the walk home, right up until they make it into the woods, and then Amity lifts her head from Luz's shoulder and murmurs, "It's really pretty out here at night, isn't it?"

Looking over at her and saying yeah, it is would be the obvious and cliché thing to do, and also Amity would notice and probably laugh at her, so Luz stares determinedly again at the sky for the second time tonight and chokes out, "Yup. Really pretty. Love living out here. Especially at night."

Amity giggles, and it's the most undignified and adorable sound she's ever heard come out of her mouth. "You're a dork."

"Biggest dork on the Boiling Isles. Baddest boy around. My list of qualifications just keeps on growing."

She laughs again. And Luz realises that ever since they escaped the warehouse, she's been... relaxed. Not happy, because dealing with a mother like that probably couldn't leave her feeling particularly cheerful, but... open. Softer, warmer. And she thinks it's because of the absence of the necklace.

They stop not far from the Owl House, in the shelter of a large tree she knows, logically, isn't oak, but looks too close to be anything but. Amity's head falls back onto her shoulder again. She makes a soft, contented noise (and the Thing happens again, and she thinks, wow), and mumbles, "You're thinking about the necklace, aren't you?"

"I didn't say anything. That was all you. But yes, I am curious. D'you - d'you want to talk about it?"

A long, almost languid shrug. She reminds Luz of a cat sometimes. "She used it to talk to me. And, uh - and keep me in line, I guess. Threaten me where no-one else could hear it. Where Dad couldn't stop it. Yeah, he did try to stop it sometimes. Mostly because he seems to draw the line at physical injury he can't explain to the authorities." The corners of her mouth twitch up, and Luz has to shake herself.

"That's awful," she breathes, feeling small. "That's horrible, Amity, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Amity detaches herself from Luz's side, and her hair is messy and sticking to the side of her face and when she steps away and turns to face her she keeps a hold of her hand. "Come on, I'll walk you to the door."

Luz smiles at her.

--

Amity lets go of her hand when they get to the porch. (Luz tries not to visibly frown at the loss of her presence.) She makes it all the way to the door, Amity trailing behind her with an odd, uncertain expression, and then something shifts a little within her ribcage and she spins around and flings herself into her arms, and Amity yelps and stumbles back a little, and then she loops her arms around her shoulders and hugs her back.

Luz likes hugging Amity.

It's such a simple thought, and it makes her feel so strangely delighted. They fit perfectly between each other's arms, and in the half-dark, lit only by the dim, guttering light from the lamps inside the house itself, and she has the feeling that the only reason Hooty isn't directly behind them making some snide comment is because Lilith is inside and entertaining him, thank G0d.

Something like five minutes pass - I've been hugging Amity for five whole minutes, oh my gosh - and then she hears, somewhere to her left, "Uh, Luz?"

"Hm?"

"This is nice."

She settles her head on Amity's shoulder. "It is."

"I think I have to let go now."

"Nooo..." She buries her head in Luz's hoodie, just gently enough to make her heart do the Thing again, and sighs, and Luz laughs.

"You okay there?"

"Don't get a lot of hugs."

"Mm. You can still stay with us tonight if you want." ('Don't get a lot of hugs.')

Amity shakes her head. "I'm good. Thank you, though."

"Thank you for saving my life today. You were awesome. You are awesome. I can't imagine doing anything like that."

"Luz," she says, warmly, softly, "You do it all the time."

And with that, she steps back, lets go of her entirely, and practically skips into the night, leaving Luz to stare after her and wonder why she left so fast, and spend the rest of the night agonising over this weird, warm feeling buzzing away in her chest.

[internalsealpanic]

The Dog and Duck

summary: Dick Grayson is a terrible flirt (in more ways than one).

a/n: Special thanks to @jd-loves-everyone, @littleredwing89, @glorified-red, and @multifandomgirl-us for proofreading! This fic is based on a headcanon by @pricetagofficial (I think) that Dick Grayson is actually terrible at flirting which is just the cutest thing.

warnings: Potential cringe and terrible flirting advice

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

The sound of voices and clinking of glasses mingle around you like a bustling symphony: discordant, rhythmic, clashing but endlessly vibrant. The scent of alcohol hung thick in the air, enough to taste and intoxicate. The amount of people in such a small space made something under your skin hum, whether it was simply an irritable Yasiri or the buzzing energy stored in your bones or maybe even a genuine discomfort, you weren’t entirely sure.

