#trifecta masterlist

[msgexymunson]

Rumour Part Three: Roles

Description: as you and Eddie establish your relationship, it seems like no one can get in the way of it. Or can they?

Warnings: NSFW minors DNI or I'll poke you with a sharp stick, a trifecta of angst, fluff and smut, male oral receiving, fingering, slight switch dom!older!pierced!eddie x slight switch sub!fem!reader, unprotected sex, slight pain kink

A/N: I'm so glad you lot are enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it, makes me very happy to see all your comments and reblogs, thank you!! Also I apologise to anyone called Estelle or Matt ;)

❤ If you enjoy this, please reblog the hell out of it, pretty pretty please! ❤

5.6k words

Masterlist     Part 1  Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Lying in bed with Eddie was everything. It was two in the afternoon, and neither of you wanted to get up just yet. A warm glowing bubble had settled over the both of you and you were loath to break it. Eddie's wearing a pair of black trunks, you're in an oversized t shirt and no pants, since Eddie had pulled them down three times last night and it seemed an exercise in futility to put them on again.

Your legs were tangled together comfortably, like a pair of puzzle pieces finding their perfect match. Stroking your hand over his chest, you were tracing the lines of his tattoos.

"How many do you have? Tattoos I mean," you clarify, circling a devils head and horns just by his mass of chest hair.

"Pass. I've no idea sweet thing. Dozens. A hundred? I dunno." His hand travels to yours, helping you trace around a scorpion on his abdomen, muscles flexing underneath your touch.

"Well, which ones the oldest?"

He shifts to show you his arm. "See these bats?"

You nod, fingers whispering over his skin to rub at the flock of faded bats on his forearm.

"Got them when I was 17. No real reason, just thought they looked metal." He snorted a little laugh at his past self.

You smile at the glimpse of the past he's allowed you to see. Gazing up at him, you ask "what's your favourite one?"

He grins and winks at you. "Oh that's easy. Shift over a little?"

You move backwards a bit whilst he switches positions to lay on his side away from you, displaying his completely tattooed back.

It's the only tattoo he has in colour. A full back piece of a monstrous dragon with five heads, wreathed in flame. The art is incredible, so intricate and beautiful. You run your hands over it, marvelling at the details.

"Its pretty awesome Eddie."

He rolls back over to face you, fingers fluttering over your figure.

"I love it. Its Tiamat, the five headed dragon Goddess, from Dungeons and Dragons."

You laugh, shaking your head. "You nerd."

He chuckles back. "Yup, 'fraid so."

Nuzzling his face into your side, you hear his muffled voice "what time is it?"

Nearly 2:15."

"Urgh, I need to be in the shop at 3:45." He sighs into your shirt, then sits up.

"I'm gonna take a shower." After pecking you on the cheek, he swings his muscular legs off the bed and makes his way to the bathroom.

You sigh in contentment at the empty room, then pad your way out to the kitchen area to make some coffee for the pair of you. Once the pot is done you pour one for yourself.

Busying yourself in the kitchen, seeing if there were enough ingredients to make pancakes, you hear Eddie's voice from the doorway.

"Oh you made coffee, thanks sweets."

"No problem baby- oh."

Well fuck me.

There he stood, completely naked, roughly rubbing a towel through his wet mane of hair. Body glistening, steam rolling off his skin, tattoos darker and gleaming wet. His muscles shone in the light, taunt frame perfectly on display. Damp chest hair dripped deliciously down to his happy trail. Your eyes were inevitably drawn to his impressive length hanging between his legs, slightly pink and heavy looking, piercing glinting, inviting you over.

Glistening in front of you, so effortlessly, he looked like some sort of heathen God. You'd happily get down on your knees and worship him forever.

"What you staring at? Something you like sweet thing?" Eddie tips his head at you, smug smile creeping across his face.

Your mouth is hanging open. Snapping it shut, cheeks glowing, you walk over to him.

"We had sex like, three times last night and you still blush at me naked? You're too cute." He chuckles at you.

He stops laughing when you reach him and drop to your knees, hands trailing up his thighs.

"Woah, pretty girl, what are you doing?"

You take his member into your hands, running your palms over his length, feeling it harden quickly from your soft touches.

"I wanna, I wanna give you head."

He smiles softly at you. "Sweets you don't need to do that."

You keep running your hands over him, one dipping to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your hand. He lets out a shaky breath.

"You always take care of me, you never let me." You frown. "But I want to. Please Eddie?"

He moans, eyes rolling back. "Always so fuckin' polite. Shit."

Running your tongue up the length of his fully hard cock, you cover it with open mouthed kisses, licking and gently sucking at his shaft. Eddie hisses; you hear the towel he was holding flump to the floor, large hand coming to rest on the back of your head, engulfing your hair.

Taking his tip into your mouth, you trace around each cold steel ball with your tongue, swirling around either end of the piercing, swallowing pre cum. Eddie groans loudly, thumb rubbing the back of your head with encouragement.

