#this seems like a long gif set but like. there is so much more

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

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summary | it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

author's note | in my heart, it's still flores. but canonically its de leon. i had the opportunity to watch the movie and hot take, it was...alright. but pedro's character made me just as feral as i expected. so here's this absolute monster for no reason other than, well, me ovulating.

content warning | 18+ mdni, the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

word count — 11k (sorry lmfao)

“Lucien?” You grumble around the chewy granola bar you’ve snatched from the craft table, “Lucien De Leon?”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

-

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something. 

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit. 

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously. 

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise. 

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly. 

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess. 

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman. 

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident? 

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity. 

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today—lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn’t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

-

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was…a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

“You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

-

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?” 

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role. 

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

 “Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat. 

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings. 

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action. 

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave? 

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him. 

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” 

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll. 

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on. 

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation. 

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James’ face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue. 

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along. 

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t. 

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree. 

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose. 

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

“Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

 And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires. 

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context. 

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?” 

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

-

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

OKAY HELLO UH. SAVANACLAW DREAM UPDATE SPOILERS ?!?!!2!!2!2

THE. WAY BOTH JACK AND RUGGIE ADMIRE LEONA SO MYCH AND FEATURE HIM IN THEIR DREAMS 😭😭😭😭 Jack making Leona basically nOT HAVE DEPRESSION QUFBWKANDK 😭😭 and making him a fair player... Jack my boy... your dream is lovely but you made him do stuff hED NEVER DO 😭😭

AND RUGGIE. THE FACT HE AND LEONA NEVER MET IN THIS DREAM *BUT* THE AMAZING DRESM SCHOOL HE ATTENDS WAS SKGNKENAKjfkenalNIfjeksksn MADE/PROPOSED TO BE MADE (?) BY LEONA 😭😭😭 AND HE SAYS THAT PRINCE LEONA IS MORE POPULAR THAN FALENA AMONGST TYE YOUTH AJFNWKNudnekskalakdknsk tHEY WANT ME DEAD. D E A D.

and then ... ruggie says smth about him choosing the king he'll follow and LATER WHEN REFERRING TO LEONA HE SAYS SMTH TO JACK LIKE. "LET'S GO WAKE UP OUR KING" I'm fuckifnwjzbslakznaklNdkdkals akehueuqjakansksk THEY ADORE HIM SO MUCH. I CAN'T DO THIS.

So this means we'll get a full chapter ONLY for Leona's dream... I don't think we'll see him crying like Jack and Ruggie but GOD IF WE DO SEE THAT I'LL BE FOUND DEAD- i just knowwww that whichever way they go w it (the "he already knows it's a dream theory" or SMTH else), there WILL BE drama and I *WILL* die internally... my Leona plushies will pay the price (they will be hugged very tightly)

[Referencing the book 7 part 11 update!]

Me, coping: Oh, the book 7 Savanaclaw update is split into two parts? That means the first part must be dedicated to Jack and Ruggie and the second part must be Leona only. Surely this means I am free from being sniped in the Jack and Ruggie segment. Me, from the future:

. . .

ME EXPERIENCING THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF ALL AT ONCE

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT 💀💀💀 I was kind of expecting some element of respecting their dorm leader to come up (definitely for Jack's), BUT NOT THIS EXTENT OTL

Of the two, Jack's dream was the more obvious one to feature Leona in a very positive light. His admiration for the guy was clear ever since book 2, in which Jack--someone who regularly sucks at expressing his feelings--confessed MULTIPLE TIMES that it was Leona's passionate magift play on TV that inspired Jack to follow in his footsteps. And that's why he was so disappointed to learn that the guy he admired all along was a scumbag that would play dirty to get ahead. The Leona in Jack's dream might be that version that Jack had in his head... The Leona he yearns for the attention and praise of, the Leona he thought was a virtuous leader who values hard work and good sportsmanship, the kind of person who gives speeches to inspire his team and helps people up by the hand when they fall. Another reading could be that this is the Leona Jack believes is still possible if he works toward it, because this dream seems to be set a YEAR after their loss to Diasomnia. And this is Leona at his best and most dangerous because he's throwing literally everything he has into this training, so he'll probably do the same in combat; Yuu and co. have to develop a whole strategy in advance to isolate Jack because they KNOW they're going to get blasted by dream!Leona if they give any inkling of trying to wake the dreamer up. JACK LITERALLY DREAMED ABOUT LEONA THRIVING, BEING HIS BEST SELF... Jack, the self-proclaimed LONE WOLF, who claims he doesn't like GROUP ACTIVITIES/SPORTS, longs to be part of the pack that LEONA leads... But he won't follow just anyone, Jack has standards AND LEONA APPARENTLY MEETS ALL OF THEM (or, in Jack's eyes, Leona can meet those standards).

THEN WHEN JACK WAKES UP... Hoo, boy... The way he was smiling but then broke down into shouts and sobs... That's literally got to be my favorite kind of emotional distress (part of why I loved Idia's breakdown when he was introducing his newly built little brother to the Styx researchers). You can hear how betrayed he feels in his voice, all the raw emotion that didn't come through as strongly in book 2. ASKHLBLBIASDIVDAI SORRY TO DUNK ON BOOK 2 AGAIN BUT IT'S TRUE. Jack's feelings of betrayal... They were so blunted there, it felt like he was reacting to a minor setback (he seems to easily shrug off being called a traitor by the guy he supposedly admires) rather than genuinely being hurt. I'm glad that the emotional weight that wasn't addressed then is finally getting the spotlight it deserves now.

Then Ruggie's dream???? 😭 That one caught me SO off-guard. The way it opens with Yuu and co. suspecting it's Leona's dream because they arrived in Sunrise City, one of the few industrialized places in Sunset Savanna... The lore review of how it's difficult to get the people to get behind developing the land due to how it would negatively impact the nature they want to live in harmony with (plus the brand-new reveal that these disagreements can become VIOLENT)... and Idia realizing that this, THIS is why Leona actually decided to take an internship at an energy and mining lab back home--because Leona realized he cannot change the country on his own, no matter how often he butts heads with his brother. He needs even more knowledge and a team to work with him. An NPC donut vendor lady randomly drops it on us that it's thanks the PRINCE LEONA that Ivorycliff Academy was able to be established. Not only that, but turns out Leona has graduated already and has spent his time after NRC building schools and establishing magift teams for Sunset Savanna (the latter being something Leona expressed interest in, as having a national sport and/or famous sporting teams can enhance his country's soft power). AND HE'S MORE POPULAR AMONG THE YOUTH THAN FALENA IS???????? MR. LEONA I-HATE-DEALING-WITH-KIDS KINGSCHOLAR IS POPULAR WITH... THE KIDS????? ? ?? ?? ?? ? ?? ?????? ?? ? 💀 The guy who claims to only help the underclassmen because they'd otherwise be an inconvenience to him... is admired by the same underclassmen... and now that has translated over to Ruggie's dream as the youth of Sunset Savanna loving him... OTL YOU'RE KIDDING ME RIGHT/????? ? ??? ? ??v????? ? ? ????

The most bewildering detail to me about Ruggie's dream is that he and Leona haven't met at all; Ruggie acts pretty clueless when asked about it and Leona graduated from a completely different school than him (NRC). There's no way they could have met, yet the dream still deemed that Leona was an important enough aspect of Ruggie's life that he was incorporated into it... and, unlike in real life, Leona now has the influence to make these systematic changes not just for bettering Ruggie's life, but the lives of everyone in Sunset Savanna...

UUUURURUGUUGHHGHHHHHHHGHGHHHHHHH H H HH H H HHHHHHH H H H HH H H AND THEN WWHEN RUGGIE FINALLY WAKES UP AND AND ANADNANDANDANASHADSNADSNADSNAN NDDDSDD SD SM ADSB,M ADSDBSM DDD HE CALLS HE WON'T FOLLOW A "FAKE KING", HE WANTS TO CHOSOE THE KING HE FOLLOWS 😭😭😭 RUGGIE TELLS JACK THEY SHOULD GO AND WAKE UP "OUR KING"... Ruggie, who constantly complains about how easy rich people have it and how hard Leona makes him work for his coin, is standing right here and HE'S CHOOSING LEONA.

This is all so crazy to think about because back in book 6 (citing the moment that broke me Yet Again, lmao) Leona implied that while he has hope in others (like Jamil), HE DOESN'T HAVE THE SAME HOPE FOR HIMSELF. But there's literally his whole dorm who trust him to lead them and their futures as professional athletes 😭 Jack who believes Leona is capable of being that shining, ideal senpai he dreamed of... Ruggie who believes Leona can and will change not only his life for the better, but also the lives of marginalized beastmen like hyenas, the younger generation, and heck, why not their whole country too... OTL

THIS IS LITERALLY THE WORST POSSIBLE OUTDCOME FOR ME... . . . . ....... . .. . . . .. . / / / / / . . . .. . .. ... . . . ... . . YOU JAVE JACK'S DREAM SUPPLYING THE RELIABLE BIG BRO/ONII-SAN LEONA... THEN RUGIGE'S DREAM SUPPYL inG THE SMAR TDETERMINED PRINCE LEONA ... AND THEN NEXT UPDAT.E.XBBCXL V.CV . . . . . . . . ...... .. .. . . . . OTL ASCTUAL LEOPJNA DFGFAYVAFIVAVIYAIAGIGEIYGEPEIQAGfhgpaebpyrwqeg,hpgqeugqm[gqepg./l.,pjm9hmh4 gephmhurwhbaudavmudfsgnyofegnyoifui

GOD IF EW SEE THAT BITCH CRYi NG gkj eabihlaegbiaegibyegoqetpr13569 87q3tbkhl3o tyb6fOfonfOTFsugfaiugfanyoigFGION qit' S LEOVER FOR MEAMBFFVHAJVFFVEUGFO EOFAENYFEOFHdhmFSLJGADFsmf aLALLL OF HIS PENT IUP FRUSTRATIONS JUST SPILLING OIUT;V .F,DSBFAHLFLFFNODGOVSMHFAV UEGOFEAHMAEGDGSKPFSHIM THE RAGE AT MALLEUS DFN BAFVKJAFYGLAFGIDGIDGIODGSOIDN FOR FOTRICNG THIS LIE UPON HIMFDS NFASVAEFBLADFIOBY AGIOQEGONYFWmpdphGAMGobf IT'D BE SO SEXSYFDH HOT IF HE KNEW IT WAS A DREAM ALL ALONG PELEEEEEASE 🙏 I'M ONT MY HANDS NAD NDD KNEEESLSD DFS,SFHBAFLHAFDLI EO FQEYG VADGNOVSHUPVPUFFmhagyo 4wpeq/pll.,wjph9q80th9umpdbsaihoadnFSuov fsogyFSGUOFSu SNOGYAVUO FSA

.

.

. Ah-HEM!! 😇 Sorry, I don't know what overcame me... I just blacked out and when I came to I don't remember what I was doing or saying for the past several minutes 💖 Now if you'll excuse me, I am filled with an intense desire to enact violence on the nearest lion-shaped object I can get my hands on--

[nickfowlerrr]

let’s not.

pairing: mickey henry x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut. feelings. happy ending. not edited. maybe a little ooc- i haven’t watched monday in a minute and i am currently heavy in my feelings so apologies if he is.

words: 1.7k

notes: just a drabble of another fic idea i can’t commit to fully fleshing out and writing. enjoy 🩵

You hiss as your hips slam against the edge of the table. Hard. Over and over again.

The only thing keeping you from dropping to the ground is his hold on you. His large hands gripping your soft waist so tightly you can feel the bruises no doubt forming already.

You let your head hang as you remain pliant to him, low breathy sighs leaving you in between your soft moans every time he hits that one specific spot.

Oh, this was so not how tonight was supposed to go…but it feels too good to care about that right now.

You’re on that very delicate edge, overwhelmed by the pain and pleasure of the way he completely controls you; the way he touches you, the filthy words and sickly sweet praises he groans in your ear as he pushes you both closer and closer to your ends.

Your walls squeeze his cock as your voice peaks. His hand flexes on your waist as he feels your imminent release.

“That’s it,” he breathes heavily against your skin as he leans further into you, his thrusts hitting harder as he chases his high. “Feels good, doesn’t it. Ah, fuck. Come for me, baby. Come on my cock,” he growls. “Let me feel you.”

You wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer if you’d wanted to as your orgasm hits you hard; your muscles tensing, your hand gripping his arm and your eyes scrunching shut as you feel entirely electric before wave after wave of pleasure rolls over you as you succumb to the feeling. To him.

It takes only a moment to realize your eyes are stinging with tears, but it’s not until you slowly start to come down that you realize why.

More like remember why.

He grunts and moans as he reaches his own peak, coming inside you but making sure to keep his hold on you as he works himself through his release.

God, here you are again. Different night, same fucking story. Over and over again.

You feel like a fucking idiot.

You are a fucking idiot.

He slowly pulls out of you, backs up for a second and then keeping his hand on your waist, he pulls your body back into him, hugging you from behind as you frown at the apparent show of affection.

You push his hand off of you and escape his hold before you can allow yourself sink into it, walking gingerly around the table to bend and grab your sweater off the floor - the unflattering one that you had chosen specifically to avoid ending up in this situation again.

That worked well.

You pull it on as he follows behind you, watching you with an intensity you don't want to notice, brows slightly furrowed and his icy blue eyes set on you.

“What, one and done tonight? You alright, sweetheart?” He asks, making a move closer to you, reaching out before you stop him with your response.

“God, can you just stop with the pet names,” you snap, turning to face him, “please.”

It’s like he doesn’t remember the fifteen minutes of conversation you had before he got your clothes off - easy as ever. You don’t think he means to, but the second you start to show your emotions, the second you start to cry, it’s like he can’t help but to try and comfort you. Unfortunately, his idea of comfort always seems to be this.

And even more unfortunate, you always let it happen.

It’s pathetic.

It helps for the time it lasts and then everything hits all over again.

“This is exactly what I was talking about, Mickey,” you’re exasperated already, “you act like you care and y-you give me hope that this might actually be…something more, but,” you shake your head, “all it is to you is sex.” He doesn't move from where he stands, but he drops his hand that was outstretched to you.

You can’t hold his eye for very long, it’s already hurting too much. You drop your gaze but it’s only for a moment before you force yourself to look back up at him. You have to ask the question you really don’t want to know the answer to…

“Isn’t it?”

It’s two simple words, a very simple question, but as your eyes are stinging, pleading for the truth, you know it’s anything but.

He blinks, opens his mouth to speak as he shakes his head, but ultimately says nothing before he takes a deep breath, looking away from you and down to the floor. He licks his lips, nervous habit, before he frames his hips with his hands.

“Should put pants on,” he mutters before walking away, down the hall to his bedroom.

You stand there in a perpetual limbo, listening as he opens a dresser drawer and riffles through the clothes for a second before you hear the drawer close again. It’s not long after that he emerges from his room, pulling a pair of sweats the rest of the way up his legs.

He comes back to stand before you as you lean lightly on the table, desperate not to fall and embarrass yourself any further. You know what comes next.

The inevitable.

The end.

You know how this started, and you’ve known from the beginning how it would end. You just weren’t expecting to get so caught up in him. You weren’t expecting to feel so much with him. For him

It’s your own fault. You couldn’t blame him if you wanted to. It just hurts so much more knowing it was all so one sided, that he didn’t - doesn’t - feel the same way… when you let yourself think too much about it, it doesn’t seem possible actually. As hard as you tried to ignore your feelings for him when they first started growing, it just wasn’t possible. Whatever it is - was - between you two…how could it have been so one sided? How could he not have noticed what you noticed, felt what you felt?

Maybe he just doesn’t want all that with you. Maybe he’s just not ready? Whatever it is, you know you can’t keep waiting for something to give.

You’ve finally come out with it, told him in no uncertain terms how you feel about him, about this…arrangement? relationship that’s not really a relationship?… and so, now he knows. Having sex with you after you confessed your feelings for him, well that was a choice, but you don’t think you’re all too upset about it actually. If this is it, it’s a memorable goodbye.

You’re conscious of your lack of bottoms as you stare at his clothed legs, waiting for the words you’re sure he’s gathering in his mind. He’ll let you down gently, you bet. He’s sweet, and he hates to see you cry. At least you know he’ll be nice about it.

He takes a cautious step closer to you and reaches out a hand to yours, finding your eye to make sure it’s okay first.

When you don’t object or look away, he gingerly takes your hand in his and pulls you closer to him. You swallow the lump in your throat as a tear spills over the edge and slips down your cheek, turning your head to avoid his concerned gaze.

His hand finds your cheek and he turns your face back to him, taking a step closer into you. His hand holds yours as his other holds your face, his thumb gently swiping away at the tear. He takes another step closer, and you’re so close you could just collapse into him completely, chest to chest.

“No,” he whispers, his voice low, sounding deeper than you’ve ever heard it as he looks into your eyes. Your brows furrow as you hear him.