You sip lightly at the scotch in your glass, letting it burn through your throat, but it wasn’t enough to make the itch in it go away completely. 

 You watch Dick’s eyes intently as they slide past you, just over your shoulder. His sentences coalesce clumsily, syllables squishing and clipping at odd ends as his plush bottom lip catches between his teeth. His eyes are glossy with interest even in the dim lights of the pub. His pupils are blown and dark. You fight everything in you to stamp down the urge to huff or roll your eyes. Not that he would have noticed. You’re pretty sure you could stab someone in the eye and Dick wouldn’t even blink, not when he is so enraptured by whatever the hell is behind you. You feel a gross sticky sort of jealousy pool in the pit of your stomach.  You swallow it down not really knowing of any other way to deal with it. 

 You arch a brow, the tips of your nails tapping loudly against the lacquered wood of the table as Dick once again stumbles absentmindedly over his story about Wally West being living proof of the need for warning labels (for people). You click your teeth irritably while Yasiri’s tail rattles against your collarbone before you take another sip, eyes following his only for them to land on a vivacious redhead at the bar. The irritation bubbling in your veins dwindles into mild amusement. Your best friend is a hilariously predictable moron. 

 “She is either a suspect or you’re being a creep.” You tease, the cruel curve of your lips barely obscured by the glass pressed against them. The mockery in your eyes shining amber like the drink in your glass. Dick’s cheeks flush as the playful lilt in your voice lances through the fog in his mind. He looks at you, dopey and red-cheeked as if he didn’t know what you were talking about. You roll your eyes, nostrils flaring letting out a breath caught between a huff and a laugh. “Stalker.” You hiss, trying to smother the warmth in your voice with sheer, unadulterated pettiness. 

 Dick levels you a look, cutting and vicious if he wasn’t flushed. “Am not.” He whines halfheartedly, eyes flicking once again to the woman at the bar. Some part of you is sure you really ought to be mad at him. After all, you haven’t seen each other for almost half a year. This is thanks in part to work and in part to work getting royally fucked up. Thankfully, not because of Gotham’s resident furry and his new little bird boy. Really, you should be furious at being sidelined considering this outing was his idea but here you were smirking into your malt whiskey, tickled. 

 “Then stop staring.” You challenge, unfolding and relaxing into the moldy cushioning of the bar. Dick glares at you, the pout on his lips obscured by his hand as he rests his chin on his palm but you know it’s there. You’ve memorized the plains of his face and how they shaped themselves, a product of spending far too much time staring at the details.  Hey, if he was gonna third wheel you the least you could do was tease him about it. “Or do you want me to wingman for you~”

 “HELL NO”

 You can’t stop the cackle that spills from your lips. “Why not?!”

 “I’m not letting you cockblock me. AGAIN.”

 “That was one tiiime, Joystick.”

 “Once was enough!" 

 "’Fiiiine but to be fair,  you still ended up dating her, didn’t you?” You defended weakly, running your fingers through your hair, jostling the already wind whipped strands. Dick was red-faced. The liquor was definitely working through his system. The color in his cheeks was lively and cute, making him look boyish despite how much he’d grown. You had, in fact, cockblocked him due to an extreme bout of jealousy, childishness, and hormones. Back then you hadn’t yet learned the art of burying your feelings 6 feet under.

 “Fine, fine, fine. Just shoot your shot, Dickie bird.” This does not appease him. He, in fact, crosses his arms over his chest. You set your glass down and raise your brow. “If you fail, I’ll buy you a round.” You add placatingly. Dick’s eyes slide over your shoulder, the lump in his throat bobbing.“Make that two.” 

 Your eyes shine, cat-like the dim lighting of the lamp overhead. You smile at him all cocksure, placing your chin on your intertwined fingers.“Deal.”

 Dick gives you a withering look as he pushes off the table. You take a sip of your daiquiri as he moves through the crowd, gracefully slicing through the sea of bodies. No, maybe they were parting just for him. Dick does have that air about him. A pull that made it so painfully obvious that he was so much more. Dick also had this way of talking that made you unsure of whether you’re being flirted with or if it’s just the way he talks to people. Either way, he had this way of making you feel special and you had no doubt he would sweep this one off her feet.  