Rubbing your tongue back and forth over his slit, you use your hands to work his shaft, dribbling spit to help glide across him. His slippery hard length is pulsing in your hands.

"Holy shit, pretty girl, that's- fuck, that's really good."

You moan around him, humming at the praise, doubling your efforts. You need him to come. He makes you feel so good all the time and you need him to know.

Trying your hardest to please him, you take him into your throat as much as you can. Granted, it's only just over halfway down his dick, but from the noises he's making it's enough. You feel the strange bump of steel at the back of your throat. Using your hands for the rest, you stroke him firmly. Each movement conveying just how much he means, how much you want to worship him.

"Oh sweet thing, God that's- oh fuck, hmm." Eddie's lost the power of speech which you take as the highest compliment. He's listening to your prayers.

Releasing him from your mouth, you stroke him with your hand and gently take one of his balls in your mouth, suckling gently, running your tongue all over it. Eddie was clearly not expecting it; you feel his legs shudder and a high pitched whine expel from his mouth. You smirk, taking the other in your mouth for the same treatment whilst firmly stroking his dick, endeavouring to show him your devotion.

"Oh fuck I'm gonna- shit, please- let me cum in your mouth" he's breathless and twitching, flushed red, practically quivering at your reverence.

You take his cock back into his mouth and hollow your cheeks, bobbing up and down his length quickly, squeezing his balls in your hand.

"Oh fuck, I'm, fuck-" as he shoots his load into your mouth. You swallow and swallow around his length, not stopping until he's whimpering, empty, his fill of your worship well and truly taken.

Halting your movements you behold him through damp lashes.

"Was that ok?"

"Fuckin' hell sweet thing, it was a little bit more than ok. Jesus H. Christ, I've got to go to work. Fuck, how am I this lucky?"

You blush and stand up, placing a kiss to his full lips.

"You want your coffee now?"

"Yeah, and a cigarette, before I do anything else." He crumples onto the couch, grabbing the towel to hide his modesty.

You get his coffee, add sugar and creamer, and bring him his cigarettes. Beaming at you, he takes you into his lap.

"What's this all about? Being all sweet to me."

You hide your head in his chest, suddenly shy. No matter how much confidence you portray in the world, the minute you get a look from Eddie it dissolves.

"I dunno, I just, I wanna take care of you Eddie."

He flashes an soft grin and holds you close, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead. "You already have sweet thing."

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

Later that evening you're wiping down tables at the bar and collecting stray glasses.

"Hey, you may as well go, I'll finish up tonight, it's dead anyway." Your manager shouts over to you.

"Thanks!" You deposit the glasses in the dishwasher, hanging up your apron.

You check the time, 11pm. I wonder if he's still at the shop?

Eddie works late sometimes, he never wants to get up before noon so his client base tended to be night owls like him. Deciding to take the risk, you throw on your jacket and march into the chilly night air, walking the couple of blocks over to the tattoo shop.

Turning the corner, you see the shutters are down but the light is still on upstairs. You give it a minute, stopping to smoke a cigarette that Eddie had pre rolled for you. As you smoke, you hear voices, and a woman's laugh, clear as a bell.

Your stomach drops out from under you. Feeling your heart skipping a sick thud, then rushing blood, faster; faster than should be possible whilst standing still.

Ok calm the fuck down.

You take a breath, trying to calm the anticipated anger that's buzzing in your system and clouding your brain. It's stupid, you know, entirely unwarranted. It doesn't stop your mind leaping to the worst possible outcome.

Suddenly the door swings open and some Hollywoodian goddess swans out the door, all blonde mane, bust and teeth. Eddie walks out with her, giving her an embrace.

"Thanks Eds, you're the best!" She keens; shooting you what can only be described as a Look, then sways off on her too high heels.

"See you sweetheart!" He waves. The nickname forces an angry blush to the tips of your ears. Eddie turns to go back inside, then sees you and looks surprised.

"Hey pretty girl! What you doing here?" His grin is sugary and warm at your unexpected presence, settling the angry rolling feeling in your stomach. The rage is still there; no longer an explosive boil, but a simmer.

"Came to check, see if you were still working. I got off early."

"Come in then sweets, I gotta tidy up before I leave." He takes large strides back inside and you struggle to keep up with him.

Making his way back to his workstation, he's throwing away leftover bottles and paper towels covered in ink splotches, whilst you try and act as normal as possible.

"So, who was that?" Voice quivering ever so slightly as you take your coat off.

"Oh that's Estelle, finished her lower back piece today." He says, not even looking up, removing his gloves.

Ah, tramp stamp, I knew it.

"There's a band playing tomorrow night, at a bar not far from here, she said. Not too heavy, you should like it. What do you think sweet thing?" He looks up at you, eyebrows raised.

"Huh? Oh sure, whatever. Sure she's got great taste,"  Shrugging at him, you look around the walls of the shop at the various artworks hanging up.