One simple word. A very simple answer. But it’s really anything but. Because what the hell does that mean?

He sees the question in your eyes before you can voice it.

“It was supposed to be. For both of us, I thought,” he adds, reminding you again of how this whole thing started. Just sex. It was supposed to be just sex. He still holds your cheek as you look down, your free hand reaching up to touch his forearm. “But no. It’s not.”

He makes you meet his eye again as he walks into you, your bottom against the table at your back as he lets go of your hand and slips it under the hem of your sweater. His warm palm gliding up and smoothing over your skin, almost tickling you up and down, feeling you, caressing you gently before once again he settles it on his favorite spot, holding your waist delicately. He leans in, his nose brushing yours.

“It’s so much more than that,” his soft lips brush lightly against yours as you take a shaky breath, your body searching for him without you even realizing it before he kisses you again. Firmer, deeper, and with a fervency you’ve never felt before from him; like he’s been holding himself back all this time. Your free hand reaches up to frame his head, your fingers splaying in his hair as you kiss him back just as desperately. You almost feel like you’re in a dream as you lose yourself to him.

He moves you both as you continue your kissing, you following his lead until he turns you and you find yourself falling onto his couch. You catch your breath as you look up at him before he follows you down, pushing you to relax as he lays down next to you. He maneuvers you both so he’s holding you again. You tilt your head up to him, and he readily accepts the invitation, kissing you softly before speaking against your lips. “You don’t know how relieved I was the second you said something,” he titters, like you were the one who was missing the obvious this entire time. He takes your face softly in his hands.

“You’re so much more than that.”

You smile softly back, trying to hold back a sniffle at the clear sincerity in his eyes that has your nose tingling.

“So, you…” you trail off, hands idly ghosting along his chest as you try to think of how you want to ask him.

“Feel the same way,” he finishes for you in affirmation. “There’s something here. And it’s definitely not just sex. ‘D be crazy to try to ignore that. So let’s not.”

You nod, holding his bright blue gaze, a small smile tugging on both of your lips as you look into each other’s eyes; unconsciously leaning closer to one another.

“Let’s not.”

[lovemomhatepolice]

oscar piastri nswf alphabet (part 2) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Oscar is clear about his boundaries, both for himself and his partner. He absolutely refuses to engage in anything that seems coercive or disrespectful. Anything that involves humiliation, pain without prior discussion or crossing emotional boundaries is off the table. He rejects dishonesty in expressing desires and needs - open communication is crucial to him. Mutual comfort and consent always come first.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Oscar is the type who doesn't choose whether he prefers to get or give. He knows that it flows from both sides and he really likes to stick to it. He's quite experienced, so he tries to catch what you like and loves to see your reaction. He's also a big fan of how you give something of yourself and go on your knees in front of him. He loves it when he can weave his fingers into your hair.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Rather, he is the type who focuses on the sensuality of the whole act. Oscar likes privacy, peace and quiet. He loves how you have sex in a quiet place, away from people and the speed of the whole world. He likes to take his time, likes to focus on what he is doing and give you all the pleasure possible. But he also happens to be more freaky - for example, when you are both after alcohol, then he fires up harder. You're both in a torrent of electrifying glances at each other, an even heavier air than usual. Then his reins let go and he's not so laid back anymore

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Oscar doesn't mind quick numbers, especially when time is tight or the moment is too irresistible to ignore. He loves the thrill and spontaneity of stealing a few hot minutes together, especially if it happens in an unexpected place. However, he doesn't want them to replace more intimate and drawn-out moments, because he values the deeper connection they bring.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) He does not like risks. Oscar is such a balanced and secretive man that he wouldn't allow himself or you to take risks, such as being set upon by other people. He values his privacy too much to allow that to happen. And when it comes to risks, like lack of security, he's also rather against it. You're both young, so he wouldn't want a slip-up to happen to you

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Oscar surprises with his stamina - he may seem laid back and relaxed, but when it comes to intimacy, he has impressive stamina. He can easily go two or three rounds in one session if the mood is right, with enough energy to make it exciting each time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) It's not for him. Oscar is not fascinated by such toys. He's not against it - after all, everything is for people, but he doesn't need it. He thinks the same when it comes to your sex - he doesn't use any “boosters”. However, if you own something, he is not against you showing him…

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Oh, Oscar is a tease one. He loves to tease you, driving you crazy. All day long he can hook you up - whisper something naughty, touch you not-so-subtly on the butt or look at you with that one pattern he reserved especially for you. But rest assured, as unbearable as he is with this, he immediately returns the favor and does it brilliantly

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Maybe in everyday life Oscar is not very talkative and seems secretive, but I beg you. When things move to your bedroom, bathroom, living room, whatever - Oscar is unrecognizable. He turns into a whining mess, constantly whispers sweet nothings (or the less sweet ones) in your ear, and you could swear that's the moment when he's at his loudest

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) I have already mentioned that Oscar is a master of aftercare. But how he loves it when you take the initiative and take care of him! Mostly he prefers to do it, but when you wash him or prepare his favorite food, or god forbid, stroke his hair and back, well he is in paradise

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Hm, Oscar is rather normal sized. He's not very big, but he's definitely not small. For you, it's perfect and in any position you feel it filling you up quite as it should

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Mm, his sex drive is stable. He's not too demanding and doesn't expect sex from you all the time, but he doesn't have little of it either. It all depends on the time he is currently in. If he happens to have more free time and you're next to him, he doesn't take his hands off you. Although he does it respectfully and does not impose himself, you know very well what he wants by those shining eyes of his

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He only falls asleep when he knows the aftercare has been properly done. He tries to fall asleep only when you are already sleeping safely next to him, but he happens to fall asleep before you do. This is especially true when you are the one cuddling him close, rather than him cuddling you. Then he doesn't need much - but he tries

A/N: part one if anyone missed it!!

I encourage you to give requests in the Christmas marathon! click here :) and in my celebration to the first thousand!

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Frayed Edges

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky used to be so in love and so… ignorant of the roles you had to play, which lead to you breaking up. But that didn’t seem to keep you away from each other since you now act as Bucky’s nurse whenever he gets hurt. Based off my mini fic here.

Stitched Together | Pull the Thread | In Stitches | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

He was pissed off. His entire body hurt and he was really pissed off.

Sam dropped him off at your place. Bucky didn't want to deal with anyone else right now. He told Sam he'd call him when he'd need to get picked up.

He limps up to your door, grimacing at every move he makes. The stab wound in his stomach hurt like a bitch and he needed your help ASAP.

He knocks on your door, ringing the doorbell with urgency. The door swings open and your eyes widen, "Holy shit, Bucky!" You pull him inside and he groans in pain.

Bucky takes a quick glance at your table, seeing two sets of plates set out, "You expecting someone?"

You open your mouth to reply and there's a knock at your door, "Shit," you murmur, "Go to my room. Don't make a sound. Hurry!"

He obeys without a word. As soon as your bedroom door closes, you rush to your front door and pull it open, "Hey, dad! Sorry, was in the bathroom."

"It's alright, Bug," your dad kisses your head and enters your home, the bag of takeout in his hand. You take the bag from him and head to the dining table.

"Nice! Sushi!" you feign excitement, silently praying that, for whatever reason, your dad doesn't go to your room to find your ex boyfriend, now mob boss, bleeding on your floor.

"You still like the dragon roll, right?"

"Yup!"

"Good," your dad joins you at the table.

"Um, I have to finish some online training class really quickly and then I'll join you in a bit."

"Yeah, yeah. No problem. Go finish up. I'll be here," your dad waves you away and you rush to your bedroom, locking it behind you.

You head to the conjoining bathroom, as see Bucky cleaning his wound. “Why the fuck did you think coming here was a good idea?!” You whisper angrily at the bleeding mob boss in your home.

“I didn’t know your dad was coming over!” Bucky loudly whispers back in response.

“Exactly! You didn’t know which is why the smart thing to do would’ve been to call or text me to let me know you planned on coming!”

The mob boss scoffs, “Well sorry, I was a little too busy trying to not to die from a stab wound!” He gestures to his punctured skin.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh, “Out of nights you get hurt, it had to be the night my dad and I have dinner together.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “My bad. I’ll make sure to schedule my stabbings at a more convenient time.”

“Idiot,” you mumble as you grab your first aid kit from under the sink, and gesture for him to sit on your toilet.

You work in a quick and efficient silence. Bucky doesn’t make an effort of conversation because he knows you prefer silence when you work.

Despite your annoyance with him, you're still gentle. You apologize for the stinging of neosporin.

He watches you with an observant gaze, a softness in his eyes. A sense of longing fills him in the pit of his stomach...or maybe that's the feeling of the needle you're sewing him up with.

Bucky still can't believe this is where life has lead you both. You help save lives, he, on occasion, ends lives. You're light, while Bucky lives and works in the dark.

He knows coming back into your life was dangerous, but he couldn't help it. He just missed you so much and was desperate to have you back in any capacity. Even if he can't have you the way that he wants.

You finish up, taking off the bloody gloves you wore and throwing them into the trash, “Stay here. Take some meds. I’ll check up on you, but please be quiet. If dad finds you, he’ll kill both of us.” You state with concern and seriousness.

He nods and gives you a shy smile, “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Go enjoy dinner with your pop.”

You stand with a sigh, “Just text me if you need anything. I’ll pretend it’s America or something.”

“Got it. Thanks,” Bucky says as he slowly stands from your toilet after you stitched him up.

He watches as you quickly clean up and exit your room. He listens to the distant sound of you and your dad talking.

Bucky’s shoulder slumps as he lets out a shaky sigh. He wishes it never came to this, sneaking around and pretending like he still didn’t love you.

Because he does. He always will, even if you two are now worlds apart from each other, on opposing sides, never meant to be.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Rumors

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader (no specific characterization, but he wears the eye makeup from The Batman)

Summary: Gotham has shared rumors about you and Bruce for years, and Bruce finally decides to do something about them.

Warnings: none, I think! it's mostly fluff

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Inspired by Rumor by Lee Brice + Battinson's eye makeup

A/N: I just found this and have no idea how long ago I wrote it. I edited it, but hopefully it's decent!

Masterlist | DC/Bruce Wayne Masterlist | Request Info

It’s late; the sun disappeared hours ago, and the pale moonlight took its place. This is when Gotham looks its prettiest, with no bright light to shine on the dark alleys, dirty streets, and criminals lurking around corners. But this is also when Gotham is at its worst. No one knows that more than you and Bruce Wayne.

Everyone in Gotham, you included, has tried to label the relationship you have with the billionaire, but no one seems to be able to decide on a suitable title; you’re too close to be colleagues, not close enough to be partners, friends seems to be too little, but in a relationship feels like a stretch. No matter what the tabloids call the two of you from week to week, you’re constant. Never apart for more than a day or two, Gotham’s prince and his seemingly dearest friend are seen together far more often than you are seen apart.

Your eyes burn as you force them to stay open, clicking the mouse to read another article in the Journal of the American Medical Association. You’re not a doctor and never wanted to be, but it seems to be the only thing able to hold your attention and keep you awake. Somewhere above you, in Wayne Manor, a grandfather clock rings, signaling the beginning of the witching hour. The police scanners have been quiet for several minutes, and the walkie-talkie beside your cell phone is silent. Your head turns toward the garage entrance as you stop scrolling through the abstract for an article about obstructive sleep apnea. Your attention is captured by the familiar sound of the Batmobile rumbling in the night. The engine idles for a moment before silence reclaims the cave, the headlights dimming and allowing the peaceful darkness to overtake the night again.

“Quiet night?” you ask quietly, your voice carrying to not disturb the rare peacefulness surrounding you.

“Yeah,” the gruff voice of Batman responds.

He lifts his tired arms to remove his cowl, sets it on the desk, and flits his eyes across the computer screen before they land on you. Baby blues scan up and down your frame before finding your face as if you were the one who had been in danger all night; as if you could have been injured sitting in the plush office chair and reading medical journals.

“Alfred left your dinner in the fridge if you’re hungry,” you say, smiling softly as you stand.

You lift your hand and push Bruce’s hair off his forehead, a sigh escaping his lips at the contact. It’s been too long since someone touched him like this, even though you did so just this morning before his business meeting.

“‘M not hungry,” he says, his voice returned to normal. Bruce, not Batman.

“You should get some sleep.”

“So should you.”

“After you.”

He carefully removes his suit, places it on its stand in the Batcave, now donning sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking much softer than he had mere minutes ago. You take his hand and lead him to the elevator, leaning against the rail as it takes you up into Wayne Manor, opening into a dark hallway. Bruce takes the lead, expertly navigating his home and entering his bedroom, his hand never leaving yours.

“Bruce,” you say, tugging his hand as he makes a beeline for his bed. “Your eyes.”

“Right,” he sighs, releasing your hand and moving to the bathroom.

You follow him silently, laying your hand atop his own as you gently pull a washcloth from his fingers. Nodding at him, you gesture toward the closed toilet, which he sits down on, and tilt his head up slightly. After wetting the washcloth and grabbing the gentle skin cleanser from his cabinet, you move to stand before him, unsurprised when his hands find your hips and pull you closer, now standing between his legs. The silence surrounding the two of you is never uncomfortable but a relief from the stresses and pains of daily life in Gotham. As you raise the washcloth, he closes his eyes. You gently wipe the excess makeup from his skin before adding the cleanser and watching the color lift off his skin. With each gentle stroke of the washcloth, he looks more like Bruce Wayne.

“Done,” you whisper, stepping away from him and rinsing the black product from the washcloth.

“Thank you,” he says lowly, standing and wrapping his arms around your waist, his chest pressed to your back as he drops his chin to your shoulder. “For everything.”

You smile at him in the mirror before leading him to bed, not arguing when he asks you to lay with him. The comfort of someone you care about by your side all night is unlike any other.

The first Wayne Charity Gala since the murder of Thomas and Martha is officially underway. Gotham officials and citizens have been eagerly and impatiently counting the days since the announcement several weeks ago. You spearheaded the planning, running constant interference between Bruce Wayne and picky Wayne Enterprises partners. The gala was planned to the minute, not a detail forgotten. Bruce had agreed to make a public entrance on the condition he had a table to himself, a wish that was quickly granted. The ballroom is now filled with people, co-planners talking in the earpiece you wear as you survey everything from the corner.

“We need more champagne in section 7,” you say into your microphone.

“On it,” a response sounds immediately. Several servers carrying full trays exit the kitchen and move to their assigned sections.

You begin making laps around the room, sticking to shadows and corners, politely greeting guests as you met them. The gala begun twenty minutes ago, and the building was already nearing maximum occupancy. The entertainment has yet to begin, waiting for the mayor, Bruce Wayne, and several other prominent Gothamites to arrive. The roar of paparazzi from outside the large double doors signals the arrival of one of these people. All eyes are on the door as they open yet again and everyone watches the mayor enter and greet her fellow citizens. Shortly after, the man of the hour makes his grand entrance. Bruce's dark hair is styled, and a new navy suit adorns his strong figure. He shakes hands with a fake smile plastered on his face as he makes his way to his table near the back door. Relief washes across his face as he reaches it, conversing briefly with a Wayne Enterprises associate before she is called away. You watch him with a smile, still listening to the gala workers in your ear.

“The mayor will be on stage in two minutes,” someone alerts.

“Perfect. After her speech, escort the entertainment to the stage,” you respond.

After a short detour to ensure the backstage area is to Wayne Enterprises’ standards, you are surprised to see Bruce Wayne’s table empty. The mayor approaches the stage, the chatter in the room quieting as people find their seats. You walk around a pillar and nearly run into a waiter. You apologize as you step backward and hit someone’s chest. Strong arms wrap around your waist, keeping you upright and away from the floor.

“I apologize,” you say as you separate yourself from your savior, nodding to the waiter before he returns to the kitchen. “May I get you anything?” you ask as you turn to face the man who had caught you. Oh.

“You could take a break. Join me at my table. I do have a plus one,” Bruce replies with a smile.

“Actually, you don’t. You waived it when you only RSVP’d for yourself,” you retort playfully.

“I don’t think they’ll mind,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“Mr. Wayne, I have work to do.”

“Five minutes. You can’t honestly tell me you don’t want a break from those heels.”

“As right as you are, there is a lot of press in here; you’re dealing with enough headlines right now.”

You peek around the corner and see the lights dimming.

“You need to get back out there,” you say, gently pushing him toward his table.

He catches your wrist gently and asks, “Find me when you get a chance?”

“If you haven’t ditched by the time I get a break, I will find you,” you promise.

He smiles and nods before returning to his table. You continue your rounds during the mayor’s speech and the beginning of the entertainment show. Concerns from the staff lead you to the kitchen, where you decide to open another box of the expensive champagne and begin serving dessert early. Many laps later, the gala is winding down as guests begin leaving, and the entertainment thanks the audience before they exit the stage. Within an hour, only a few guests remain, and the cleaning staff is waiting for them to leave to begin cleanup. You cross the room to gather the guest books from each table.