 The redhead at the bar tipped her head finally sensing his gaze on her and as per your expectation, she seemed to reciprocate the interest. Not that you can blame her. Dick was a 10 on his worst day. Now that you thought about it, you’ve never actually seen Dick flirt. You’ve seen him banter but flirt? You can’t seem to think of an instance of it. This’ll be fun. 

 You watch him closely and your brows climb higher than you thought they could. Something was off, something very un-Dick-like. There’s an unsteadiness in his step that makes your stomach sink. Dick wouldn’t. Even Dick wasn’t stupid enough to blow his shot just to get a few shots, would he?

 And then it happened.

 “Did it hurt when you hit your face?” Dick asks, winking stiffly. A ripple of pain lances through you followed by an unbearable wave of second-hand embarrassment. “Excuse me?!” Her face morphs into something terrifying before Dick’s brain can catch up. You watch in mute horror as Dick’s face slowly matches the sinking feeling in your gut as embarrassment suffused his entire body. 

 “Wait, shit. I- I meant- Shit. I didn’t mean to say you look like you banged your face. I mean, of course, you don’t-” You watch in fascination as Dick stumbles through apology after apology after apology. Until finally, he gives up. “Actually, I’ll just leave.” Dick shambles gracelessly back to your table while your brain tries to process what just happened. 

 You wheeze against the table, pounding your fist against the table. “Dickie, yanno you did have a shot before you opened your mouth, right?” Your hand is clamped over your mouth trying to stop the shrill cackle bubbling in your throat. 

 “Y/n...” 

 “Jeez, Dicktopus, was gin really worth getting blue balled?”

 “You better have your money,” he sneers, cutting you a scathing look as he slides into the booth. 

 “I-” The smug look on your face vanishes when you reach into your wallet. “If I apologize for you, will you cut me some slack?” you try, brandishing your nearly empty wallet. 

 “I’ll buy you a shot if she doesn’t tell you to fuck off.”

 “Hmm, if I get her number for you, will you get me two?”

 “Sure, why not?” Dick whines petulantly. His head sinks into his arms desperately trying very hard  to implode. You cough into your sleeve trying not to laugh and hope he doesn’t notice. A blush creeps up the tanned skin of his neck. He tries to hide it by placing his hand on his neck but the color’s already made its way to his ears. Feeling a little bad for him, you squeeze Dick’s shoulder once, then twice, then twice once more. You swing your legs dramatically out of the booth. You hear Dick groan and you chuckle. 

 You flick your eyes to him one last time before moving forward. You roll your shoulders, realigning your form into something more suave and less goofy. The rhythm of your feet goes from a clumsy shuffle to a confident saunter. The woman looks at you skeptically, her lashes fluttering mockingly. You move, easy and casual. With a playful grin, you apologize and make up some bullshit excuse about Dick being extremely shy. She eases. You continue on your little sales pitch as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  You draw a laugh out of her. You can hear her heart pick up. She smiles at you telling you that you and your shy friend are fine. You chuckle and promise to tell your long-suffering friend that, tilting your chin towards Dick who is still trying to melt into the table. She scribbles her number onto a napkin and hands it to you with a flirtatious wink. You smile lopsided, cute and sheepish, as you wave her goodbye.

 Dick stares at you with slack-jawed awe. This time you feel genuinely bashful but you shrug it away with a sharklike grin spreading across your face.

“Pay up, pretty bird,” you say slamming the number on the table, teeth gleaming in the low light of the room. The petty satisfaction oozing off of you is almost palpable. Dick looks up at you, his pretty mouth twisting.  “What are you? Seven?”

 “If by seven you mean lucky, then yeah,” you sneer, nudging your empty shot glass against Dick’s shoulder. “Pay up, Dickenson~” you sing. Dick’s face twists even more and he waves you off, pushing off the table.

 “Let’s just go,” Dick bites out, cheeks burning. You bite your lips trying to resist the urge to tease him more but it’s hard. Not when he’s all pouty and cute.  

 “I mean you did just wine and dine me,” you laugh musically. You promised yourself you would stop teasing him but you never said you would stop making jokes. There’s a complicated expression on Dick’s face before it shifts back to exasperation. 

 “You. Are. Awful.”

 You shake your head not even denying it as you follow him out of the old Dog and Duck into the fresh Bludhaven air. 