"Woah, you being a bit judgy pretty girl?" He smirks.

"Why? She a librarian or something?" You bite back, eyes narrowing.

He laughs, "no she's a stripper."

"Oh course she fucking is," you mumble, cheeks burning.

He perches on the leather chair, arms out. "Hey, c'mere."

You huff, but move closer, allowing yourself to be hugged, arms pinned at your sides.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He brushes your cheek and you flinch, jaw clenching. Concern fills his eyes, brows heavy with confusion.

"Don't call me that. You just called her that."

You see realisation dawn on that stupidly handsome face of his, and his gaze grows softer.

"Oh, pretty girl, are you jealous?"

You look down at your own hands sandwiched between the two of you, unable to meet his eye. A firm grip holds your chin, pulling you to face him, smooth smile with a hint of smirk pervading his features.

"Listen, you have nothing to worry about. That woman's got more silicone in her than a Barbie doll. Not my thing." You giggle slightly, a small smile threatening to push your mouth corners upwards. "I call everyone sweetheart, it's nothing."

You pull away from him, eyes narrowing. "Yeah? Why call me sweetheart then?"

He holds his hand to his chest, miming being hit. "Ooft, you got me there. Force of habit."

He grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles.

"I don't call her sweet thing." He pulls you closer, "or pretty girl." His hands begin stroking up and down your sides. "Those are reserved for you." Slow, soft kisses are planted on your neck. "I don't call her my good girl. I don't call her my girlfriend."

Girlfriend.

He's not asked. And why would he, what are you, twelve?

"I'm your girlfriend?" You look at him with wide eyes and a wobbling lip.

"Well I fuckin' hope so, I've said you are to everyone I've seen today. I think Estelle was pissed at me for not shutting up about you to be honest."

You can't help but giggle triumphantly at that. Staring at him, you look at his neck, the side untouched by tattoos. Mischievous look adorning your features, you bend and kiss into his neck. Softly, at first, so he melts into your touch, then you grip him, and suck.

"Pretty girl, oh fuck, what are you doing?"

You release his neck with a wet suck, looking pleased with the purplish mark that's beginning to blossom.

"Marking my territory."

He puffs out a laugh "oh my little jealous girl," and strokes your head.

Somehow that's makes you madder. You're not a jealous girl. You're a woman.

You shove him a little. "Lie back."

He smirks at you, but he listens, lying fully in the reclined tattoo chair, eyes trying to work out your next move.

Clambering on top of him, you tug at the hem of his t shirt. He pulls it over his head, exposing his torso. You run your fingers down, finding spots to suck bruises into, taking small mouthfuls of whatever exposed, ink free skin you can find.

"What you doing sweet thing?" He chuckles.

"I'm trying to find blank bits to hickey!"

He laughs out loud at your frustrations. Until you sink your teeth into his soft flesh.

"Oh pretty- oh fuck!" He practically yelps, hips thrusting upwards.

You gaze down at him, taking in his flushed cheeks, round eyes and heaving chest.

Oh.

"Wait, does that turn you on?" You raise your eyebrow at him, fingertips ghosting his sides. 

"Is it that much of a stretch to think I've got a thing for pain?" He says it confidently, gesturing to his inky body whilst cockily smirking; yet this appears masked, false. Looking in his eyes you can tell how much you've affected him

Not saying anything, you merely pinch one of his nipples and twist it lightly. Eddie's mouth falls open, pretty little moan escaping those full lips, eyebrows knitted.

Grinning deviously, you bend over him and take the other nipple into your mouth, rolling your tongue around it, before nipping at it and pulling with your teeth.

"Jesus H. Christ! Fuck."

You look up at him. Eddie's flushing the prettiest pink colour, mouth practically drooling, eyelids heavy with lust. You've never seen him like this before, losing control. Wait, that's not it. He's relinquishing control, giving himself to you.

You stand up and he huffs at the loss of contact, until you begin stripping off your clothes. He hurriedly pulls his jeans and boxers down, not even bothering to take them off, just bunching them at his ankles. His dick looks painfully hard, almost dribbling, angry red at the tip. Swinging your leg back over you straddle him, sliding your pussy over his length, back and forth. Your nails drag harder down his chest than you ever would have dared before, leaving scarlet paths joining up his inked frame. He bucks, shaking underneath. You continue to glide your sopping heat over him, grinding over the shaft, relishing the tingle of his piercing when it flits over your clit.

"Please, sweet thing." His whole demeanour has changed, begging you, pleading with you. An idea pops into your brain.

Leaning forward, you whisper low and quiet in his ear, "are you gonna be a good boy for me?" The low groan he releases resonates from his chest and into yours, firm hands coming to settle on your hips.

You take his hard length in your hands and guide him into you, slipping gently onto him inch by inch. No matter how many times, it still feels like the first time. Your face scrunches up, discomfort evident.

"You ok sweets?" Eddie's rubbing your hip in consolation.