“You know how to plan a gala. I should let you do it more often,” a familiar voice says from behind you.

You smile as you turn to face Bruce. “No,” you protest softly as he tries to take the books from your arms. “You’re a guest.”

He tilts his head before looking around the room. “As the only one, I think it’s okay.”

You look around too, and notice the last guests are gone. You wave to alert the cleaning crew they’re ready to begin. As they enter the ballroom, Bruce uses the distraction and gently takes the guest books from you.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Bruce says, offering his free arm to you.

“I was going to stay and-“

“You’ve done more than enough, let’s go,” Bruce implores.

You disconnect your earpiece to leave them in the staff dressing room to be picked up in the morning. The guest books are placed aside to be cataloged and used for thank-you cards next week. After, Bruce leads you to his car, opens the passenger door, and helps you in before getting in himself. He drives back to Wayne Manor in comfortable silence, parks in the main garage, and leads you to one of the many guest rooms.

“There should be clothes in the closet, help yourself” Bruce says as he turns on the light.

You open the closet and see everything from pajamas to work clothes to evening gowns, and it is all your size. “What is all this?” you ask, turning to look at Bruce.

“Alfred and I thought that since you spend so much time here and do so much for us, you deserved your own space,” he explains with a shrug.

“You didn’t have to-” you interrupt yourself with a yawn - “do all this.”

“We wanted to. Get changed and meet me in the bathroom.”

You change before entering the bathroom, as requested. Bruce gestures to a soft chair at the vanity, and you sit down, looking up at him as he approaches you.

“My turn to return the favor.” He smiles before removing makeup from your face with soft touches. Pleased with the success of the makeup wipe, he turns and procures a wet washcloth, wetting your skin before he applies face wash and gently rubs it into your skin. After he rinses the face wash off, he picks up a brand-new bottle of your favorite moisturizer and applies it to your face and neck before wiping his hands on a separate towel. “Need anything else?” he asks.

“That was way more than I did for you,” you mumble sleepily.

“You do more for me than you realize,” Bruce states. “Let’s go to bed.”

“I need a plus one to the gala,” Bruce says as he enters your new office.

“Okay, Mr. Wayne,” you answer, pulling up the gala attendance list on your computer. “Who should I put down? Ms. Kyle?”

Bruce pinches his eyebrows together briefly before shaking his head. “No. I wrote it down to ensure you understand.”

He hands you a card, watching with a smile as you read your name.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m planning and working the gala, I can’t-“

“Pick someone else to run this one. You can still plan it, but I want you to come with me. If you agree, of course.”

“I’d love to. What about the press? Aren’t you worried about what they’ll say?”

“Not a bit. So, do I have a date?”

“You do, Mr. Wayne,” you answer with a smile.

“Perfect.” Bruce returns your smile, and you know you made the right choice.

You get ready for the gala at Wayne Manor. After choosing one of the gowns from the closet Bruce prepared for you, you gratefully accept Dory’s help with your hair and makeup.

Bruce knocks on your door, and you take a deep breath before opening it. He stares at you for a moment before clearing his throat.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you. You look very handsome,” you respond.

Upon arriving at the gala, Bruce takes your hand as you both walked through the hordes of press and into the venue.

“You outdid yourself,” Bruce whispers, looking at the elaborate decorations and settings.

You smile, squeezing his hand gently as he leads you toward your table, never releasing your hand as he speaks to several people. After excusing himself, he asks you to dance. You stare up at him, dumbfounded that Bruce Wayne just asked you to dance. He pulls you against his side without waiting for an answer and leads you to the dance floor.

“Bruce, you know all the rumors are going to start again, right?” you ask as he places a hand on your hip and takes your hand in his other. Your hand raises to his shoulder while your eyes stay trained on his, unwilling to look around and see all the people staring.

“What if they weren’t rumors this time?” Bruce asks, leading the dance.

“What do you mean?”

“There have been rumors going around for years about me and you. Stirring up Gotham’s richest and criminals alike. Tell me why we are the only ones trying to deny this feeling. I feel it.”

“I do too,” you assure him softly.

“So, we can shut them down, I can shift the attention of the reporters,” Bruce begins. “Or… we could make it true.”

“Do you want to keep them talking or make them stop?” you counter.

Bruce doesn’t answer, finishing the dance. As the music fades, you drop your hands, but Bruce adjusts his grip on your waist and pulls you into a kiss that captures everyone’s attentions. Cameras flash, paparazzi yell, and Wayne Enterprises employees whisper to one another as several pay up for long-standing bets. Gotham knows what to call us know, you think.

You pull back first, and Bruce rests his forehead against yours.

“Maybe that will keep their focus of Batman for a few days,” he murmurs.

“One rumor at a time, Bruce.”

[clumsybriar]

Simon “Ghost” Riley X GN! Reader — I’ll Be Home For Christmas

Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN! Reader — I’ll Be Home For Christmas

Notes: if you see any error please feel free to let me know! I made another Gender Neutral for Christmas! (If you see any mistakes with gender for the reader please let me know, I want to make sure I fix it so everyone can enjoy!)

Word count: 1340

Warnings: None!

————————————————————————————

Christmas season was upon you. The wait was no longer needed and the holiday season was in full throttle for many people. But for you it felt like the holidays just weren’t here yet, not without Simon.

It had been months since you last saw Simon. The countdown had been brutal — each day dragging on like a century, filled with empty space and a gnawing ache in your chest. The last words he’d said to you were promises, hollow at the time. But now, somehow, a beacon of hope. Especially for you.

“I’ll be back for Christmas, I swear on it.”

You hadn’t expected it to be easy. Life with Simon Riley had always been an unpredictable blend of intensity and distance, but there was something about it this time that just felt…different.

It could have stemmed from many different things, truly. Like there was something about the way he’d held you the night before he left, the unspoken words in his eyes as he kissed you goodbye at the airport.

Maybe it was just the fact that the holidays made everything feel more…amplified.

Like the empty chair at your dinner table, or the lonely flicker of Christmas lights on the tree.

But today just felt different. Like something magical was truly going to happen like some sort of Christmas miracle. Which is kinda cheesy to think about. But you couldn’t help it, you just felt a flicker of hope. Who would blame you for holding onto that flicker of hope.

People always said miracles happen on Christmas and you hoped just this once, it would happen. Even if it was on Christmas Eve.

You found yourself standing in front of your front door, staring at the snow falling softly outside. The world felt quiet, calm, and still. In your opinion it was too still. You glanced at the clock for the fifth time in the last hour and you could just tell the hands in the clock seemed to mock you, ticking by at a pace that made the seconds feel like years.

Your attention was quickly drawn away though, when suddenly a car door slammed. It was then followed by the unmistakable sound of boots crunching through the snow. Something you had heard often when Simon was coming home in the winter. Though he wasn’t grumbling or complaining like he usually did.

You knew he hated winter, the cold wasn’t his favorite. He hated how it set deep into his bones, sometimes making him feel like he couldn’t warm up. He dealt with it though because deep down you knew he liked to have a white Christmas.

The crunching of snow got closer. Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t help it but to step closer toward the door, breath catching in your throat. Your hand reached forward for the doorknob and when you opened it, there he was…

Simon.

His face was partially obscured by the shadow of his balaclava, but you’d recognize that broad frame and those piercing brown eyes anywhere. His tactical gear was gone, replaced by a simple black hoodie and faded jeans. His duffel bag hung over one shoulder, snowflakes settling on his mask and on his shoulders decorating him for the vast winter wonderland.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. He just stood there, looking at you like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to believe you were real. If you were being honest you felt the same and maybe wondered if you had too much eggnog in your system.

You were the first to move, closing the distance between you in an instant. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. His scent, that familiar mix of sweat, leather, and something uniquely him, filled your senses.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Simon’s arms tightened around you, his usual stoicism giving way to something raw. “Had to make sure I did,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly. “Couldn’t miss this… couldn’t miss you. Plus I’m pretty sure I promised you I’d be home.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hand coming to rest against his jaw. His eyes flickered down to your lips before returning to your gaze, something soft and vulnerable lingering there — a look you’d rarely seen from him.

“Been waiting for you,” you said, your thumb brushing over the area where his scar was located on his cheek, the mark you’d kissed so many times in the past. Now it was still covered in that balaclava he loved so much. “I thought I’d go crazy without you.”

He let out a breath, his hand coming up to cup your face gently. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, smiling despite the ache in your chest. “Don’t apologize, Simon. Just… just be here. Be with me.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world outside might have been freezing, but here, in this moment, it felt like time had stopped entirely — just the two of you, finally reunited after what felt like an eternity apart.

“You got the tree up,” Simon said, glancing over your shoulder at the twinkling lights and the ornaments hanging from the branches.

You smiled sheepishly. “I tried. Thought I’d have someone to help me decorate it, but…” you trailed off, your voice thick with unspoken words.

Simon’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Yeah, I get it.” He gently lifted his balaclava above his nose as you could see his red lips which were surely chapped due to the weather and his mask.

He leaned forward, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips. It was the kind of kiss that made everything else in the world fade away, leaving nothing but the feeling of him — your Simon — finally home. His lips were warm against yours, his touch grounding you in ways words could never explain.

When he pulled back, he took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

You laughed softly, pulling him inside. “Merry Christmas, big guy. You almost missed it,” you teased, “but I guess you made it just in the nick of time.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He raised an eyebrow, a rare glimmer of mischief flashing in his eyes. “That’s all that matters.”

You smiled and closed the door behind him, then turned back to him, finally feeling like the holiday season had begun. Christmas had never meant much to you before — not without him. But now, with Simon standing here, his presence filling the room with something warmer than the heat from the fireplace, everything felt right.

You let go of his hand only for a moment to grab something from the kitchen. “I made dinner,” you said, glancing back over your shoulder. “You hungry? If I know you the answer is yes.”

Simon chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “Maybe…yes.” He gave you a teasing look, one that made your heart flutter. “I am starving.”

“Figured as much, they don’t feed you enough do they?” you shot back with a grin. “They’re starving you, all my hard work of feeding you well has gone down the drain.”

Simon’s expression softened, and for a long moment, you both stood there, the weight of everything that had happened — the long deployments, the fears, the missed moments — evaporating in the warmth of the room. He was home with you.

“Yeah, look at me,” he teased, his voice full of something you couldn’t quite place, but it was good. “Skin and bone, not fluffy and cuddly.”

And as the night carried on, you and Simon settled together on the couch, the tree lights casting a soft glow over the room. The world outside seemed so far away, and for the first time in a long time, there was peace.

This Christmas, you had everything you needed. Simon, home where he belonged.

[aquaticmercy]

Bloodthirst

Part 5 of Dark Necessities

Series Summary : You drink Bucky’s blood out of necessity and accidentally form a primal bond that has the ability to unlock an ancient ritual magic.

Chapter Summary : As Bucky’s obsession with the bond grows, you meet a stranger who claims he can help.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x half-vampire!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Blood. Death. Cursing.Violence. Pleasure from a vampire bite (?). The reader is a dhampir/half-vampire/daywalker like Blade, and Blade is a mentor figure in this. Established relationship. Not a really an au, set in the MCU so semi-canon compliant except for the fact that blade is here lol.

Word Count : 2.7k

Note : hey y’all! I haven’t updated this in over a week, but as it stands, I am going to upload a chapter 2-3 times a week. Let me know if I missed anyone in the tag list. Enjoy!

Bucky’s obsession with Joanna’s journal crept in quietly, at first. He kept it tucked under his arm, bringing it with him even to the smallest corners of his life. Before long, he felt like he was compelled to carry a piece of her story.

In the low light of the bedside table, he’d lose hours tracing her words with a respect that bordered on devotion. Each night, you’d find him hunched over the journal, eyes fixed on the paper as if every letter were sacred. His breaths would grow shallow, his body still, save for the fingers that turned the pages. You’d watch him from across the room, feeling a knot tightening in your chest because it did in his.

You knew you should probably take a peek, but the idea of reading it yourself filled your head with a uneasy dread. 

You didn’t want to know what was written inside—didn’t want to see the horrors the bond you shared with Bucky reflected in the pages. There was a fear you couldn’t shake off— that the journal held a blueprint of what your future with him might become, and it terrified you more than you could admit.

One night, after you fed on him and showered, you heard him turn the page and exhale, almost a sigh. You knew it couldn’t be anything good.

I can feel Celine’s heartbeat even when she’s not near. When she leaves, I feel like a ship wandering the seas without a destination. Her soul burns with mine like a flame, and I am afraid of how much I crave it.

How strange to feel so full, yet so empty without her… I wonder if this hunger is love or something else entirely. I cannot tell. But I do not care to know the difference.

As Bucky read, his grip on the journal tightened, knuckles turning white. His storm-blue had that faraway look again, as if Joanna’s writing had taken the words right out of his mouth. 

He didn’t notice how his breaths grew shallow the way you did— and how his shallow intakes of air made it harder for you to breathe. 

You bit down on the inside of your cheek instinctively. In that moment, he felt his cheeks ache, too. Warily, he looked up to you. 

He shut the book and smiled as if nothing was wrong. But he couldn’t hide these things from you anymore— you felt the dread he did, the spiral of obsession slowly digging deeper and deeper into his skull, taking root in his brain.

And still, you didn’t open the journal. You haven’t read a single sentence. 

It felt like the last line of defense, a boundary between what you could bear to know and what would destroy you if you did.

—

Today, you went on another mission— Elsa Bloodstone had tipped you off. 

The sunlight was blinding, slicing through the vein-like branches of the forest like a blade, yet the trees were so thick that there were pockets of darkness underneath.  

You and Bucky moved in near-silence through the edge of the woods, stalking the faerie that had left two vampires dead in the last three days. The forest seemed to sway with purpose, the earth beneath your boots uncharacteristically still. 

Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves set your senses on fire as you stayed close to Bucky’s side. The faerie had been maddeningly elusive. 

But you both knew it was near— you had caught a glimpse of their feet and followed it here. 

Bucky’s grip on his rifle was tight, his keen eyes flicking to every shadow that might move. He had specifically prepared silver-tipped bullets in his weapon, hoping he wouldn’t need it. Between you, the bond buzzed softly, a shared endless rise and falls of energy. His adrenaline felt like it had mixed with yours, creating a heady cocktail that made you hyper-aware, feeling the beat of his heart as if it was your own.

The daylight gave you an advantage—Bucky had insisted on that. The faeries had killed vampires— they would expect a vampire to avenge them. They would not expect a daywalker. 

This was your best chance. 

And yet, this seemed too easy.

As you stepped into a small clearing, the forest fell silent. Not the natural quiet of nature— it was like noise had been sucked out of the air in a vacuum. 

It was the kind of stillness that promised violence. 

You halted, your hand instinctively resting on the hilt of your dagger. The faint scent of blood drifted to you, sharp and metallic, and your eyes followed it to a figure slumped against the thick trunk of a tree.

A young vampire. Recently turned, by the smell of it.

The fledgling’s throat had been violently slashed, a grotesque smile carved into his pale flesh. His wide, empty eyes stared up at the canopy above. He likely was sheltering out the sun under the shade of the ancient tree.  A dark red streak ran down his neck, a brutal sight against his alabaster skin.

“This isn’t right,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you began to back away. Your instincts screamed at you to run. “They’re leaving victims for us to find.”

He stiffened beside you, his head jerking up as he scanned the perimeter. His mouth opened to respond, but the forest answered first. 

Figures seemed to spill from the edges of your vision, flickering like flames. They moved with impossible grace, as if they were one with air itself. 

Faeries. 

Their pale, luminous skin glowed like winter’s first frost beneath sunrise. They wore flowing garments in shades of moonlight, their faces achingly beautiful but marred by a cruel childlike glee. They danced in and out of sight, their laughter piercing your ears, sharp as broken glass. 

You knew, now, that this was a trap. 

The bond between you and Bucky flared, his pulse thundering in your head. He moved closer, his back pressed against yours as the faeries closed in. Their movements were so fluid, so deliberate. One stepped forward, its lips curling into a smile that sent a chill down your spine.

“The blood-bonded lovers,” she said, her tone dripping with genuine wonder. “How rare. How precious.”

A shiver ran through your veins. 

These weren’t just faeries. Your eyes flicked to the brands on their necks— intricate, thorny roses etched into their pale skin. 

A marker of devotion.

“A cult,” you breathed, the realization hitting you like a blow. “A faerie cult.”

The stories came rushing back to you, dark whispers of faerie cults who performed ancient rituals to bend the natural forces to their will. The tales always mentioned daywalkers, their connection said to hold unspeakable power.

Perhaps they wanted to test their rituals on a blood bonded daywalker now.

One of the faeries began to hum, the melody soft and haunting. The sound wormed its way into your chest, vibrating in your bones, fraying your nerves. 

“To bring back the dead requires a blood sacrifice so rare,” the faerie purred, their eyes gleaming with hunger. “A blood sacrifice so potent.”