“How are you good at this?” Dick whines into one of your throw pillows. The poorly counterfeit superman one he had gotten you a few years ago from a trip to the Philippines. He's pouting at you like a kid. To be fair, you did laugh at him in the club (and the whole way back to your safehouse which was not a short walk).

 You chuckle, tapping a cool can of beer against his forehead.“Sadly some of us need to work at being charming, Dimples McGee.” He accepts the can, scowling at you. Your grin doesn’t waver which only serves to deepen his scowl. It was an irritating feedback loop. Well, irritating for Dick. You’re having the time of your life. You settle on the other side of the couch rolling your beer can in your hand. “ Plus, you’ve seen pops talk right? The man sweet talks like his life depends on it.” 

 “Right, I’ll remember to ask him for flirting advice next time he tries to kill me,” Dick says, rolling his eyes at you. You perk up at the awful idea before you snicker and press a hand to your lips in a barely held back smile. It’s Dick’s turn to perk up. His blue eyes shine with interest at your expression like he’s trying to capture it. You turn to him with a serious expression. “Please, please ask him that. I will pay you to record his reaction. Please. Please. Dickle, please,” you beg, moving on your knees to his side, your hands clasped in prayer.  Dick shifts sticking his tongue out at you childishly. 

 “Noooooo!”

 “Pleeeeeeaaaaaseee”

 “No!”

 With an ‘oof’, you plop yourself between Dick’s legs, your chest against his. You stare up at him with eyes mimicking the wide-eyed innocent look he uses on you when he asks for a favor. Dick gives you a sorry look asking you to please drop it. You don’t. You double down trying to look as cute as possible. 

 Dick looks down at you, glaring then grimacing then smiling. “Ok, fine,” he huffs stiffly, wrapping his arms around you. You snuggle up against him, smug in your victory.  Your nose brushes against Dick’s pulse which makes his breath hitch. He squirms under you but you just find yourself laughing. “You. Are. Evil. ”

 “I promise to make your Granny’s goulash,” you say in a halfhearted attempt to appease him. Dick’s face softens  “Now, that’s just bribery.”

 “You’re gonna be a cop here in Bludhaven. You gotta learn how to take bribes.”

 His brows crease as you shake your head. Dick huffs, planting his chin against the crown of your head before pressing his lips to your hair. You feel one of his arms pulling you closer, his hand threading through the tangle of your hair. You smile against his skin, breath tickling him which just makes him squirm. He’s breathless under your touch and you don’t even know it. You two sit basking in the close proximity and the soft intimacy you two shared. Your limbs tangle and twine around each other carelessly. 

 Out of context, you two could have been lovers. 

 You sigh, feeling a bit drowsy from the ‘tussle’. You blink, mind reaching for something. “Wait…. Brucie flirts like his life depends on it too! What’s your excuse?” you grin, jabbing a finger into his chest. Dick scowls at you, clearly flustered again. He stammers, babbling out answers. “Hey, I- I could probably do it...” Dick mutters, finally finding a semblance of coherence. 

  “After that performance?” You challenge, sitting up, eyebrow raised and arms crossed. A sharp laugh spills from your lips. It’s louder than you intended, your entire chest moving along with every exhalation of air. 

 Dick looks at you like a kicked puppy which has you roaring with laughter. “You don’t have to laugh that hard”

 “Admit it, Grayson, you are an actual bonafide dork”

 “I’ll bonafide you,” he growls and you’re bent into the couch cushions, clutching your stomach. Dick looks like your house plant like he’s about to disintegrate. You sit up again and cross your legs. Your lungs expand as you draw in another calming breath before you give him a softer, lopsided smile, placing a hand on his knee and shaking him gently. “Come on, practice on me I’m probably one of the few people you don’t have a stick up your ass around.” Dick, not getting up, puts his hands in his face looking positively mortified by the idea. You make a little affronted noise in the back of your throat and thanks to whatever god is up there that you don’t seem to know how much he doesn’t wanna fuck up flirting with you.   

 “I don’t know how to!” The cry is muffled but the mortification still bleeds through. The admission startles something out of you. “Holy shit, Nightwing can’t flirt his way out of a paper bag. Oh my god, this is great!” you cackle, falling into the cushions. 

 “I’m trying damn it!”

 “Ok. Ok. Ok.” You breathe. You’re still clutching your still aching stomach. You wish you recorded that confession.  “Ok. Phew. Ok, I need a minute,” you say folding over into the cushions again, another bubble of laughter rising in your throat. This is the best ab workout you’ve had in months. 