"Yeah, just... really fuckin' big baby."

He smirks, as always. "Never get tired of hearing that."

Stroking your hands down his chest, you hold onto his sides firmly, possessively, rocking into him. Each movement, each flick of your hips produces a ripple of pleasure. You grind down, rocking hard, back and forth, building up the rhythm, the pressure in your stomach building, your throbbing want intensifying.

Once you start bouncing up and down Eddie's done for. You see his face, desperately trying to keep some measure of control whilst he stares at your tits bouncing right in front of him, at his dick being swallowed up by your hungry cunt.

The noise of squelching sex surrounds you, moans and whines adding to the pornographic soundtrack. You can tell Eddie's barely holding it together, as he quickly reaches for your clit, rubbing almost vicious circles, eager for you to come before he does.

The tell tale tingle grips hold of you, a buzzing through your core and up your spine. The shattering of nerves; a delivery of white hot light spills from his fingertips and into your being, filling you to the brim with his rapture.

You throw your head back at the intense feeling, letting out whimpers of devotion to him, rocking back and forth, willing the moment to continue. You're barely aware of his own release, only realising when you finally snap your eyes open to see his slam shut, tensing beneath you, letting go in a gun shot, tension ripped from his body by your gripping walls.

Leaning forward, hot panting breaths mingling with each others, you press your lips into a searing kiss.

In between pants, Eddie manages, "not that I mind, but fuck, what's gotten into you today, pretty girl?" He chuckles, stroking your cheek with a rough thumb pad.

"You're mine." You simply say, protective hand laid onto the middle of his chest, over his heart. He grips your hand in his, and smiles.

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

The next evening you're perching on a stool at a moderately busy bar, twisting a napkin in your hands. Nerves have you in their grip whilst you wait for Eddie to arrive, bubbling away in your tummy. It seems strange, but this is technically your second date, the first being when he took you to lunch. Eddie hadn't exactly courted you, he claimed you. If you were honest with yourself, you were his the first time he laid eyes on you.

Still wanting to impress him, you'd decided to dress up. Kitted out in a short black dress with a cute cherry pattern, lower cut than you would usually dare, fishnet hold ups and ankle boots, you were confident he would be pleased.

You had certainly attracted the attention of a few men dotted around the bar, lone sharks circling. Paying them no mind, you sipped your drink and waited on Eddie.

It was a pretty decent looking place, certainly nicer than the dive where you worked. The ceilings were high, with huge light fixtures hanging almost like art pieces, letting out twinkling light, bathing the crowd in spots of colour, sparkling on the red linoleum floor. The atmosphere was buzzing with anticipation for the upcoming band, people smiling, waving at friends, rushing back and forth to the bar to get drinks. You sat on a stool at the end of the bar, neatly tucked in a corner. The light was good here, and it was opposite the main entrance, perfect for spotting Eddie when he eventually got here.

Looking up to check the door again you lock eyes with another man. He smiles and starts walking over.

Well that's typical.

You roll your eyes, but as he gets closer, you breathe a sigh of relief. It's one of the regulars at your bar. At least you may not have to wait for Eddie alone.

"Hey Matt!" You smile as he walks over, giving you a brief hug.

"Hey darlin! Never see you in here, you're always working!" He grins at you. Matt always chatted to you when you were on shift, checking how you were doing. Objectively, he was a handsome guy. Broad shouldered, with a mop of messy ashen blonde hair and perfect teeth. He looked like he was around his mid twenties, and definitely a former jock judging by his physique.

You usually saw him with his girlfriend, an almost frightening replica of him in female form. In your head you'd nicknamed them the Cheer Clones since they reminded you so much of the cheerleaders in your high school.

"Where's-" don't say cheer clone, don't say cheer clone, shit what's her name-

"Jessie? We broke up." He frowns, looking down for a second, then waves at the bar tender.

"Oh, so sorry to hear that, you ok?" You pat his arm in consolation.

"I'll be ok, really. You want a drink?"

"Sure, bourbon and soda please."

He orders and pays for the round, sitting on the bar stool next to you.

"So, hot date?" He asks, waggling his eyebrows.

You giggle, hiding your face in your hands, "yeah how did you know?"

"Er, girl, you live in jeans! He must be pretty special." He grins at you.

You flush at the mere thought of Eddie. You can't deny, these past few weeks had been pretty spectacular.

"Wow, you've got it bad, huh? Pleased for you." He says, sipping his beer, looking just over your shoulder and flashing a small smile.

Before you can turn, an arm is thrown over your shoulder; rough stubble and soft lips touch your forehead.

"Sorry I'm late, sweet thing."

"Eddie!" You smile, looking up at him, but his stony glare is cemented on Matt.

"Baby, this is Matt, he comes to my bar. Matt this is Eddie, my boyfriend." You gesture between the two.

Matt sticks his hand out. Eddie looks at it briefly as if it offends him, before staring back at Matt's eyes.