Bucky’s body tensed beside you, the bond crackling with his thoughts— anger, fear, and above all, a determination that burned like fire. You felt an unspoken promise ripple through the connection: he would not let them take you. But you knew he could feel your thoughts as well, that you were going to protect him just the same. 

The first faerie lunged, and you both moved as one. Bucky’s shot first, the silver-tipped bullet slicing through the air and slicing into the faerie’s shoulder. It staggered back with a shriek, its blood sparkling like liquid starlight. Another darted toward you, your dagger in hand, slicing into its flesh. The faerie hissed, otherworldly beauty twisting into monstrousityz

But then— 

A sharp sting bit into your neck. And another.

You slapped at the source, but it was too late. A cold numbness spread through your veins. 

You heard Bucky say your name, his voice quiet and distant. The world tilted, the sunlight fading, the trees dissolving into darkness. 

You both hit the ground.

And then there was nothing.

—

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the moon, bright and full, hanging high in the sky above you. 

How long had it been? 

You were in a hole in the ground, vines wrapped around your wrists. The air was damp, the faint scent of moss clinging to your senses as you groggily tried to sit up. 

“You’re finally awake,” came Bucky’s low, steady voice. He was crouched beside you, his metal hand working at the knots that held you captive. 

“How did you untie yourself?” you croaked, your voice still groggy, the lingering effects of the poison lingering.

Bucky shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “They didn’t factor in the whole blood-bonded supersoldier thing. Woke up, snapped the vines. Easy.”

You blinked at him, still drowsy. “How are you, like… fully awake already?” 

He held up a dart casing he’d pulled from his arm. The faintly glowing residue inside it shimmered faintly under the moonlight. “Silverleaf poison,” he said, toying with it between his fingers. “Hits vampires harder than humans. Guess they were banking on me being out longer.” 

You couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped you even now. He’s been reading up on your kind. 

It took another minute or two, but he finally freed you from the vines. He helped you to your feet, steadying you with a hand on your waist. The bond between you buzzed faintly, a steady pulse of his calm sensibility grounding you. 

“They caught us off guard once,” you muttered, shaking off the last vestiges of grogginess. You looked up to the opening above you. You grabbed a root that had snaked down and started to climb out. “Not again.”

Bucky nodded, stretching his metal arm. He felt naked without his weapon, but this’ll do.

As you climbed out of the hole, the forest greeted you with an eerie silence. No whispers. No laughter. Nothing. 

Yet again, you got the creeping feeling that said the silence must mean something was wrong. 

Together, you moved cautiously into the clearing, every step feline. The smell hit you first—sharp, metallic, unmistakable. Blood. 

Then you saw them. 

The faeries. 

Their once luminous, otherworldly bodies lay sprawled across the ground like discarded old marionettes. Their glowing skin was smeared with their silvery blood, their flowing garments torn and stained. Some had wide, glassy eyes staring lifelessly at the canopy above; others had their faces frozen in terror. Their bodies were twisted at unnatural angles, limbs discarded as they had been ripped apart.

“Holy fuck…” Bucky trailed off, scanning the scene with wide eyes. He stepped forward, nudging one of the corpses with the toe of his boot. 

It didn’t stir.

You knelt beside another body, your hand hovering over the intricate thorny brand on its neck. The symbol seemed to flicker faintly, the glow fading as though whatever power had coursed through it was finally snuffed out. 

Then, you saw the figure standing at the center of the carnage.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

Tall and refined, he seemed utterly untouched by the chaos around him. His coat, deep purple with intricate gold trim, swirled faintly in the breeze. A lavish feather boa was draped over his shoulders, absurdly elegant. His dark eyes stayed on you and Bucky. 

The vampire from Dead Club City.

He was renewed with energy— almost glowing.

His fangs glinted of silvery blood.

Oh, he’d kept a couple of the faeries alive enough to feed.

Faerie blood was an acquired taste— and it was intoxicating. A recreational hallucinogenic drug for the vampire community at times, though not without danger— you have heard of multiple overdose cases. 

Yet here he was, unchanged by the blood he had drank— as if he had a resistance to it. As if he had built up tolerance to it.

His smirk deepened. It was not friendly. Not warm. 

“Ah, the hunters,” he said, his voice smooth and sweet. “Or shall I say, the hunted?”

Your stomach twisted. You could feel the hum of the bond with Bucky at your side, his tensed breathing a steady pull in your chest. He shifted, moving half a step in front of you, his stance protective.

His grip on your arm stayed firm—a reassurance that you weren’t alone. Still, unease prickled along your skin. This man—this vampire—was dangerous in ways you couldn’t yet define.

He had done this. Effortlessly. 

And now his attention was on you.

“Eric Veer,” He introduced as he approached, his boots crunching softly against the ground, not caring if he stepped on some faerie remains on his way.

There was nothing kind in this man’s face, only an ancient hunger, hidden beneath a thin layer of civility. 

Bucky, however, didn’t move. His hand tightened on your arm—not in alarm, but in caution. His thoughts, muted but present through the bond, was conflicted. But mostly, it was curiosity. 

It made you want to shake him, want to shout at him. How could Bucky not feel the danger emanating from this man? How could he not see the predator that lingered beneath the elegant facade?

Eric’s gaze shifted to Bucky, and then to you, lingering for a second too long. His eyes dropped to where Bucky’s hand gripped your arm. 

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “The connection between you… so raw. So untested.”

You wanted to step back, to put distance between yourself and him, but Bucky’s grip held you in place. The bond pulsed with his determination, and it felt infuriating. 

“What do you want from us?” You asked.

Veer shrugged. “I want to help. I have been studying blood bonds for centuries.”

You didn’t trust him. Not for a second.

Bucky, though, seemed to be listening, his thoughts guarded but intrigued. You felt the flicker of his hesitation through the bond, a reflection of your worry. 

Eric reached into his coat and withdrew a folded piece of paper. He held it out, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling mixture of amusement and excitement. 

You didn’t take it. 

Bucky, however, stepped forward, plucking the paper from Eric’s hand without any hesitation. You felt the shift in him, the way his curiosity bloomed, the subtle intrigue that bled through the bond. It frustrated you. 

How could he trust this man—this vampire who stood amidst a field of corpses like a god laying waste to his domain?

The address scrawled on the paper was written in cursive. Bucky said nothing as he studied it. Eric’s gaze returned to you, as if knowing he still needed to win you over. 

“I offer knowledge,” Eric said, his voice low, “What you do with it is up to you.”

He turned then, his coat billowing behind him as he began to walk away. You should have felt relief as he left, but the unease only grew, wrapping tighter around you like a noose. “Be careful with that bond of yours. A faerie cult is the least of your worries.”

And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by the shadows of the forest. 

The clearing was silent once more, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. You stared at the spot where Eric had disappeared, your thoughts a blend of mistrust, and unease. 

Bucky, however, was still holding the paper, his expression unreadable. Through the bond, you felt his determination, his mind already turning with plans, strategies— a willingness to follow the thread Eric had offered. 

The paper held an address: 10 Wintermeyer Lane

“We shouldn’t go,” you said finally, your voice wound tight. “We can’t trust him.”

Bucky’s hand relaxed on your arm, but he didn’t look at you. “Maybe,” he said quietly, his tone carefully neutral. “But if he knows something about this bond… we can’t just ignore it.”

The connection flared again, a clash of emotions—your mistrust against his curiosity. You didn’t reply, but the fear in your chest refused to subside. 

As Bucky tucked the paper into his pocket, you couldn’t shake the feeling that stepping onto the path Eric had laid would lead to another trap— one that Bucky wholeheartedly trusted.

-To be continued…

Taglist :  @mystictf @chimchoom @crdgn @a-crying-fandom-lover @otterlycanadian 

@sebastians-love @intelligenceofapineapple @put-trash-here @hzdhrtss

@murnsondock

[etherealily]

​🇷​​🇴​​🇨​​🇰​ ​🇨​​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​​🇾​ ~ ​🇫​​🇪​​🇱​​🇮​​🇽​ ​🇨​​🇦​​🇹​​🇹​​🇴​​🇳​

Felix Catton + fem! reader. SFW, but discretion advised, slightly dark, abuse.

Part 1: Hard Candy Part 2 : Sour Candy

Desc. : " you taste like rock candy, sweet like beaches, leave me all sandy"

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Queued + not proofread. Sorry if it sucks.

════════════════════ ⋆🪩⋆ ════════════════════

You've woken up in Saltburn before.

You actually had an honorary room that only you stayed in, mostly, and even picked out the bed covers and decor for during your summer stays when you were seven.

You weren't allowed - or eager - to pick them out this time.

Yeah. You've woken up in Saltburn before, to the sun warmly kissing your face and the open windows letting gentle summer breezes rouse you.

But waking up to Felix's head between your legs was new.

You couldn't even tell him to stop, because, a) why the FUCK would you do that? and b) his hand was covering your mouth, albeit, mildly lovingly.

The long string of profanities spewing out your mouth seemed to circle twice around the room and then wrap around your own neck, like some sort of crude reminder that you were, once again, humouring Felix Catton, like every other living thing on this planet.

Okay. Maybe we should try justifying this, maybe rewind, so that you don't seem like some hypocritical, weak-willed idiot. Or maybe justify why you are.

════════════════════ ⋆🪩⋆ ════════════════════

TWO DAYS EARLIER

"It's the same, isn't it? Well, more or less."

"What do you mean more or less? It's the exact same.", you replied, basking in the fading glory of the odd summer you'd spend here.

"Well, yeah, but this is the first time you're stepping into this room as a non-virgin."

"Oh, yeah, the new experience, it must be riveting. Doesn't the furniture seem to be looking at you differently or sm'n?"

"What?"

"Nah, nah, he's got a point. Society's judging you, as is the sofa. Can you hear them? 'Slut! Slut! Slut!'", chanted Felix, in your ear.

"Get out! Both of you!"

Felix chuckled, jogging out of the room as you did, trying to dodge whatever pillows you could throw at him. The other one, however, stayed.

"You want him around you, in you- with you so bad, don't you?"

"What?" Oh, yes, this bitch! He had a stupid name, what was it?

"Y'don't remember me? Farleigh."

Oh, yeah, Farleigh. The bitch you'd always had a tolerate-hate relationship with.

"Sorry, I couldn't place a name to the face. Yeah, hey."

"Hey yourself.'

"What did you just say to me?"

"Well, his cock.", says Farleigh, as if you'd just asked what side the sun set on and he'd just said 'west'. "You want it, right?"

"No."

"Oh, c'mon. You're essentially in love with him."

"I'm not in love with anyone, much less Felix Catton."

He mock gasped. "Full name! That's a tell-tale sign."

"Full name? That doesn't mean shite."

He took a long drag of his cigarette, his chocolate eyes lighting up with amusement, derision and quite a lot of judgement. "When you shagged or fucked, or whatever.", he began, raising a brow. "Did you try to forget it afterwards?"

"Well, yeah, because we were both drunk, it was-"

"Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, my dear."

The only thing keeping you from punching him was overwhelming nostalgia.

════════════════════ ⋆🪩⋆ ════════════════════

If you thought Felix hugs were brutally nice, Elspeth hugs were worse.

"I knew you wouldn't grow up ugly. I simply knew it. You and I connected too much for fate to let you be ugly."

Trust me, as backhanded and narcissistic as that sounded, that was the equivalent to her calling you the blessing of her life.

"And I'm so glad you've got the virginity thing out of the way, darling.", she whispered, her voice lovely enough to make you forget this was even an awkward and inappropriate conversation in the first place.

"I-"

"And I'm glad it was my Felix. Y'know, in college, girls have a new sense of... freedom. They'd give it up to, well, any troglodyte who pretends he cares. But you, sweetheart, were smart.", she praised, tapping the tip of your nose. "Congratulations."

"There's no need to-"

"And as for this, uh, 'proper-proper' reunion, I think it'll have to be a couple days before our Christmas party, so that people aren't clubbing them both together."

"Um, yeah, but you don't really need t-"

"Darling, you know I love any excuse to throw a party."

That, you knew.

"You're not going to advertise-"

"What, have a banner saying 'happy proper-proper reunion?' You think so cheaply of me?", she scoffed, pulling you into another mildly condescending hug. "Unless you want one."

"No! No, no, I'm fine, thank you."

"FELIX! Felix?!"

Felix almost left skid marks as he ran into the room. "Yeah?"

"Show her around the estate. Explore, like you two used to.", she smiled, a hint of reminiscence on her face.

He saluted, dragging you away from Elspeth and her endearing inimitableness.

════════════════════ ⋆🪩⋆ ════════════════════

"...So that's what it's like, EngLit. I actually think it's really going to help me out.", he muttered, folding the last bit of his paper airplane and launching it in front of him, into the field in front of the pillar at which you two sat.

You nodded, playing with the hem of your coat. "You're becoming a writer?"

"God, no.", he laughed, ironing out paper on his lap to begin creating a new plane. "No offense to the Tolstoys and Hemingways of the world or whatever, but no. I just think it'll help me out, because art leads to passion, leads to overall joy."

You hummed. Okay, an uncharacteristically deep sentence. "You don't have joy right now?"

"Do I look joyful?"

Yes. That was your first response. Because his eyes shone and his smile glowed and he was warmth personified. If you were him, you'd be joyful. "You're not?"

He shrugged. "I'm okay. Like, I'm thriving, but I'm not living. Ya know?"

No, you didn't know. What the fuck did he have to complain about?

"I mean, look, it's sort of like...", he began, shuffling closer and pointing out at the fields in front of him, seemingly not noticing you struggling with his scent. Did he extract and infuse his pheromones in his cologne or something?

"...It's sort of like I've got everything I need, and the means to get everything I want, but there's this... block, yeah? I want to do so much, but I've got responsibilities."

"Everyone does. You just do the things anyway, because at the end of the day, it's you and your happiness."

"Easy for you to say.", he grumbled, beckoning you to turn around so he could play with your hair.

"Why? 'Cause I don't have to 'take over the family business'?"

"Yeah, actually. I've known forever that I'm takin' over and shite, but lately it's like... what else?"

"You can quite honestly do whatever the fuck you want, and you still feel 'trapped'?`"

"'M braiding it.", he informed, gathering the hair over your shoulders back to him. "And yeah. You just wouldn't get it."

You fought an eye roll, deciding that, for once, it's nice that Felix is braiding your hair instead of pulling it.

"Usually when we're alone, we shag. You want to?"

You played with your fingers for a bit, before shaking your head.

"Don't move- you've gone and messed it up!", he scolded, giving you a sharp tug of punishment. "And yeah, me neither. 'S weird."

Weird that he's not on his usual testosterone filled autopilot mode of shag-everything-in-sight? Yeah. Kinda is.

"Where'd you learn to braid?"

"You forget I have a sister."

Oh, yeah.

"Is she...", you trailed off. How were you supposed to ask about something as delicate as that after years of not interacting with her? You could be hit by a 'you didn't care enough before' and you couldn't even refute it, although it'd be untrue.

"Yeah, she's still not eating. Going to absolutely force feed her, genuinely."

After a while, the silence that you were relaxing into seemed to realise just how restless he was, so it allowed itself to be broken. "Why do you let it happen?"

"What?"

"Me. Like, honestly. I mean, I got so drunk I threw a bloody vodka bottle at you and sent you to the ER and you're still not absolutely petrified around me."

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't asked yourself the same thing every time you let him into your dorm.

Shrugging, you pulled out a couple tufts of grass. "Used to it."

Silence as your hair got braided.

Then, "I didn't mean to. The ER. I wasn't... I didn't leave because I didn't care, I left 'cause I was scared."

"You were scared? After everything, I woke up and-", you cut yourself off for a moment, biting back the words 'fucking cunt' , "And you weren't there."

The braiding stopped.

Felix being like this was like swimming in the ocean and buying rock candy, feeling the sharp contrast of sugar on a salt-etched tongue.

At least, that's what you tell yourself. It's not the contrast of salt and sugar, it's the shock of a tongue suddenly being reintroduced to taste after a while.

And you wanted to force him to taste this.

"I woke up, and I was in a fucking ER, being told shit like I had slimly missed 'cranial fracture' and shite I didn't even understand, and I looked over for my best fucking mate, and you weren't even there!"

You felt his forehead on the back of your neck. "I thought if I paid-"

Scoffing effectively shut him the fuck up. He sighed. "How is it you don't hate me?"

"I can't really blame you. You- you were spooked. Happens.", you grumbled, begrudgingly. You hated your own rationality, sometimes.

"And it's me."

"And it's you. You do stupid things, sometimes."

"Like you?"

Offended, you turned around, about to actually say 'fucking cunt' for that little comment, but his kiss cut you off.

It really wasn't a let's-fuck-right-now-kiss, but more of a I'm-sorry-but-you-know-this-is-the-only-way-I'll-say-it-kiss.

"We have got a proper-proper reunion party to help plan.", he reminded you, his thumb rubbing an arc on your cheek. "Let's go."

════════════════════ ⋆🪩⋆ ════════════════════

ONE DAY EARLIER

For a 'proper-proper reunion', there was a lot of propriety lacking.