 “Take your time,” Dick deadpans, rolling his eyes, color rising in his tanned cheeks. 

 “Ooook, I think I’m good. First, we need to work on your wink.”

 “The hell is wrong with my wink?” A wry smile tugs at the corner of your lips. You make vague hand gestures, hoping somehow you could physically pluck the correct words from the air.  “Just try winking, Ric.” Dick raises his brow but gives in. He winks at you in his usual devilishly charming way. You shake your head. “Wink at me like you’re trying to get my number.”

He stiffens and gives you the most artificial wink you’ve seen outside of a bad 50s flick. You drag your hand over your face. “How come you can wink so naturally while fighting and look like you work at in car sales when you flirt”

 Dick tries again. He ends up closing both his eyes and scrunching his nose- looking like a disgruntled puppy. You squeal and Dick’s eyes fly open. Your mouth works to flatten itself but your mind is still picturing the expression. “What?” he growls. You wave him off. “Sorry. Sorry. Just- just try again. Please.” 

 Dick gives you another stiff wink and you’re surprised to find yourself cringing at your best friend for the first time in your life. You drag your hand over your face. “You look like you’re trying to ask me to prom.”

 “You’ve never even been to a prom!”

 “Who do you think scares off Joey’s dates? Pops?” you snort picking up your beer can and taking a sip.  “Did you miss the absentee father part?”

 You both silently agree to move on. 

 “How the flying fuck did you date both Babs and Kory with your atrocious flirting skills?”

 “I have good pick up lines.”

 “Uh, sure, buddy.”

 “It worked on both of them!”

 “Well, hit me.”

 “Call me Fred Flintstone,”  you wait patiently, “cause I’ll make your bedrock.” Another artificial wink. 

 You blink at him, mind still trying to catch up. “Dick you are the epitome of ‘you’re lucky you’re cute’,” you groan, palm flat against your forehead. 

 “I’m not cute! I’m handsome!” Dick protests, mouth twisting into a pout. A shrill squeal is dying in the back of your throat as you draw a breath. You pinch his cheeks, “you pouting just furthers my point.”

 “Are you just trying to destroy my confidence?” Dick whines, lightly shoving you away. 

 “Oh no, the girl back at the club did that. I am just dancing on your grave.”

 “Give me another wink.”

 Dick fails at winking, again. You cringe openly at him and he scowls at you halfheartedly, more defeated than angry. Dick’s used to being good at things, you supposed. You tap your finger against your chin, trying to unspool a thought and rethread it into words. “Ok, figured out one of your problems.”

“Aside from my terminal dorkiness?”

 “You’re too nervous-”

 “You would be too,” Dick cuts in. 

You snicker, teeth bared in a mocking grin. ”Did you miss the part where I got her number?” Dick refuses to answer. You sigh but you can’t keep the smile off your face. “Let’s start with body language because for a guy with so much muscle control you are shit at this.”

 “You’re just gonna keep being mean,” he moans. 

 “I’ll stop being mean when you sweep me off my feet,” you jab. 

 “Ok, fine, maestro. What do you need me to do?”

  “You’ve got to lean into me and smile coyly,” you say vaguely.  Dick leans in close, your noses touching, his lips ghosting over yours. You can feel his breath hot against your lips. It sends bolts of electricity careening through your nerves. Your brain takes its sweet time catching up, giving your body ample time to soak up the proximity of the almost kiss. You gasp then reign yourself in. “Dickle, that’s- that’s a teensy bit too close,” you laugh awkwardly, hands playfully shoving at his chest. 

 Dick shakes out of his haze. “You said to lean in!” he says leaning into your space again. “Yeah, I did but I never said lean in close enough to eat my face. I can smell the gin in your breath,” you snort airly, pushing at his chest again. 

 Dick sits back, embarrassment creeping into his features. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth as if he’s thinking carefully about his next few words. “I’m just-” Dick puts his head in his hands. “Like you said, I’m too nervous.” 

 You raise a brow. The sound that comes out of you is too sharp and disbelieving to be a laugh. “Pfffft, it’s just me, you dork.”

 That’s the problem, Dick thinks. It’s you. The exasperation bleeds into his features. Dick fidgets, shifting and shaking in his seat like a wet chihuahua. Don’t you know how much he wants to get this right for you?. 