"Pleasure to meet you." Matt puts his hand down but still flashes a winning smile at Eddie.

"Yeah, nice to meet you too Mike." And he motions his hand at the bar tender, immediately getting his attention and ordering a beer, arm never leaving your shoulders.

"Its Matt, actually-"

"Yeah, sure thing champ." Eddie says dismissively, slaps a note down to pay for the beer, and nearly drags you to your feet.

"Bands about to start, let's go my pretty girl."

You move, being pulled by the wrist, and mouth a 'sorry' at Matt. He just smiles and salutes you as you go past.

Eddie stops once you are free from Matt's gaze, stepping back to pull your arm in the air above you, making you turn for him so he can admire your outfit. You cannot help but admire his.

Eddie's dressed up for you. The first thing that grabs your attention and refuses to let go is the fact that your very sexy boyfriend is wearing eyeliner. That fact alone has you weak at the knees.

He's wearing a black button down, undone to the point of unholiness, exposing his chest tattoos and a thin silver chain just kissing the tops of his pecs. His black jeans are tight, hugging every muscle, leading down to chunky army boots. There's no other way to describe it; he exudes sex. It's as if every fibre of him was made to ooze this animalistic aura; you could nearly smell it in the air.

"You look really great Eddie."

Meeting his eyes, you see his pupils are blown, drinking in every ounce of your figure with blasphemous intention.

"Sweet thing, you look incredible." He pulls you close to wrap his arms around you. "Remind me never to let you wait for me inside a bar again." 

You laugh, love drunk eyes roaming his face, "you jealous Mr Munson?"

He kisses you full on the lips, a fiery kiss, hot and messy in its delivery, tongue chasing yours. When he breaks away, you lean forward in hope, missing the contact.

"Why should I be? I already have you." He winks, then pulls you so your back is flush to his chest, manoeuvring you both to face the band who have just come on stage.

The band are indeed decent, and pretty soon the heady atmosphere, the bourbon, and the warm glow of Eddie's arms around you have you grinning and swaying to the music. You're moving your hips, ass against Eddie, enjoying the moment.

Eddie's large hands never leave you. If he's not wrapping his arms around your neck, he's holding you protectively by the hips, keeping you close to him. If anyone in the crowd got too close or rowdy, he was there, keeping you safe.

The band takes a break and Eddie whips you around to face him, hands rubbing up and down your sides, predatory gaze fixed on you.

"If you're gonna keep dancing like that pretty girl, I may just have to take you home." He smiles, biting his lip.

"Hmm, I think you can wait a couple hours." You throw your arms around his neck and press a kiss to his lips.

"Ok, I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he fishes out a note from his pocket and hands it to you, "go grab us some drinks on me."

You take the money and peck him again, scooting your way back over to the busy bar.

The crowd has merged and flowed, making their way to the bar, dam about to burst with the influx of people wanting the same thing.

You queue, waiting for service, when you notice a friendly face next to you.

"Hey Matt, how's your evening going?" You say, touching his arm.

"Great thanks, the bands really good. Look, sorry if I upset your boyfriend there."

You giggle and roll your eyes "don't worry about it."

"Seriously, I didn't mean to offend him I just-"

Suddenly, Matt has disappeared and you are staring at Eddie's torso.

"Come here sweets. Say goodbye to Mark."

You here a small voice say "it's Matt, actually-"

"Whatever kid" Eddie growls, leading you away from the bar.

"Eddie, what are you doing I haven't even got drinks yet-"

"Just come with me."

You allow yourself to be lead, pulled helplessly by the wrist. Eddie snakes around the crowd, leading you past the backstage area and into a small bathroom. It's strange that he seems to know the layout of the place so well. You stop him in his tracks, annoyed by his behaviour.

"Eddie, seriously what's up with you? You know I'm not just gonna leave you right?" Soft eyes meet his.

"I know sweet thing," and he presses you against the wall so fast it makes your head spin.

"I just need everyone else to know that."

Without further warning his hand is stroking up your thigh, fingers grazing your clothed pussy. Given his urgency, his clear need for you, his touch is soft. His other hand snakes to the back of your neck, forcing eye contact. The eyeliner only focuses how intensely he looks at you, dark circles drawing you in.

"Can I make you feel good sweet thing?" Fingertips fondling your heat, hot breath asphyxiating. Eddie overwhelms you, exuding heat, passion making it difficult to breathe.

"Yeah" you manage breathily, devastated by his presence, trying to keep some semblance of self. It's so difficult to when Eddie tears you apart by simply being there, in your space.

Rough fingertips pull your underwear aside and massage across your slit, finding your clit immediately. Your breath catches in your throat, shock of delectation pervading your senses.

Eddie slides two thick fingers deep inside you making you gasp. He rocks them into you, setting a ruthless rhythm, eyes never leaving yours.

"Now, I'm going to make you come pretty girl, twice in a row, and you're gonna enjoy it, ok?"