With the party - and lunacy - in full swing, you could happily ignore Felix without it being noticeable.

Well, as unnoticeable as you could be with him inside you.

"Happy- fuck - happy proper-proper reunion.", he breathed out, against your shoulder as he kept his pace, in a way he hadn't, ever before.

The lights and music from the party blended with the starry night sky to make what should have been a cheap hookup, that made both of you feel dirty and worthless, into something almost romantic.

Uh oh. That not-love-feeling again. What a little parasite.

And before you know it, you're screaming, drowned out by the music, but still screaming, biting into his shoulder to muffle yourself. The sharp intake of breath he took before laughing breathily at you did nothing to calm you down.

In fact, it just infuriated you.

How could he just... do this?

Bring you into his arms and into his bed effortlessly?

Convince you it was love without ever saying it?

Convince you he's sorry without ever meaning it?

You were still in your post-orgasmic, post-epiphany haze as he helped you down off the edge of the maze fountain.

"M'lady.", he grinned, as if he hadn't just fucked your brains out, as if he hadn't just done the least gentlemanly thing ever.

You rolled your eyes, shouldering past him before he rudely grabbed your wrist, yanking you back to him. "Where the fuck you going?"

"Back to the party."

"The hell you are."

"Why?"

"Uh, Mum invited Logan. No way in hell are you goin' out there with your tits half out."

"What are you, jealous?", you scoffed, not really expecting an answer.

He clenched his jaw. "You wish, don't you? Why are you friends with that perv, anyway?`"

Holy shit. Felix never answers a question with another one. He's always got a cheeky ass answer for everything. This was a tell. A tell!

"You're jealous! You- oh, fuck, mate, I can't believe this!"

"I'm not jealous. He's probably like, this big.", he retorted, pinching his index and thumb together.

"You always think about other lads' cocks? Or only Logan?"

Chuckling, he scrunched up his nose as he wrapped his arm around your neck from the side, using his knuckles on his other hand to scratch at your scalp. "You are a wanker."

"Wow. Original.", you laughed, trying to leave his chokehold. "You are in love with me, and you are jealous of Logan!"

"I will kill you if you don't shut up!", he replied, mocking your tone. "Seriously.", he warned, the hand not around your shoulder grabbing a drink from a waiter's tray as the sounds and lights of the party hit both of you like lightning. "I don't do love."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know.", you snorted, shaking your head as he brought the rim of the glass to your lips.

"Drink. You're gonna need it.", he informed, taking a large chug and then kissing you, backwashing his champagne into your mouth so you had no choice but to gulp it.

"Why?", you rasped out, coughing slightly as you wiped your lip.

"People you haven't heard from in years? And even worse, people you have. Your cousin that had a thing for me that one week we spent in town, yeah?"

"No, that was your cousin, you incestuous prick."

"Oh, yeah.", he mused, shrugging. "Third cousins don't really count, I don't think. But I'm sure I heard someone in your little family liked me. Maybe it was you. Maybe you're projecting your love onto me?"

He bloody wishes.

----

As the night had ended, he'd told you he missed you, he'd shagged you again, this time drunkenly speaking of babies and marriage and picket fences and stuff that mildly terrified you, because what Felix Catton wants, Felix Catton gets.

But he didn't mean it, he mutters as he kisses down your stomach in the morning. He'd never do that to you, baby, c'mon, you know him better than that.

And you did.

And that was how you ended up awake at six in the morning with his tongue between your thighs. Because you were just that fucking lucky. Is it justified? Who fucking cares?

════════════════════ ⋆🪩⋆ ════════════════════

And suddenly, Christmas flashed by, then New Years, then Valentine's, and some other holidays you were blurry on the details about and then you were back where you started. This time, though, you and Felix hosted the Welcome-Slash-Bullying party for the freshmen.

Well, essentially just your entire batch, but they preferred leaving it all to the two rich kids who basically grew up partying.

Plus, he was an Upperclassmen. You need a rager, you go to him.

And that's how you ended up being twirled around an even cheaper club by Felix Catton that year. Weirdly enough, he didn't scope out any freshmen to pursue. I mean, neither did you, which was even weirder. You'd thought you'd have at least flirted, but no.

For once, Felix's company kept you content and didn't make you vomit in any way.

He sucked up your cigarette smoke before kissing you, and his hands never left your ass. Even when he was drinking.

Yeah, he made you pour the liquor into his mouth, hold the cigarette up to his lips, wipe the molly from your fingers onto his tongue, all because Logan was circling around. Allegedly.

"C'mon, c'mon.", he'd murmur if you weren't actively touching your tongue to his at any given moment. "If you don't kiss me, you love me.", he'd tease. "You wanna have babies and picket fences and suburbian lives with me."

"If I don't kiss you?", you'd snort.

"Yeah. Because snogging and shagging are for us. Marrying and baby-having is for them."

And that's how you ended up brushing your teeth and then coming back to Felix Catton's bed for the, well, hundredth time, maybe?

"Morning."

"Morning."

He rolled over onto you, groaning. "I'm not going to that lecture. I fucking can't. Being hungover should count as disability or sickness. "

"That's only in the evening. You've got time."

"Yeah, but it's still happening."

"Hey, I, um, I wanted to run something by you."

"Yeah?", he asked, standing to stretch and go brush his teeth. Your bite marks paint his biceps and red scars from your fingernails adorn his trapezius. You tried not to grin.

"So your mate, right? Jason? He asked me out."

The tap water stopped and you knew you'd got his attention. "Really?"

"Yeah. So, would it be weird if I said yes?"

His head emerged from the crack in the door, and he raises a brow. "You wanna go out with him?'

"If it's okay with you, of course."

"Ooh, asking for permission from your weekly shag, are we?"

He dodged the pillow thrown at him. "Just 'cause he's your mate. If it's weird, then I'll say no."

"Say no..."

What?

"...Say yes. Say 'fuck you'. I don't care."

That was an incredibly feeble attempt to play it off. It was clear as day.

"Sure you're not still jealous?", you taunted, laughing as the pillow you'd thrown was launched right back at you in record speed.

"I swear, one of these days, I'm going to shut that mouth of yours up with gaffer tape.", he warned, jumping onto the bed. "And you'll regret it.", he chuckled, pressing multiple kisses to your neck to make you giggle.

Jesus fucking Christ, you'd seen Felix's face change.

And yes, he was, clear as day, maybe not in love, but in-something with you.

Which kinda sucks when you want to score with some fit guy called Jason. To whom you now had to go and tell 'no'.

Because what's worse than Felix Catton?

Being kinda-loved by Felix Catton.

More on that later.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Behind Closed Doors (mafia!bruce wayne)

Summary: unbeknownst to you, you become friends with the city's famous mobster.

WC: 1,3K

Warnings: fluff,angst, bruce is a mafia leader AU

Read on Ao3!

Clint Barton Version Here!

--

The dim lights of the bar flickered slightly as the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounded you. The city was alive, but you were still an outsider—new in town, not yet used to the rhythm of things. You had hoped for a quiet night, a drink to wind down from the overwhelming chaos of moving to a new city.

That’s when you first saw him.

A man in a tailored suit, dark hair combed back effortlessly. His presence was magnetic, like something about him demanded attention without trying. He wasn’t loud or boisterous, but his calm demeanor stood out in the crowd. And when his dark eyes landed on yours from across the room, you felt the pull—almost as if he had already decided you were worth his time.

He stood and approached you with a smooth stride, a slight, charming smile playing on his lips. “Mind if I join you?”

You blinked, caught off guard, but something in his gaze made you hesitate just long enough to give a nod. "Sure."

He slid into the seat next to you, the bartender already setting down a drink in front of him as if he were a regular. "Bruce Wayne," he said, offering a hand. His voice was smooth, controlled, like he was used to getting what he wanted.

"Y/N" you replied, shaking his hand. The touch was firm, but you noticed the way his hand lingered a little longer than necessary, almost as if he was savoring the moment. “I’m new in town.”

“I gathered that. Not many people in here don’t know how to blend in.” His smile turned a little teasing. “What brings you to Gotham?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off as casual. “Just needed a change of scenery, I guess. The usual story. New job, new city, new start.”

“New start, huh?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I can relate."

There was something cryptic in his words, and for a moment, the conversation faltered as you tried to read him. But then, he shifted the focus back to you, asking about your new life in Gotham and how you were adjusting. His charm was effortless, his attention focused entirely on you, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself laughing and talking about everything from mundane details about your job to the oddities of living in a city like Gotham.

By the end of the night, you were exchanging numbers, your curiosity piqued by his mysterious air, but also by how strangely comfortable you felt around him. Something told you there was more to Bruce Wayne than met the eye, but for now, you were content to just go along with it.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of coffee dates and casual conversations. Every time you met, it felt like you were peeling back another layer of him, but it was slow, almost too slow. Bruce always seemed interested in you—truly interested—but there was a distance in his eyes, a guardedness that made it impossible to get too close.

And then there were the disappearances.

You’d be sitting at a café, enjoying a warm drink, and Bruce would be there, his attention on you, his voice a calm presence in the noise of the world. But then, just as the conversation would begin to dip into something deeper, his phone would ring. His expression would change in an instant—controlled but sharp—and he’d apologize, excusing himself to take the call in a more private area.

You didn’t think much of it at first. Work. That was all he ever said. But the more times it happened, the more it felt like an excuse. And then you started to wonder: was he really that busy? Or was there something else going on?

One evening, after yet another brief and unexplained disappearance, you found yourself sitting alone at a table, swirling the coffee in your mug absentmindedly, thoughts racing. A small part of you had been entertained by his mystery, but now, it was starting to bother you. He’d been so elusive, almost like he was keeping something from you. And when he disappeared on the phone, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was another woman involved. Maybe that was why he was always so distant when you weren’t with him. Maybe the phone calls were just him checking in with his girlfriend.

You tried to push the thoughts aside, but they clung to you, nagging at the back of your mind.

It wasn’t until a few days later that your suspicions were confirmed—but not in the way you expected.

You were walking through the city, lost in your thoughts when you spotted Bruce across the street, standing outside a sleek black car. You froze. He was talking to someone—no, giving orders. The man he was speaking to nodded respectfully before walking away, and you could see Bruce’s posture shift just slightly, a certain authority in his stance.

That was when you saw it.

The man had passed by a neon sign on the corner—an inconspicuous one, but you caught a glimpse of the symbol on his jacket. A logo you recognized. One that wasn’t just associated with business deals or high society parties, but something far darker.

You weren’t sure what exactly you were seeing, but you knew one thing: this wasn’t just a businessman you’d been having coffee with. Bruce Wayne wasn’t just charming and mysterious—he was dangerous.

A mob boss. It made sense now, all the late-night calls, the secretive exits, the way people in Gotham seemed to give him a certain level of respect.

But before you could process the full weight of the realization, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned quickly, only to find Bruce standing right behind you, his face unreadable.

“I thought I might find you here,” he said smoothly, his tone even and calm, though there was an edge to it now. “You’ve been thinking about me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to swallow the shock creeping up your throat. “I... I didn’t expect this.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “I guess I should’ve told you sooner.”

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Were you hiding something from me, Bruce? Or... was there someone else?”

A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “There’s no one else, Y/N. But there are things about me... things I can’t share easily.” He stepped closer, his voice low, almost like a warning. “I didn’t want you to get mixed up in it.”

Your stomach twisted with a mix of confusion and anger. “Mixed up in what? What are you really doing, Bruce?”

He hesitated, but then, his hand moved to your cheek, his touch tender. “I’m doing what I have to do to protect this city. And anyone who gets close to me—who gets too close—becomes a part of that. You need to understand that.”

You looked up at him, a chill running through you. “So this—us—wasn’t real?”

Bruce’s gaze softened, a brief flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “It was real. But my world is... complicated. I was hoping you wouldn’t find out this way. But I won’t lie to you, Y/N. This is my life. And if you want to stay in it, you need to accept what that means.”

Your heart raced as you tried to piece it all together—the man you thought you knew, the mystery, the lies. But no matter how much you wanted to run, something about him held you in place, anchored by the truth in his eyes.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” you whispered, the weight of everything crashing down on you.

Bruce’s expression darkened, his thumb brushing over your cheek before he spoke again. “You’ll figure it out. But just know—no one ever walks away from me once they’ve seen the truth. And that includes you.”

[mochism-writes]

°☆Tug of the Force☆°

—PART 1

●type● intro to series, storyline, MLM romance, two men fighting over you, NSFW, violent, wild interactions

●pairing● anakin skywalker & obi wan kenobi x male reader

●warnings● double penetration, unprotected sex, threesome, anal sex, oral sex, gay sex, (reader) dominated, crying, babying the reader, aggressive kissing, bottom reader, degration, homophobic slurs

●word count● IDK BUT VERY LONG

▪︎synopsis▪︎ You do not know Anakin or Obi Wan Kenobi personally. Both you and Anakin are Padawans, Jedi's in training. Anakin is 20 years old while you are 19, he is very advanced in using the Force, while you aren't as great since Anakin is a year ahead of you. Anakin has a mentor Obi Wan Kenobi 36 years old, that teaches him the way of the Force much like your own master. Even though Padawans learn the Force individually with their masters, your batch of former Jedi initiates have been called to the Jedi Temple of Coruscant for a graduation reunion...

》setting《 your hotel suite in Coruscant...

Your hotel suite has a futuristic, sleek, pale theme. One wall stands replaced with a large window, giving the most breathtaking view of Coruscant. The busy hovercraft traffic, the looming skyscrapers, the pinkish hue of the planet's atmosphere, it feels great to be back.

◇Your mind◇ "Cologne... tie... socks... what else?..."

Your mind rushes at the hotel as you try to check off the growing mental list in your head before the reunion party

◇Your mind◇ "Oh shit! I forgot to shave!"

—————————timeskip—————————

》setting《 Jedi Temple of Coruscant...

You arrive to the Temple via the metro, the busy train car felt suffocating, stuffed to the brim with miserable creatures of all alien backgrounds. Stepping off the metro, a cold breeze of the life sustaining oxygen caresses your face. How refreshing. As you near the Temple, the front gate is guarded by two male aliens that scan your face and give you entry to the seemingly infinite halls of the Jedi Temple of Coruscant

◇Your mind◇ "Woah... where is everyone..?"

This definitely wasn't the party you expected, empty endless halls. You recall your past here and remember the secret hideout that you had with your fellow initiates during your time at the Temple. The hideout was accessed via a secret door hidden within one of the discolored pillars of the grand hall.

◇Your mind◇ "There it is!"

The discolored pillar is visible in the distance, the velvet carpet of the halls steered right past the pillar, a non-Jedi would not think twice to inspect the slightly off-white pillar.

◇Your mind◇ "Not sure if this is where everyone is, but it will be nice to see the old hideout again"

You approach the pillar and trace your hands along its sides until you feel the subtle cracks outlining the hidden door. You step back and use your force to open the hidden door. Just like old times.

A spiral staircase leads down to the hideout, the air feels cool and dry. The winding staircase seemed so much more vast when you were younger, but now it seems like such a small distance.

◇Your mind◇ "Its been so long since I've been down here..."

The twisted staircase leads down, and an odd thumping emerges the deeper you go, causing a dust to fall from the stairs above you.

◇Your mind◇ "Is that music..? Is someone down here?..."

The thumping is now clear and you make it out as a distant club beat. Finally, you reach the door of the hideout. The door looks completely different than what you recall it to be. The puny stone door now replaced with a grand entrance made of a cloudy glass like material, giving you a faint look into the inside, colorful blurs shift behind the door.

◇Your mind◇ "They must have renovated this door.. it is so much fancier than what it used to be..."

You push the door open and bright lights and loud music flood out

》setting《 the Coruscant Jedi club...

The blaring music of the club and the flashing lights disorient you for a moment as you glare around at the busy, unfamiliar scene. A bar lays at the side of the club, populated with Jedis being catered to by well dressed servers. The club has a hot pink color scheme, produced by iridescent party lights blaring from the dance floor. A bridge hangs over the main dance floor, sprinkled with drunkards and dancers. The entire club has a breathtaking view of the skylines of Coruscant, the window definitely being one of the biggest you have ever seen.

◇Your mind◇ "What the fuck...? This isn't the hideout I remember..."

Walking in, the flashing lights and the upbeat music. Aliens and people in futuristic streetwear grinding upon eachother on the dance floor. Males socializing at the bar. The air feels humid and your body bounces to the base of the speakers.

◇Your mind◇ "They definitely did some fucking renovating huh..."

You scan the people on the dance floor, and a familiar face catcher your eye. Donovan. Your ex. Donovan sits on a lounge couch, two female aliens praising beside him. Donovan smirks as the aliens whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

◇Your mind◇ "Gross..."

You're reminded of your near expulsion because of your breakup with Donovan, you used the Force on him to throw him to the ground when you found out. Whatever. You decide a drink is just the right thing to loosen you up and forget about Donovan.