 “Stop twitching! You look like you’re having a seizure.”

 “I’m nervous!!” he says. “Don’t you ever get nervous about a person you like?”

 You side eye him. “I do,” you admit, rubbing your thumb over your tattoo out of habit. Dick’s eyes widen, then narrow. You see the word ‘who’ forming on his lips but his train of thought is cut off by the sound of Yasiri’s tail rattling against your skin as she emerges. Your poor danger noodle is likely frustrated with the lack of progress. You quietly thank her by scratching her chin.  “Whatever made this world just decided that you had to have at least one very obvious flaw,” you say, insincerely patting him on the back.

 “You're enjoying this.”

 “Way more than you think,” you say grinning at him. Dick simply grimaces at you. “You’re not helping me.”

 “Were you really expecting me to help?” You shrug. “Why would I do that?”

 “I’d help you!”

 You level him with a flat look. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d laugh just as hard as I did.” Dick opens his mouth then closes it. He opens it again. You raise your brow at him. “ I- ok yeah. No, I would laugh harder,” he says, giving you a cheeky, lopsided smile. Vindication and something warmer tug your features into a smile.

 “Just… relax and be yourself,” you mock sagely. Dick rests his head on yours. “ I hate you,” he groans, pressing his shoulder into yours. 

  “You’re just thinking about it too much,” you say, pressing back, “just do what’s natural. The more you over try the funnier it is.”

 “Goes back to my problem of being nervous,” he huffs into your hair. You boop his nose. “Goes back to my point about you overthinking things.”

 “I’m not!”

 “Fine.”

 “Fine?”

 “Fine,” you say, reaching back and presenting your danger noodle in your palm, "practice on Yazzy.”

 “You’re not serious?”

 You hold up the clearly unamused snake eye level with Dick. “Go on." Dick gives you a withering look. He exasperates, then looks deep into Yasiri’s black eyes. He opens his mouth and Yasiri flicks her tongue at him. The next few things happen in quick succession. Dick’s body relaxes. His face breaks into a smile that makes your heart flutter. He lets out a bubble of laughter that has you jumping and reaching for your own breath. "I can't!" he gasps. You both dissolve into laughter. 

 “Suit yourself - but prepare to have blue balls," you grin, punching his shoulder, "at least, they'll match your new suit!" you cackle. Dick flushes red.“I - I - you are legally the worst and most unhelpful human being in modern history!”

 Your cackle rises higher even as Dick shoves a pillow in your face. You push it away and wipe the tears away from your eyes. “Just practice on me, go on,” you say, reaching out, “once more." He frowns at you. "Please?”

 Dick closes his eyes. His movements become leisurely the way you've seen him when he's about to do a routine on the trapeze. “Do you have a map?” he says, pushing a strand of hair out of your eyes. The oxygen in your lungs evaporates. Heat spreads from the line of skin Dick’s finger grazed to the rest of your body. You swallow trying not to collapse under the weight of his gaze. You realize he's expecting an answer. "No, why?” you stammer out stupidly. 

  “Because I keep getting lost in your eyes,” he says, eyes glittering in the dim lights of your apartment. Some part of your brain short circuits, fizzing out in sparks and fire, then the rest of your brain follows. The entire structure goes out in a puff of smoke. You're completely frozen. Dick watches you with a furrowed brow, bottom lip caught between your teeth. Apprehension rolls off of him in waves and you can feel your lungs work again. "Exactly! Exactly that!" You squeal in delight. Dick smiles relieved. "I knew you could do it, you magnificent dork. I could kiss you right now!" you say squishing his cheeks and pressing your forehead against his. Dick’s breath catches. There's a hopeful look in his eyes. "Would you?" 

 Something clogs your throat as you pull away. You're pretty sure it's your heart. You force the nervous laughter in your throat into something else. "Need practice with that too, Dickens?" 

 "Dunno," he hedges, eyes holding yours, "you tell me." His hand cups the side of your face. You ease into his touch like a marshmallow dissolving into hot cocoa. "Can I?" he whispers, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. He's being careful with you you realize. Your eyes flutter closed. You can feel your nerves disentangling. They cross and recross so that you're fully aware of your lips. The gap between the two of you is small but it feels so impossibly big. Anticipation, anxiety, and excitement all thicken the spaces between you. You want him. You want this. Is it so wrong? 

 "Yes."

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