You mumble some semblance of yes, ability to concentrate considerably lessened by the sure movements of his hand. He curls his digits into you, hitting the spot inside you that makes your toes curl inside your boots.

"Eddie, fuck, yes" you keen and writhe against the wall, eye contact stripping you of any modesty, any thought.

Eddie's relentless movements continue as he sucks bruises onto the tops of your breasts, purple colouring blossoming against your chest, a blooming floral display of blood soaked skin.

"Oh my God Eddie," you moan, his sure hands coaxing pure bliss from your core, sopping wet noise of your arousal echoing through the small space.

"That guy out there, your friend, what's his name?" Eddie's eyes bore into yours, hand not stopping.

You're pulled out of the pleasure pit he's thrown you into, visibly confused. "You- you mean Matt? He's just-"

Eddie doubles his efforts, curling his fingers into you harder, palm rubbing hard against your clit, reigniting the fire in your belly.

"Oh my God Eddie, fuck-" you grind yourself unabashedly against his thick fingers, immense feeling towering over you, threatening to topple at his very command.

"You gonna come pretty girl? My pretty girl?" He says, dark eyes piercing into your very soul, "come then, come on my fucking fingers."

His gravelly voice and confident manoeuvres are pushing you over that edge, emphasis on his swear word singing through your nerves and into your cunt. Unable to process such feeling, such unbridled ardour, you moan loudly into the air without a care of who could hear you.

Your release pushes through you with all the force of a natural disaster. Whipping through your soul like a hurricane of sensation, cunt throbbing with the complexity of feeling. It rips away any insecurities, making you moan as loud as your body needs without fear of repercussion.

But it doesn't stop, not yet. Eddie's not through with you. His movements continue, coaxing you through the orgasm and into the other side, relentless and unabating.

"Fuck Eddie, please, its too much-"

Eddie's free hand grips your chin, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

"Do you want me to stop." The question is real, but your commitment waivers, enjoying the relentless hold he has on your pussy.

"No, please-" you moan, your flower continuing to open to him, flesh yielding and soft as putty in his hands. A fuzz settles over your brain; you mind clouded, filled with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Your eyes roll back, unable to control your gaze. Eddie shakes you lightly by the chin, forcing you back to reality.

"So what's that guy's name?"

You look at him through damp lashes, tears building in the corners of your eyes, utterly incapable of speech.

"I said, what's that guy's name?"

"Eddie, fuck I- wha?" Words a slur, body limp against the wall; the only thing keeping you upright is the burly hand firmly between your legs, fingers deep inside; your Eddie's marionette.

"Good girl. That's what I thought." Eddie smiles smugly, running his thumb over your clit in swift motions, fingers continually hitting that spot inside you.

Your second release feels even more powerful than the first, ripping a passionate whine from your throat. The noises you're making are incomprehensible as your whole body seizes up and your slick shoots out, coating Eddie's hand, your thighs, and even the floor.

"Jesus fucking Christ you are the devil." It comes out as a rush, almost one word.

Laughing deviantly, Eddie moves his hand and you nearly crumple to the floor. He catches you, pushing you against the wall with his body. Your eyes are drawn to the deep v in his shirt, to his inky muscled chest.

"Eddie?" You look at him and he stares back, faces impossibly close.

"Yes sweet thing?"

"You've ruined my underwear."

He laughs deeply. "What can I say, it's a talent. Can I take you home my little super soaker?"

You flush with embarrassment, hot cheeks aflame. "Eddie!"

Straightening your clothes and attempting to sort your hair out, you look down, taking in your love bitten chest for the first time. Purple red welts adorn the swell of your breasts in a low necklace of ownership. You'd be mad at him if it didn't make you throb inside.

He leads you back to the bar and towards the main entrance, attempting to get you home as quickly as possible to finish what he's started, when you're stopped in your tracks by cloud of perfume and blonde hair.

"Hey Eds!"

"Hey Estelle, you good? This is my girlfriend I told you about."

You smile at her dutifully, and spot a familiar face yet again, hovering by, his eyes trained on the marks on your chest.

"Estelle, nice to meet you! Hey, have you met Mark?" You gesture at him to move closer while Eddie snickers next to you.

He sticks his hand out to her "it's Matt actually."

Oops. 

Masterlist

Tag list part 1- rest will be in the comments

@angelsarecallin @cutiecusp @pxrxcxa @spencerinmydrawls @munsquinns @sillypurplemurple @tiannamortis @walleloveseve @sinczir @biblichornerd @frogers @lauraasiain @madiisixx @leftdonkeygothgoop-blog @rafestarkeysblog @kittykatvenom @southside-serpent-bae @psychedelicsandsunsalutations @biblichornerd @angelina16torres-blog

[artyandink]

amoralism | one

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

A/N - I said I’d post on Friday but surprise! Also, as a note, I have no intention of completely relating to realism (even though I’m pretty sure that’s a title of a chapter). This will be almost like an action/romance movie, and the format is sort of like that too.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: Shameless - Camila Cabello

narcissism

Fifty-Shots Bar had never had this many patrons before.