》scene《 The Bar...

The bar has a familiar theme to a Tatooine cantina, colorful drinks displayed behind the bar. You lean on the bar and wait for a server, a busy scene envelopes around you, chatter of Jedis and the mechanical clatter and hum of the server droids mixing drinks.

◇server droid◇ "What would you like as your appetizer before your drinks?"

◇You◇ "I'll just have some Ahrisa"

The server droid bumbles and whirrs as it ruffles through the cabinets of the bar for the spicy baked balls. The droid finally finds a bag of Ahrisa, poring five of them into the bowl infront of you.

◇server droid◇ "I will be back in a approximately five minutes for your drink"

The balls of baked bread have a savory, sweet, and spicy taste. As you nibble on your appetizer, a group of people next to you shuffle out of the area. You start to daydream when all the sudden a man takes up the vacant spot beside you.

◇Man, to server droid◇ "Hmm.. ill skip on the appetizer... I'm kina tight on money"

The man seems different than anyone you had ever met. He is a human like you. He has brown hair, a clean crisp Jedi robe, a lean body, his muscles barely outlining on his robe. He looks tired, and his sleepy eyes await for his drink. The man reaches out to your bowl and grabs a Ahrisa ball. You now stare at him shocked and out of your analytical state

◇Man◇ "What? You were staring at me for quite a while, I have a right to some of your Ahrisa"

He chuckles

◇You◇ "What?!... No.. I wasn't trying to be rude. Sorry if I weirded you out- it's just that its been a while since I've seen humans, I've been training in a remote area.."

The man smiles and analyzes your face for a moment before laughing dryly and patting you playfully on the back.

◇Man◇ "I'm Anakin. Anakin Skywalker."

His voice is warm and a little raspy, he tries to keep a cheerful tone despite his tired appearance.

◇You◇ "Nice to meet you! I'm Y/N."

◇Anakin◇ "Y/N huh?... A classic human name. Let me guess, your family is traditional"

Anakin suggests curiously

◇You◇ "Yeah heh, we even still have an air frier in our kitchen"

The two of you chuckle about the ancient kictchenwear

◇Anakin◇ " So, what year did you graduate from the Temple? I graduated 12904"

The server droid gives Anakin his drink and he thanks it briefly

◇You◇ "Oh, I graduated 12903. It's weird that I don't recognize you from back then!"

◇Anakin◇."Yeah, I was the quiet kid for sure. Never talked, always hid at the back of the class."

Anakin sips on his drink and let's out a sigh of refreshment after his seemingly long day

◇You◇ "You seem tired. Why haven't you been resting? We are on vacation anyway."

◇Anakin◇ "Nah, I wasn't even invited here. I skipped graduation day so I guess it's fair to say that I wasn't necessarily a favorite of the Temple. I hitched a ride here with my friends"

◇You◇ "And your master is okay with this?"

◇Anakin◇ "Yeah he's super chill, I don't worry about him"

◇You◇ "Whats his name?"

◇Anakin◇ "Obi Wan Kenobi, but I just call him Ben for short"

◇You◇ "Oh okay! He sounds sweet. My master is called Rima Del Unabe, but she's let me be on vacation for a month for the reunion"

◇Anakin◇ "Sounds fun. Ben has some work here so I'm just chilling around Coruscant"

Anakin slides closer

◇Anakin◇ "Why don't we slip out of here and you come over to my place huh?"

His voice his deep and seductive, his hot breath hits your ear

◇You◇ "Are you trying to.. hook up with me?.."

You glare at Anakin with a subtle disgust, as if he thought you would hook up with a stranger?

◇Anakin◇ "Is that a crime?..."

He thought right, you would definitely hook up with a stranger.

◇You◇ "Nope! Let's dip"

You wink at him, and he smirks back with his stern eyes, dropping a tip at the bar and taking your hand, guiding you out of the humid crowd of the club

—————————timeskip—————————

》scene《 Anakin's suite...

Anakin's suite has a large living room area on the patio, most of the suite being outdoors. His suite seems cozy and welcoming, the beautiful scenery of Coruscant being one of its main highlights. Anakin sits on the arm of one of the couches, looking out at the city. He looks back at you and scoots aside. He pats the vacant spot next to him, inviting you to sit next to him.

◇Anakin◇ "Fuck I love this planet. I wish I could be here forever."

◇You◇ "Why can't you?"

◇Anakin◇ "Ben always has some interplanetary task for me or some business elsewhere, I never have time to myself"

◇You◇ "That must suck.. I'm sorry"

◇Anakin◇ "Its fine.. he says it's for the best I guess. Atleast I have you beside me Y/N."

Anakin moves his arm closest to you behind you and rests it on your outer hip. You blush slightly. Anakin stands up

◇Anakin◇ "No more waisting time. I wanna fuck"

◇You◇ "Sheesh! Okay.. someones a little horny.."

You tease in a playful tone. Anakin begins to take off his robe, not breaking eye contact with you as he does. His breathing is heavy and his eyes look serious.

◇Anakin◇ "A little? Nah. I'm super horny."

Your body warms up as he asserts his dominating tone. You feel yourself starting to get hard underneath your robe.

◇Your mind◇ "Fuck... he's so hot... ugh I can't believe I'm doing this with a fucking stranger but honestly I feel safe around him. He seems sweet but definitely very dominant when he's riled up..."

Anakin stands infront of you, his dick hard from underneath his underwear. He is still wearing his now undone robe, it drapes over his body loosely

◇Anakin◇ "This dick isn't going to lubricate itself is it?... Or do you want me to fuck you dry?"

You shudder at his idea, fucking dry sounds like hell.

◇You◇ "Uh.. I.."

You stand there, blushing, looking at his growing erection while he glares at you with a smirk.

◇Anakin◇ "Don't worry, it doesn't bite."

He teases. You walk up to him and stand face to face with him, both of your heavy breathing brushing eachothers face. Anakin leans in and gives a light kiss to your lips. You stare at him for a moment and then kiss him harder, slipping your tounge into his mouth slightly. Anakin begins to grasp your head from behind and takes control of the passionate kiss, his tounge ramming into your mouth. As one of his hands keeps your head in place, he uses his other hand to rub his crotch, his fully grown cock is now leaking a little bit underneath his underwear.

◇Anakin◇ "Fuck you're so hot.."

Anakin moans in-between the hot and sloppy kisses. Anakin suddenly stops and pulls your head back violently by grasping your hair with force. He takes a good look at your face, his stern, sleepy eyes searching your face with a serious expression. Once he's satisfied, he pulls your head down, forcing you to your knees. You're now face to face with his crotch.

◇Anakin◇ "Suck faggot."

Anakin uses both hands to shove your face on his crotch area, rubbing his dick on your face from underneath his underwear. Anakin looks up, closes his eyes and grunts in pleasure, the friction of your face partially satisfying his cock. Anakin let's go of your head and allows you to unpackage his meat.

◇Anakin◇ "Take it out.. that's right..."

You firmly grasp the top of his trouser, and pull it down in one swift motion. Anakins rock hard dick hits you in the face, eager to be free from its prison. You make eye contact with Anakin, looking up at him lustfully as his dick lays atop of your face, you can feel its heavyness. Anakin's dick rests at 6.7 inches long, and has a girth of 2.5 inches, very girthy. Your eyes now look away from his face and now focus on his circumcised member. His dick reeks of testosterone and you can't resist but to lick the slit at the tip of his cock.

Anakin closes his eyes and shudders at the feeling of your tounge on his dick, he let's out deep and growling breaths, eager for more. You move on to his full tip, widening your mouth and enclosing it around his dark pink tip. You begin to suck his dick slowly, his tip hitting the back of your throat frequently.

◇Anakin◇ "Fuck.. Go faster..."

You try to go faster but his dick is just too big for your mouth. Anakin grasps your hair again and forcefully pushes your head to the very base of his dick. Your gag reflexes take over and you start to choke. The vibrations of your choke on Anakin's cock really turn him on so he continues to press your head on his dick all the way. Anakin gasps and grunts with pleasure as you gag on his dick. Finally, as you were about to pass out on his dick, Anakin pulls your head off his dick, and allows you to gasp for air.

◇Anakin◇ "That felt so good..."

You gasp for air, Anakin's dick pokes you in the face as if it yearns for more. His cock begins to drip with precum and you start to lick it all up, the salty, warm substance tastes even better when it comes from Anakin. You make eye contact with Anakin as you lick up his precum, licking the slit of his tip as soon as he produces it. Anakin glares at you lustfully from above and bites his lips, basking in how good you're making him feel. You begin to slowly jerk off his shaft with your hands while your mouth works his tip, Anakin moans in pleasure. The door of Anakin's suite unlocks and slams to the wall with a loud bang.

◇Ben◇ "What the hell did I say about noise after 9? I'm trying to fucking sleep in the suite next door!"

Ben's eyes take a moment to adjust to the dark suite. You're kneeling infront of Anakin so you cannot see the person that has just walked in. Anakin looks down at you in desperation.

◇Anakin◇ "Shit shit shit... Y/N. I need you to hide"

You're shocked and you're adrenaline pumps as Anakin's caring, raspy voice commands you. You desperately manage to crawl underneath a table and watch the scene unfold from a distance. Anakin hurriedly wraps his loose robe, concealing his dick.

◇Ben◇ "Oh bloody hell Anakin. What the hell is your problem.."

Ben Kenobi slowly starts to approach, closing the door behind him. His eyes glare around the room, his sleepy posture approaches Anakin. Anakin quickly turns around, acting innocent, his robe concealing the crime scene.

◇Anakin◇ "Ben! Haha.. I'm sorry I was just er.."

Ben stands a few feet away from his Padawan and tries to read his body language, noticing Anakin's suspicious mannerisms.

◇Ben◇ "Anakin. I know what you were doing"

From under the table, you shudder in fear. Your breathing begins to tremble in fear..

◇Your mind◇ "Fuck!... What if he tells my master..."

Your mind races as you watch the scene unfold. Ben puts his hand on Anakin's shoulder, in a kind and friendly way.

◇Anakin◇ "I assure you master.. this isn't what you think it is..."

Ben analyzes Anakins' face for a moment, the suspense makes you tremble from underneath the table.

◇Ben◇ "Anakin, you realize that touching yourself is normal, do it too. You do not need to be ashamed of it."

Your body relaxes from hearing his words.. thank God he's not suspicious of you. Anakin also seems relieved from his masters words.

◇Anakin◇ "Yeah.. you're right. That's what I was doing.."

Ben chuckles and pats Anakin's shoulder

◇Ben◇ "Alrighty then. Keep the moans down though mate. The entire galaxy must've heard you by now"

Ben laughs to himself as he turns away and begins to leave the suite.

Anakin stands in his place, watching his master leave, still frozen in fear from that close call. Ben approaches the door and grasps the handle.

◇Ben◇ "But Anakin.. Maybe you could've chosen a better hiding spot for your prostitute?"

Your eyes widen with fear from underneath the table. Anakin clears his throat dryly, his voice trembling.

◇Anakin◇ "Obi Wan.. I-I..."

Ben turns back, his face now stern and his body serious.

◇Ben◇ "You.. you what? There is no excuse for this shit."

Ben turns towards your hiding spot and begins to walk towards the table you are concealed under. Ben now stands infront of your table, the only thing visible to you are his slippers and his draped robe.

◇Your mind◇ "Please don't look under the table... please don't look under the tab.."

The table is flung from above you, Ben's hand is outreached in the direction that the table had gone, he had used the Force to reveal your hiding spot.

◇Ben◇ "Well well well... This prostitute seems different then the ones I typically see around here"

You lay sprawled on the floor, nervous and embarrassed. You glance at Anakin and he returns the same feared look. Ben towers over your body, he glares down at you, making you feel inferior to his presence. Ben kneels down to your body, his bearded, gruff face begins to scan you face, he grunts in confusion.

◇Ben◇ "A Jedi?"

You look up at the man nervously

◇You◇ "Yeah... my name is Y/N.."

Ben tilts your chin up with his fingers to get a better look at your face. His hands are strong and hard to resist.

◇Ben◇ "A Jedi prostitute?"

Anakin swiftly strides over and pulls Ben from the back, causing him to fall from his kneeled position, but Ben catches himself with his elbow and a grunt.

◇Anakin◇ "Don't call him a prostitute. He's my boyfriend."

Ben shifts on the ground, and gets back up on his feet, surprised by his student's reaction. Anakin takes your hand and helps you up to your feet, his expression now firm and protective.

◇Your mind◇ "We aren't boyfriends... we literally just met..."

Ben smirks at the scene.

◇Ben◇ "Boyfriends.. huh?"

◇Anakin◇ "Yep. Do you have a fucking problem?"

Ben chuckles to himself

◇Ben◇ "Anakin. We have been over this. No dating until your training is over."

Anakin shifts uncomfortably, and takes a quick look at you as if to say, "I better not regret this.."

◇Anakin◇ "I don't care. We aren't in love and you can't do anything about it."

Ben stares in disbelief, his student is disobeying him and he expects to get away with it? He stands there, analyzing the situation. You see his muscular build, and his beard low-key turns you on. He has a "dilf" quality to him. Ben looks at you, and his mind seems to have made a decision.

◇Ben◇ "You're lucky I think you're attractive."

Ben steps very close towards you, your faces near eachother at an uncomfortable distance. Ben breathes heavily, his hot breath smells of coffee.

◇Ben◇ "This is how it's gonna go."

Ben says in a demanding tone. His eyes lock onto yours, his nose technically rubbing against your nose. Anakin watches from aside, he looks his master seducing his hookup with rage.

◇Anakin◇ "What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuc-?"

Anakin's furious voice cuts abruptly, you notice that Ben's hand is outreached and he has used the Force to silence Anakin. Anakin stands frozen in place. You try to object but Ben desperately looks you in the eyes.

◇Ben◇ "Shhh... don't worry about him... he will have his turn with you..."

Ben begins to kiss you roughly, his eyes still locked onto yours. His beard feels rough on your face, and his moans sound desperate.

Ben begins to slip his tongue into your mouth, your two tounges start to lick eachother and you finally embrace the passionate kiss, even though deep down you feel bad for Anakin, watching from beside.

Ben pulls out of the kiss, he licks your lips one last time.

◇Ben◇ "Because you broke the rules Anakin, you must share Y/N with me. No excuses."

With a smooth swoop of his hand, Ben releases Anakin from his frozen state.

◇Anakin◇ "Go to hell!"

Ben chuckles, he contines to keep eye contact with you in a suggestive fasion.

◇Ben◇ "What can I say, there are consequences to your actions Anakin."

Ben puts his arm behind your back and guides you to a couch in Anakin's living room, Ben keeps looking behind him to make sure Anakin follows closely behind. All three of you stop at the couch.

◇Ben◇ "Now, could you be a dear and take off your clothes"

You look to Anakin, flustered, and he gives a solemn nod of approval, Ben is his master after all.

◇Your mind◇ "Wow. Never in my fucking life would I think that I would be in this situation. Well- I'm not really complaining about it. Both of the men before me are like super hot so I guess this is whatever"

You begin to undo your robe, your belt falling to the ground, your cloak following it. You take off your shirt, revealing your bare chest. Ben and Anakin are locked on a trance, as if what they were witnessing was worthy to be praised. You look at the duo, embarrassed and low-key turned on. You take off your underwear, your hard dick springs out, but the center of attention, your ass, shines pale in the dark moonlight.

◇Anakin◇ "Fuck dude! That's the best looking ass I've even seen."

◇Ben◇ "I call dibs first!"

Anakin glares at his master, but Ben doesn't notice, he pushes you onto the couch, doggy style. Ben kneels on the couch, behind you, and desperately starts to undo his robes.

◇Ben◇ "Fuck... Anakin, use Y/N's mouth, we'll trade off positions"

In front of you, Anakin looks down at you his massive cock tenting in his loose robes.

◇Anakin◇ "Finally. Let's finish what we started, shall we?"

Anakin undoes his belt, and his bare body shines from underneath his cloak. Anakin's cock springs out once more and he slaps you with his lucid, growing cock.

◇Anakin◇ "Haa.. open up for me will you?"

Anakin asks in a yearning tone, he lays his thumb on your bottom lip, and gently presses into your mouth.

◇Anakin◇ "Open wide..."

He gently moves his thumb into your mouth as you open your lips, Anakin's lustful and towering demeanor is too much to resist. Anakin takes his thumb out of your mouth swiftly, using the same hand to quickly pick up his cock and set the tip into your open mouth.

◇Anakin◇ "Just like that.. that's right.. suck it for me baby"

Anakin uses his other hand to firmly grasp the back of your head, and starts to slowly pump your head back and fourth on his leaking dick. Anakin can't help but to let out a satisfied groan as he begins to thrust his cock deeper into your mouth.