Clinking of glasses, the bellow of random toasts, tapping of the bar for another round, the whole trifecta played on loop until all those glasses came down on the counter and all the beefy men downing those drinks like water would slap the back of the tallest in the lot, forcing that dude with the unreasonably gorgeous hair to bend to their height from the pressure.

“What’s the occasion, boys?” The lady on shift, Jenna, chuckled. She was intrigued as to why the festivities were so… robust, but then one of the guys shoved the tall one forward, clapping his shoulder in a way that knocked the latter’s breath out.

“Ah, nothing.” The taller one tried playing it off, but the shorter wouldn’t hear of it. His green eyes shone mischievously as he ruffled the tall guy’s hair. Jenna’s eyes couldn’t help but trail down the patron’s, well, everything. Short blonde hair, five o’clock shadow on the sharpest jawline she’d ever seen. Lips always in a pout, daring her to kiss it away until they bruised. Casual denim shirt nothing short of tempting, as tight as a damn straitjacket over that broad, no doubt kissable chest. Arms framed in his sleeves, probably bore enough strength to throw her around like a ragdoll and he wouldn’t break a sweat.

She bit her lip. Oh Lord, this man was either from heaven or hell and she wouldn’t complain either way.

“It’s not nothing.” He laughed, shaking his head. “My brother Sam here took down a big-time multi level marketing scheme. So damn modest.” Another clap of Sam’s shoulder. However, he seemed to have clocked Jenna and her obvious admiration of his entire being, a quirk of the corner of his mouth having her knees like jelly. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

She giggled, her finger twirling her hair around her finger as if she was a little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Jenna. What’s yours?”

“Dean Winchester.” He took her hand, kissing her knuckle and letting his lips linger, smouldering eye contact sending shivers down her spine. “Agent Dean Winchester. Say, Jenna, what time do you get off?”

“When you do.” She breathed, and the low chuckle from Dean had her snapping back into her senses but also getting a very noticeable ache between her thighs. “Um, in an hour.”

Sam had already left. He wasn’t in the mood for watching very visible eye-banging.

Champagne. Chauvinists. The classic fancy, downtown party hosted by a family that owned half of Chicago. Flashing lights, a pair of eyes on you at all times… it was rather an overwhelming feeling, one that you couldn’t shake.

You didn’t know whether to feel confident or hunted in the red dress that you wore, satin and navy and with an open back- all things nice and very attractive to men. Your makeup and blonde (for today) hair done like a movie star and getting the attention of every man in the room, regardless of age.

“And who might you be, sweets?” A very Southern accent drawled from behind you, and you turned around, making a show of playing the innocent yet extremely attractive and mysterious lady at the most extravagant birthday party you had ever seen.

You were playing a stereotype. You hated stereotypes.

“Anna Raleigh.” You responded smoothly, and he seemed to buy it, taking your hand and kissing the knuckle, the creepy eye contact urging you to snatch your hand back and scrub it with an antiseptic wipe.

“Miss Raleigh, you are a work of art. Name’s Matthias Aldrich.” He practically purred, and that sent a cold shiver up your spine.

You put on a polite, smitten smile, though you were inwardly rolling your eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

Matthias tucked a strand of your blonde hair behind your ear. “I’ve always been fond of women who are the golden type of blonde. Hope this is natural.”

You took a crouton from a passing tray, popping it in your mouth and chewing on it, answering once you’d swallowed the bite. You’d done it quick because you could see this dude’s eyes on your lips as you chewed. “I say, these croutons are quite dry, no?”

The door to Jenna’s apartment burst open, her and Dean stumbled in, lips locked, door closing with a well-timed click and moans echoing amid breathy sighs. Dean’s jacket fell just as Jenna’s fingers tugged on his hair, causing him to jolt and let out a growl, groaning as he bent to kiss her neck. “Just like that.” He murmured, nipping and assaulting the tanned skin. Only detaching to pull her skimpy tank over her head, revealing a hot pink, lace bra.

She’s freaky. He liked that.

“You like?” She breathed, ample chest heaving as her teeth worried her bottom lip, batting her eyelashes. Putting on a show for him.

“Mmh.” He hummed, nodding before he reached for the clasp, effortlessly undoing it. It fell to the floor, and he clicked his tongue with a grin. “Better.”

“Much.” She purred, kissing him hotly and leading them to the bedroom.

Pushing.

Pulling.

Grinding.

Jenna’s legs wrapping around his waist, courtesy of Dean putting them there. Moans. Groans. Whimpers. Cries and low mutters of each other’s name. The room heating up and pulsing with enough pressure to forge a diamond.

The bed creaking. Headboard banging. High pitched moans that belong in a porno. Groans of ‘just like that’ and whines of ‘right there’ and ‘don’t stop’.