Behind you, Ben breathes wildly loudly as he tosses his clothes on the floor beside the couch. His hairy, toned body is the definition of a dad-bod. His abs are defined, and his stomach is wide. His chest is hairy, the hair running from his beard all the way down to the base of his cock, a thick snail trail leads the way to the north pole from his belly button. His cock, fully grown, starts to twitch in excitement, standing at 7.4 inches long and a girth of 3.4 inches. He starts to rub his yearning, circumcised cock with one of his veiny, overworked hands, and with the other hand he pulls back one of your ass cheeks, getting a closer look at your hole.

◇Ben◇ "Hmm! A virgin! Don't worry Y/N, I'll be sure to take really good care of you. I'll make sure to loosen you up so you don't get hurt"

Ben smirks as he inspects your hole, and he lets go of your cheek and begins to scratch his beard. He continues to rub his cock sensually with his other hand. After a thorough inspection and admiration of the scene, Ben finally frees both of his hands and spreads both of your cheeks apart, and licks your hole once, looking back at you to witness your reaction. Your hips start to buck towards Ben and you stop sucking Anakin for a moment to look back at Ben and give him a silent beg for more. Ben nods in approval, his piercing eyes making eye contact with yours for a moment, and then release you as if to allow you to continue to suck Anakin's cock.

◇Ben◇ "Thank goodness you douched before this Y/N. Although that would not have stopped me from absolutely destroying your ass anyway."

Ben slowly starts to press your hole with his tongue, allowing for you to take him in at your own pace. His beard scratches your ass in all the right places, sometimes you feel him intentionally rubbing his chin on your hole just to feel you shiver in pleasure. Ben draws his face back from your ass, spitting on his fingers. He starts to fit his pointer finger into your hole, being careful to pause when your grip seems too sudden or violent.

◇Anakin◇ "Suck better bitch! Are you loosing focus here?"

Snapping back into focus to the front half of your body, you glance up at Anakin, one of his hands holding his hair out of his face. His other hand reaches down and fondles your face.

◇Anakin◇ "Ben! Can we switch spots now?!"

Ben looks at Anakin, he currently has two fingers wedged inside of you.

◇Ben◇ "Fuck! Alright. Remember, three fingers and then work your way up to five."

◇Anakin◇ "Yeah yeah whatever.."

The two men switch spots, Ben now stands infront of you, his cock is already wet with precum. You jerk his cock off will passion, looking up at him for approval every time you go faster or slower.

◇Ben◇ "It's okay Y/N. Go at your own pace.."

Ben watches you warmly from above as you try to figure out how to fit his cock into your mouth.

On your rear, Anakin starts to fit his three fingers into your hole, but not soft and slowly like Ben, no. Anakin seems to be impatient and desperate, he jams three finger in and out of you without warning.

◇Anakin◇ "Pfft, work your way up to five. Why work my way up to five fingers when I could literally just stick my cock in now?"

Ben hears Anakin's remark, but his response is one second too late, Anakin jams his cock into your hole with brute force.

◇Ben◇ "ANAKIN! What the hell?? You're going to fucking kill Y/N!"

Anakin cannot seem to hear anything, his face is filled with pure extasy has he lets his entire cock sit inside you for a moment. Your body shudders in pain, and your ass tries to push Anakin out, but the resistance just seems to make him more turned on.

◇Anakin◇ "Fuck yeah! How does your virgin hole like that?"

Anakin flexes one of his arms as his other arm firmly gets hold of your lower back. You are too overstimulated to respond to his cocky remark. Anakin begins to fuck you with a rather fast pace. You wince in pain, but the pain starts to ease into fulfillment as Anakin's tip smashes against your G-spot. Ben looks at Anakin and back to you, seeming to feel bad for you. He knows you're in pain.

◇Ben◇ "Y/N I need you to suck my dick. It needs to be lubricated so I can take over Anakin's spot. Can you do that for me?"

You look up at Ben, his face is warm, and he sounds almost paternal talking to you. He is hard to resist. Through all the pain and pleasure Anakin is putting you through, you pick up Ben's cock and slowly fit it in your mouth.

◇Ben◇ "That's right... there you go!"

Ben cheers you on like a father at his son's football game as you fit his length. You salivate on his cock, Anakin's brute force keeps pushing you deeper onto Ben's cock. Your gag reflexes start to engage as you start to reach Ben's base. Ben rapidly pulls out as soon as he hears your choking.

◇Ben◇ "Y/N? Are you okay?"

Ben pulls your head up so he can have eye contact with you.

◇You◇ "Ye-ah... did I do good..?"

You force out between Anakin's blows. Ben smiles and ruffles your hair up playfully.

◇Ben◇ "You did good kid."

Ben storms to your backside quickly, his had outreached as if he was about to use the Force. Anakin is too busy abusing your hole to notice. With one foul thrusts of his hand, Ben throws Anakin backwards, out of your ass, and he lands with a thud on a wall. You begin to cry, your hole is so sore and without anything to support the huge amout of space Anakin left, you wince in pain. Ben hurriedly starts to rub your hole, as if to massage a sore back.

◇Ben◇ "Shhh, don't worry... I'm here... don't cry baby.."

You look back at him, sensually rubbing your hole with one hand, and slowly jerking his cock with his other hand. He stops rubbing and uses his hand to pull you off your arms, you both stand kneeled on the couch, Ben behind you. Ben's hairy body against your backside makes you shiver, but his immense body heat makes you lean into him more. Ben starts to move his hand to your front, while behind you, his other hand is still jerking off his now leaking cock. With the hand infront of you, Ben takes hold of your cock, and you inhale suddenly, Ben's big, rugged, warm hand feels unlike anything you have had on your dick before. You look back at Ben, his face inches away from yours, and you start to kiss him passionately while he starts to jerk off your cock. As you kiss, you reach behind you, and grasp Ben's poking cock, you can feel how wet it is. Pulling away from the kiss, you start to position the cock behind you at your tip, while Ben is still jerking you off. Ben looks down in excitement as you start to push your ass against his tip, slowly but surely your ass takes him in. Ben lets out a deep, husky groan as his tip is engulfed in your ass.

◇Ben◇ "Damn Y/N! You are taking me in so well.."

You smirk at him seductively as you finally feel your ass brush against his body hair. Even through Ben was much longer and thicker then Anakin, his comforting nature makes up for the pain. Ben starts to grasp your hips with both hands and slowly moves dick dick back and fourth in your ass. Suddenly, you hear Ben gagging behind you. Anakin stands a feet away from the scene and uses the Force to choke Ben. You quickly pull off of Ben's cock and use your force to push Anakin to the ground, releasing Ben from his grasp. Ben falls to the ground, gasping for air.

◇You◇ "Ben! Are you okay?"

You hurry to him, and kneel beside him on the ground, placing your hands on his bare chest

◇Ben◇ "I-im okay.."

Ben picks himself up, so does Anakin. The two stand facing eachother, naked and serious. Ben uses the Force to grab his lightsaber from his robe and Anakin does the same.

◇Anakin◇ "You took my fucking hookup away from me."

◇Ben◇ "Oh! So he's your hookup now? What happened to him being your boyfriend"

◇You◇ "He just lied so you wouldn't throw me out."

Anakin glares at you

◇Ben◇ "You broke my rules Anakin, so I had to make you pay for them. Although now I think your hookup likes me more then you?"

Both men face to you, and you stand there, nervous to give input. Anakin begins to turn on his lightsaber and starts to swing it at Ben.

◇You◇ "Ben! Behind you!!"

Ben swiftly turns back and blocks the saber with his own, the two engage in a heated duel with their lightsabers.

◇Anakin◇ "Y/N is mine! Back the fuck off of him!"

◇Ben◇ "You treat him like shit! He obviously wants me over you."

You watch, speechless, as the fight unfolds infront of you, every time someone swings their lightsaber you fear someone might loose a limb.

◇You◇ "STOP IT!"

They freeze and stare at you.

◇Ben◇ "Don't worry Y/N, I know what I am doing."

◇Anakin◇ "Fuck off man. I'll kill you for Y/N"

◇You◇ "Hey hey hey! Stop you two! Stop that now. I have a solution."

The three naked men look at eachother, Ben confused, Anakin smirking, and you wondering if what you are about to propose is physically possible.

◇You◇ "Both of you can fuck me at once."

Ben tilts him head, unsure if this is safe, while Anakin smiles widely.

◇Anakin◇ "Fuck yeah Y/N! I didn't know you were freaky like that!"

You climb onto the couch.

◇You◇ "Ben, lay beneath me"

Ben looks at you, still processing what you proposed.

◇Ben◇ "Okay.. are you sure you want to do this Y/N?.."

◇You◇ "Yes. Don't worry."

Ben lays on the couch, his dick straight up like a pole. You sit on his cock slowly, making sure your ass is adjusted. Ben moans in pleasure with his hands behind his head, closing his eyes in ecstasy. You begin to bounce up and down on his cock sensually.

◇Anakin◇ "That's it. It's my turn!"

Anakin kneels on the couch, his knees in-between Ben's legs, and he positions himself at you hole, already penetrated by Ben.

◇Anakin◇ "Lets make this short and sweet."

Anakin presses his tip at your hole, already wrapped around Ben's cock. Anakin uses his fingers to stretch out the small area of hole you have left, and finally fits in his tip. Anakin's cock glides on Ben's as he pushes deeper into your ass. The pain is almost unbearable as the two cocks fill up your hole, the same hole that had never been used a day in its life the day before.

◇Anakin◇ "Fuck yeah!! Your cock is so warm Obi Wan!"

Ben rolls his eyes, but the feeling of your ass and Anakin's cock against his own is certainly the best thing he has ever felt before.

◇You◇ "Okay.. you two can pick up the pace back there.."

Ben and Anakin begin to thrust in and out of your hole, their cocks rubbing against one another within you. Your G-spot feels tired from all the sensitivity. You rest your head on Ben's neck as he contines to fuck you, his breath deep and husky. He whispers in your ear.

◇Ben◇ "Don't worry baby.. I'm here for you.."

He says softly as he contines to abuse your hole with his Jedi apprentice. Anakin grunts in pleasure, his cock leaking precum and lubricating your anal walls.

◇Anakin◇ "I think I'm about to cum... what about you old man?"

◇Ben◇ "I-I'm close.. Y/N prepare yourself.."

The two men thrust even more violently than before, your hole starts to leak of precum as the men push in and out.

◇Ben◇ "I'm about to cum.."

◇Anakin◇ "Me too.."

You brace yourself and suddenly the thrusting stops. Ben and Anakin stay fully buried within your hole. Ben is the first to cum, his dick starts to twitch slowly and he starts to ejaculate inside of you. His hot substance fills you up. Anakin is second, he cums quickly and forcefully, his shots feel like stabs as he cums into your ass. Finally the two pull out, you gasp for air as they leave your hole empty, and you lay on your back on the couch, Anakin and Ben do the same. Both men wrap their arms around you, you lay inbetween them as you all bask in the afterglow of the sensual experience you all just shared.

◇Anakin◇ "That was nice."

◇You◇ "Yeah, it was.."

Ben turns his head and whispers in your ear, his breath hot and deep.

◇Ben◇ "You like me more though"

◇Anakin◇ "Hey! I fucking heard that! Back off grandpa!"

You giggle as the duo begins to fight once more. But genuinely, deep down, you still don't know who you prefer more.

——————to be continued???——————

[prettymfwrites]

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧

Mom Ellie x mom Dina x pregnant reader

The family life of You, Dina, and Ellie plus the rest of our beloved people<3

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

The cozy little house in Jackson was full of warmth and life. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting soft golden hues on the wooden floors. JJ was sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, babbling as he tried to stack a tower of blocks. Ellie crouched beside him, helping stabilize his wobbly creation, while Dina leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the scene with a soft smile.

You sat on the couch with a hand resting over your growing belly, a rare moment of rest in the busy household. At five months pregnant, you were starting to feel the fatigue more acutely, and everyone around you seemed to notice.

“Hey,” Dina called from the kitchen, glancing at you over her shoulder. “You good? Need water or something?”

You shook your head with a small smile. “I’m fine, just enjoying the show.”

Ellie looked up from her spot on the floor, her green eyes flicking to you with concern. “You sure? You’ve been sitting a while. Maybe we should prop your feet up or something.”

You laughed softly. “I’m okay, Ellie. Really.”

But before you could convince her further, the front door creaked open, and Joel stepped inside, followed by Jesse.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Joel said, lifting a basket filled with freshly baked bread and other treats Maria had sent over. “Maria thought y’all could use some extra hands today.”

“Extra hands are always welcome,” Dina said, stepping forward to grab the basket. “Especially with these two being overprotective mother hens.”

Joel chuckled as Jesse leaned down to ruffle JJ’s hair. “Overprotective’s not a bad thing,” Jesse said, throwing a wink in your direction. “Especially with this one baking up another troublemaker.”

“Hey!” you protested, laughing. “You’re all acting like I can’t even move anymore.”

“You’re pregnant,” Ellie said firmly, standing and brushing her hands on her jeans. “You’re not supposed to be moving. Or lifting. Or doing anything remotely exhausting.”

“She’s not wrong,” Joel added, his tone teasing but warm. “Why do you think Maria’s been sending me over so much? Keepin’ you all in line.”

Maria’s timing was impeccable because not long after, she arrived with even more food and supplies. She gave you a pointed look as she set down a casserole dish. “And how are you feeling today?”

You sighed dramatically, throwing your hands up. “I’m fine. But apparently, I’m under house arrest.”

Maria laughed, patting your shoulder. “Good. That means they’re doing their job.”

---

Living with Ellie, Dina, and JJ felt like being part of a chaotic yet loving symphony. Ellie was the early riser, always the first to make coffee and check the perimeter. Dina, on the other hand, was the night owl, staying up late to tidy up or prep for the next day.

JJ was the glue that held everything together. His giggles filled the house, and he had both Ellie and Dina wrapped around his little fingers. Ellie was the patient teacher, showing him how to draw simple shapes or hold a small wooden guitar. Dina was the playful one, chasing him around the house and encouraging his endless curiosity.

You found your rhythm in their chaos, though everyone made sure you were never left to do too much.

“Hey, hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Ellie said one afternoon when she caught you trying to carry a basket of laundry upstairs.

“Laundry?” you replied innocently.

“Not happening.” Ellie took the basket from you with a shake of her head. “You’re supposed to be resting. Dina, tell her!”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Dina called from the kitchen, though her amused tone betrayed her stance.

Maria often stopped by with little gifts or advice, her maternal instincts kicking in whenever she saw you. She and Joel worked well together, often taking JJ for walks so you could have a moment of peace.

---

One day, a minor scare threw everyone into overdrive. You’d been outside tending to the small garden when you tripped over an uneven patch of ground. It wasn’t serious—you caught yourself before falling—but the commotion had Dina rushing outside, followed closely by Ellie, Joel, and Jesse, who happened to be passing by.

“What happened?” Dina asked, her hands on your arms as she inspected you for injuries.

“Nothing! I just lost my footing,” you said, trying to downplay the situation.

“Lost your footing?” Ellie repeated, her brows furrowed. “You could’ve—”

“I didn’t, though,” you interrupted, giving her a reassuring smile.

Joel placed a steadying hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “She’s fine, kid. No need to hover.”

Ellie grumbled something under her breath but didn’t argue. Dina helped you back inside, muttering about how they were going to bubble-wrap you until the baby arrived.

---

Evenings were the best part of the day. The five of you (and Maria or Joel on occasion) would gather in the living room for quiet time. JJ would sit in your lap, occasionally patting your belly and asking questions about the “baby in there.”

Ellie would strum her guitar softly while Dina leaned against you, her head on your shoulder. Joel and Maria would exchange stories from their patrols, and Jesse would crack jokes that had everyone laughing.

Despite the dangers of the world outside, the little house felt like a sanctuary—a place where love and family came first.

Ellie would often whisper to you at night, her hand resting protectively on your stomach. “I’m gonna keep you safe,” she’d say softly, as if making a promise to you and the little one on the way.

Dina, half-asleep, would usually murmur her agreement, pulling you closer. “We all will.”

And as you lay between them, with JJ sleeping soundly in the next room and your growing family wrapped in warmth, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect life.

---

JJ IS LITERALLY THE CUTEST THING

I take requests!

[lolitastories]

Under The Rain

Pt.1

Thomas Shelby

Chapter 1

I know it was a bad idea to walk before Dawn, the area was quiet and I was rushing under the rain to get back home safely. My head was a bit paranoid knowing I wasn’t in the right territory and it got worse when a gunshot echoed closed by. I could take care of myself with the gun hidden under what now was a flimsy dress but a gun could only hold so many bullets and this place reeked of irish criminals. I lift my head up and rush to a pub I knew, well atleast I knew the owner. The door creaks shut behind me and as I try to dust what I could of the water off and a lady comes to view behind the bar. “We are closed” Tall,thin, blonde hair, and an irish accent.

“It won’t take long,” I look around hoping to see Harry sneak his head out from somewhere. “Is Harry around?” Her eyes look at everything but mine. She shakes her head.

“He took the day off,” She turned her body and continued cleaning. “Don’t you know it's not safe for a woman like you to be walking around alone?” Apparently she wasn’t cleaning but she was fixing me a glass.

“I don’t drink” That's when her eyes flicker up to finally look at me. A small huff falls from her mouth.

“Everybody drinks, why come to a pub then?”

“Some people like to get drunk, others like company” I push the glass towards her. “I like to see how drunk people can get, it's funny” A slight smile appears after she down the whole drink in one swoop. “And the other looking for company well,” I take my chance to take a seat on the bar stool, “They are more pitiful than a whore who thinks highly of herself”

“So you come here to taunt” I shrug looking over the place. It was so neatly kept compared to the last time I’ve seen it and so quiet.

“Tell me you don’t enjoy it?” She stands up tall.

“Some, but as a barmaid you learn to listen and the people who come to drink, have stories that would make you drink” I don’t doubt it. “Their horror after war and their struggle to keep their families afloat, it's sad” I smile, shaking my head a bit.

“Scratch what I said before then,” She raised her eyebrow listening to my next words. “That's even more pitiful” Her smile disappeared but quickly was replaced with another slight smile.

“Do you smoke?” I shake my head. “So you don’t smoke or drink” She steps forward leaning against the bar. “Are you a whore?”

“If I were, I would be a very bad one,” She looks surprised at my response. Her words came out with poison but I knew better than let someone's words get to me so quickly. “I don’t have the gift to make men happy,”

“They only want your body not your mind” 

“It's a two for one deal, my mind would never allow it,”

“Men around here don’t care,” Ain’t that the truth. “If you are looking for so much why come out alone and put yourself for anyone to grab?” I look up, turning my head to the side a bit. I knew by her tone she didn’t trust or like me but somehow her words spoke true concern.

“It's not so much” I emphasize her words. “It's the minimum, we deserve so much more-” My words are cut off when the doors open and in come walking a man drench in rain water like me.

“Get me a drink Grace” He stumbles over the bar. He wasn’t drunk, he was exhausted. His hat falls onto the bar surface and when Grace nods he turns around to sit in one of the chairs.

“You should leave,” Grace whispers, coming around the bar to tell me before handing the man his drink. Light could be seen already rising from the top of the buildings, I should be fine.

“Get her a drink too” He pointed over to me. “Seems like she is having a day like mine” I look over hoping to catch a glimpse of his whole face but his stare is fixed on the doors.

“That is kind of you but I was just leaving” I whispered a thanks to Grace and took to standing. I watch Grace flinch from the side of my eye when we hear a loud bang on the table. The glass he harshly set down thankfully didn’t break.

“I came for some company,” My body instantly turns towards the bar, “Where’s Harry?” Grace looks over to him

“Took the day off” She was already pouring him another drink. He hums an okay and his next words elevated my heart rate

“Are you a whore?” I shake my head. “Prostitute? Well same thing” He lets out a dry chuckle. “Any decent lady whose not a whore wouldn’t be here at a pub at this time of day”

“I lost track of time,” I said confidently, turning over to him.

“So an exclusive whore?” His harsh tone almost made me lose my temper. His eyes flicker over to me. His light blue eyes were mesmerizing but his character overthrew all what could be nice of him.

“In that aspect,” I took the drink prepared by Grace and walked over to stand in front of the man. “I am as pure as a girl could ever be” I say in a low tone leaning over to place the drink in front of him. I heard of this man before, I recognized him by the way people described him. Cold stare, harsh tone, and he speaks with confidence.

“If that is true,” He leans forward without looking away from my eyes. “What are you doing here then?” I took my chance to pull out a chair in front of him and take a seat.

“Early train” He leaned back untrusting of my words, then again his eyes and everything about him screamed untrusting.

“You’re american?” I simply nod. I couldn’t deny it, my accent gave it away. “What is an American doing here and being a woman, why are you alone?”

“I’m not,” His eyebrows raised. “I have family I am visiting here and since I was passing by I thought I would say hey to Harry”

“How do you know Harry? I spent most of my time here and never saw you around” My stare fought against shifting to another place other than his bearing eyes.

“I was brought over at a young age and when I lost my parents I was in bad shape” Harry was a major help. “Ended up at this pub and when Harry found me he gave me hell. I decided to go to America to study teaching before the war started”  His expression softened a bit. He wasn’t a man who is used to being scared but he was one to be cautious. Everybody around here and my family knew who he was. After coming back from fighting in WW1 they spoke either highly or rubbed in dirt but either way he had pushed his family to the top and he had no intention to stop.

“You obviously have education, then let me give you a piece of advice,” He leans forward again. “If you want to stay pure don’t go walking around alone, it will give bad ideas to wrong people”

“Like you?” I wanted to take back how challenging my words sounded but by the looks of it, it amused him.

“Have you heard of me?” Of course.

“No” I fake concern as I shake my head.

“Well, if you stay, you will soon. My name is Thomas Shelby”  I could finally put a face to the name. The infamous Thomas Shelby, part of the peaky blinders. If he knew who I was he wouldn’t be this calm.

Pt. 2

[thcophagy]

sully had chalked up to what had happened after the party as one big misunderstanding, something that he couldn't be mad at lana for considering the rest of the events of the night. if anything, he'd felt a wave of pity for her, assuming that she was only trying to come onto him because she thought had to thank him for defending her. if he were a worse man he might've taken advantage of her vulnerability in that moment and let her touch him as she claimed to have wanted to but he was trying not to be that man, especially at the cost of disrespecting lana. it was easy to turn her away then because she gave up so easily, however the same couldn't be said for the version of his nanny that sat in the passengers seat, seemingly desperate to grope at his cock like it was the air she needed to breathe. he was trying to be that noble man, the one who saw how inappropriate the situation was and put a stop to it but he was also too soft to properly put his foot down and say no. with each flickered glance sent in lana's direction, he was met with the sight of her big eyes glimmering with mischief as she giggled at her blatant objectification. not only was it almost too much to hear her using such language, to be the subject of her dirty talk made him hyper-aware of his body in a way he hadn't been for a long time. he opened his mouth to formulate some kind of reply but nothing came, there was nothing he could say that would make any difference to the situation, not when lana was set so in her ways. as much as he wished he was, sully wasn't immune to that sickly sweet lana put on as she cooed fake sympathies about his abstinence, that was until she began to dive head first into the absurd and sully was forced to bark out a laugh. "are you serious? lana that's- you're being ridiculous. i'm fine, i'm not- jesus christ." she was insatiable, for a brief moment he thought he'd finally managed in getting her to keep her hands to herself but like clockwork, another dainty hand reached out and gripped the heavy weight of his cock through his pants once more. parking did sound like a pretty good idea, though not for the reason that lana seemed to be rallying for. the last thing either of them needed was for sully to somehow manage to crash the car on the empty road because he was too flustered by her advances, he only had two hands and she clearly needed them both in order to be held back from groping him like he was a piece of meat there for her pleasure. unable to move her hand away without letting go of her wrist or taking one off the stirring wheel, sully let out a shaky sigh and took a sharp turn to the right, pulling onto the side of the road. the second the car screeched to a stop, he was forced to once again grab at the hand stimulating him and pull her away with a sharp yank, though his grip was harsher than before. if she wouldn't listen to him then he'd have to apply some force, physically restraining her wasn't ideal and made him feel a little crazy but it was the only thing that he thought could work. "listen to me. you need to stop this. all of it, alright? i'm going to take you home and you'll sleep this off and tomorrow we can forget this ever happened but i won't tolerate your misbehaviour any longer. understand?"

this side of lana wasn't exactly out of character, though for mr. landry, it was likely a jarring switch. she'd taken great pains to craft an alternate persona to suit the nanny gig; a more polite, carefully censored version of herself that wouldn't corrupt the kids or scandalize their parents, and she'd prided herself on her ability to seamlessly maintain that act the whole time she'd been living with the landry's. sure, the way she dressed left little to the imagination even after her attempts to tone down the sex appeal, and she had a bit of an unpolished manner of speaking, but she always remembered her manners, she hardly ever swore and, the biggest difference from her usual self, no sex talk whatsoever. by then she'd slipped up once or twice with an innuendo or two— never in front of the twins, of course— and then, most damning of all, her attempt to initiate something that night after the family's holiday party, but it was nothing that could've cost her her job, she thought. at least in that case she'd been mostly sober, and had the good sense to pull back when he challenged her. this time, her inhibitions were thrown out the window, and there was no stopping her as she felt his cock stir to life beneath her soft palm, gasping in response as her eyes widened. "oh shit!" she couldn't resist giggling uncontrollably. "i forgot you had such a big cock, mr. landry..." had she been in her right mind, lana would've at least attempted to go about things with a tad more finesse, but there was something about blatantly objectifying her much older, wildly unavailable boss that gave her a rush like no other, almost like another shot of tequila or a hastily snorted bump, and all she had to do was say and do exactly what was on her mind. now that she could feel him hardening, she was sure it wouldn't be long until he caved just as long as she kept applying pressure. "oh, but i am concerned... it's very concerning." her voice became an exaggerated coo, the front edges of her brows turning up and her eyes widening to give her a sympathetic look. for a moment after he grabbed her again, she didn't fight him, playing nice just to get his guard lowered a little. "it's not healthy for a man to be pent up like that mr. landry... you've gotta get what you need from somewhere. i mean, who knows? if you don't get that release now, you might just go buy a gun and release it all over the family in a fit of blind testosterone fueled rage! i'm just looking out for you. don't you think you deserve that?" her brief period of peace now over, lana went right back to trying to wiggle her way out of his grasp, only realizing after a bit of struggling that she had another functioning hand. she stopped fighting only to grope him with her free hand, a sly grin on her face like she'd just experienced a stroke of genius. "let's park somewhere, c'mon..."

[shenzhiheng]

Snowfall + whatever the hell is going on between these two

[milktiicup]

are you afraid of me?

what the hell type of name is "mr. crawling" if he can fucking walk?

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ based on the hc that mr crawling doesn't stand so he doesn't scare mc.

warnings. just fluff/comfort, some spoilers for end04 and end17

Mr. Crawling is kind.

Mr. Crawling is sweet.

Mr. Crawling is a complete mystery to you.

Other than his complete and instant devotion to you, you know almost nothing about him. Not that you’re complaining; since escaping the other world with him in tow, he’s been a pretty decent roommate.

He doesn’t have many hobbies, unless staring at you from across the room counts. The only mess he leaves is long, black hairs that snake along the shower walls and more often than not clog the drain. He doesn’t even eat your food—something you discovered after a week of trial and error, setting out everything from leftovers to raw steak in the hopes of figuring out what a creature like him might like. As it turns out, he isn’t much of an eater, and he refuses to wear anything but the clothes he crossed over in, so at least you didn’t need to buy him new clothes. He’s low-maintenance in those areas, thankfully, and your paycheck doesn’t take a huge hit. 

Still, as close as you are, and as much as you’ve grown fond of him, you know nothing about who or what he truly is. Can he stand? Does he even have eyeballs? You know he can see, somehow, but how? Does he have teeth? You’re not even sure there’s a word for teeth in his language… Would he need a dentist? As most of your Mr. Crawling mouth knowledge went, you knew he had a tongue. 

The days pass, you fall into routines, and so do your questions.

“Crawling,” you had said one night, settled up on the sofa after a long day at work.  “Why can’t you stand?”

Mr. Crawling looks up from the screen, his wide smile faltering as he absorbs your question. His hair falls across his face, hiding whatever might be behind those red blotches he has for eyes.

“Me… not able to stand,” he replies, waving abnormally long limbs. “Arms good!” He seems proud, at least. 

You purse your lips out in thought- sure, he had those spindly legs, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t use them. You witnessed first hand the way he kicks his legs about under the blanket, unsettling cracks of his joints. Or when he sits up on his knees to fetch something on the counter top that he couldn’t reach from the floor. 

“You want me stand?”

“No, Crawling, I like you like this.” And you finished the conversation with a few pats on his head, and he nuzzled into your knee as if he was a pet. 

“You like me?”

You nod.

“Me like you!”

Low maintenance in the roommate department, high maintenance in the boyfriend? department.

You settle into bed that night after serving Mr Crawling his completely normal human soup that you definitely obtained by very legal and moral ways. Although, he didn’t seem very hungry that night, and you decided to just keep it for later. You debated on leaving it out in case he got hungry during the night when you were asleep, but seeing as to what the contents were, you weren’t up for it to stink out your kitchen. Back in the fridge it went!

“Rest?” he asks from the doorway of your bedroom, eyeless staring as you settle on the mattress. 

“I rest. You rest?” You pat the spot beside you. 

“Me watch you.”

Whatta guy… You wait for him to join you before you pull the blanket to your chin. And just like every other night, Mr. Crawling wraps his long arms around you, joints cracking as he stretches his legs out on the blanket- his feet hang off the bed. His hair tickles every exposed inch of your skin, but you don’t mind. You’ve gotten used to it at this point- maybe you should teach him to brush his own hair though?

His touch is cool, like air from a drafty window, and you relax under his delicate, careful pats on your head. It’s not long before you drift off.

It’s rare that you wake up in the dead of night. It’s rarer when you wake up to him not in the same position you fell asleep in. Groggy, you reach an arm out to the other side of the bed and hit the space where Mr. Crawling should have been. It’s still warm, however, and you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s not here.

What the hell? That wasn’t like him.

You slip into your slippers and shuffle toward the kitchen. The house is dark and still, except for a faint rustling. When your vision adjusts, you stop in your tracks. You were pretty sure your heart stopped for a second, too. 

He hadn’t noticed you yet, which is unlike him. 

“C-Crawling?” you stammer. 

Mr. Crawling is there, long arms in your fridge, but he isn’t small and folded like usual. He’s… standing. You blink, barely processing the sight. He has to be at least eight feet tall, maybe more, his head brushing the ceiling. His towering shadow spills over the walls, unsettling even to someone like you.

He freezes, letting out a startled squeak you’ve never heard before. His head whips toward you, and his hair falls in a curtain over his face. He drops to his knees instantly, scrambling across the floor to you with long, frantic arms. He tackles you into an overzealous hug, the kind you usually get only when you come home from work.

“You awake!”

You blink down at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t stand?” you murmur, still dazed. He lied? Why would he lie? Is there even a word for lie in his language?

His hair fans at your face, elbows propping himself up on top of you. Mr. Crawling tilts his head at you, and you wrack your brain in this stupid monster language that you just can’t perfectly adjust to yet.

“Uhm… You stand good?” you manage to fumble the words out. You stand good. That just sounds ridiculous. “Legs work?”

Mr. Crawling lets you sit up, grey hands cupping your face. He seems… off. Sad? Worried? You’ve only seen him not smiling a few times- and that was when you first met him- when he scared the absolute daylights off of you, when that man in red with the umbrella appeared… There was also that time you collapsed, and that creepy, eyeless nurse showed up.

“You scared me?” he asks, his tone soft.

Are you scared of me? 

“You don’t stand because you think you’ll scare me?” you mumble, hands holding onto his wrists. “Erm… Not stand… me scared?” 

“Me scary… You not like me.” His head hangs and Mr. Crawling’s hair touches the floor and licks at your legs.. His gentle hold of your face loosens.

He doesn’t stand at his full height because he’s afraid he’ll scare you? God. How can a ghost be such a sweetheart?

“Hey,” you whisper, pulling his hands off your face. You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head so you can see where his eyes should be. “You’re cute. Very big, yes—I was just surprised.”

“You… not scared?” His voice is uncertain.

You giggle, squeezing him tighter. “No. Just surprised.” He doesn’t understand you- and you need to wrack every shelf in your brain to get the words out. “Me surprised… you very cute.”

There’s a beat of silence as he absorbs your words. “Me cute?” he repeats, as if it’s the greatest revelation in the world.

“Very cute,” you confirm, unable to help laughing as he tackles you once again to the floor, hair scattering everywhere as he nuzzles into your chest, murmuring, “Me cute, me cute,” in a gleeful mantra. You pat his head, and he flops onto the floor beside you with a giggle.

You stare at him, illuminated by the extremely romantic light of the fridge. “Hungry?” you ask, and push some of his hair away from his face- he grabs your wrist before you get any closer to his eyes, though.

“Want eat… you rest.”

You shake your head, stifling a yawn. “I’ll wait for you. I… erm… rest with you?” You cringe, knowing you said it wrong. You’re at least seventy percent sure you said it wrong. Maybe it’s time to teach him your language.

Mr. Crawling lets out his normal unsettling giggles, a sound that cuts through the silence of the house.

You don’t bother getting his tomato soup out of the fridge like you usually do, and take a seat at the table. He looks lost for a split second, and giggles once more as he rises to his feet. You let out a few appreciative oohs and ahhs he reaches his full height. You’re still a bit shocked at how his head almost touches the ceiling.

He settles into his usual seat across from you, knees folded as best as they can be under the table, his feet brushing against your legs.

It’s like a lightbulb appears above your head.

What the hell type of name is “Mr. Crawling” if he can fucking walk?