Not even after a minute after your comment about the dry croutons, the building was stormed. Armed personnel burst through every exit, holding up automatics and yelling for everyone to get their hands up, while you were taken by the arm by one of the people yelling ‘FBI! Hands where we can see them!’ and dragged in a way which appeared rough.

You were led kicking and screaming into a side van, and the moment the door slid shut, you snapped out of it, pulling the wig off. “About time, eh, boys?”

“At least we got your signal.” One protested, while another snorted.

“Dry croutons? Really?” He rolled his eyes, spinning on the chair, raising a pointed eyebrow at you. “With all due respect, it could be something less outlandish.”

“Then it would be too easy to miss, Velasquez.” You retorted, grabbing a makeup wipe and beginning to practically scrub it all off. Also taking an antiseptic wipe and a bottle of hand sanitizer to rid your hand of Matthias Aldrich’s lips. “And since when do I work like I’m a basic, sweater wearing, background blending Gertrude?”

“She has a point, Velasquez.” One agent quipped as he went by. You pointed after him with a smirk.

“Willis gets it.” You grinned, shrugging. “Why can’t you? Have a heart, Velasquez.”

“Yeah, have a heart.”

“Shut up!” Velasquez yelled after him, and got the middle finger from Willis in response.

“You ready to report to the CO, Agent?” Willis asked you, passing you a mug of coffee, which you gratefully sipped.

“When am I not?” You chuckled, letting the warm liquid wash over your throat. “Now, I don’t care what you two clowns do, I need these guys behind bars for two lifers at least. I’ve been hunting down these sons of bad mothers for months. I’m not having any slip ups, no buy ins nor outs. Every. Exit. Sealed.” You looked between the two with an intense glare, no nonsense and all business. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Morning afters were always hard for Dean. He had a rule that he followed to the T.

Mind blowing sex? Doesn’t matter, leave before he gets attached and she gets hurt.

“Sorry, Jen, I’d stay, but I’m late for work.” He hurriedly buttoned his denim shirt, trying not to get distracted by the sight of the girl in the sheets, naked body only a thin layer of cotton away.

All he had to do was peel it.

“Aw, handsome, I thought you’d stay for round six.” Jenna giggled, looking him up and down. Inside, Dean was rolling his eyes in frustration. They always got clingy after the best night of their life. Then again, that was purely his fault.

“I would, trust me, darlin’.” He cleared his throat, walking into the living room and finding his jacket and keys, along with his belt. That was important.

Jenna stepped in as well, clad in a silk robe that made her look no short of delectable. But he had to resist. Stick to the damn code. “Y’know, I’m a sucker for a man in uniform.”

She was trying a hit. God, she was trying hard. Dean had to physically resist going back for another hit. She was clingy, sure, but there was a huge double standard there.

“Are you, now?” He smirked, running a hand through his messy hair. “Careful, sweetheart, or I might sextuple dip.”

“Maybe I want you to.” She winked, and it had him chuckling, looking down and then back at her.

“Tempting. Very tempting.”

You stepped into the office, your heels making small taps on the floor as you went, signing in and showing your ID at the register before making your way inside. You’d been told to take a rest for a few days before you returned to your post in the HQ at DC, but who were you to listen?

And everyone knew it too, because the very moment you stepped inside, you were greeted with a show of applause and cheers from your colleagues. “Tenth drug ring of your career.” Agent Lafitte clapped your shoulder, chuckling. “You’re on a roll, sister.”

“Cool it with the flattery, Benny, I’m on a time crunch.” You snorted, shaking your head and holding a hand out for a case file, which was dropped into your hand as you continued walking.

“Hi.” There was a blonde girl beside you, hair pulled up into a ponytail, presumably the one who handed the fine to you. “Agent Jo Harvelle. I used to work narcotics, but they’re giving me a trial in Major Crimes. I was told by the CO to shadow you, so I can get a good sense of the ropes.”

While looking through the files, you glanced up at Agent Harvelle, seeing the eager look on her face. Rather like you when you started, and the eager ones made good agents. With a little tough love. “Yeah, a’ight. CO’s called me for a briefing, so it’ll be up to him whether you stay or step out.”

“About that drug ring you busted?” She grinned. “I was told. By practically everyone. How are you that skilled?”

“Ain’t my first rodeo, hon.” You smirked as you reached the boss’ office, rapping twice on the door with your knuckles and earning a polite ‘come in’.

That you did, finding your superior officer, Senior Agent Robert Singer, standing behind his desk, nose deep in a file while his ear was being talked off by… oh, boy.

Agent Winchester.

“So I quickly take my gun, aim it between his eyes,” He held up finger guns and aimed them to prove his point, completely disregarding your arrival, hideously typical, “and I said ‘hands up or I’ll reenact Rambo’. Genius, am I right?”

You cleared your throat sharply.

That got Agent Winchester’s attention, his green eyes zeroing in on you and giving you memories back that you tried to dispose of in the first place. A smirk twitched at those lips that were once too close to be professional before they stretched into a grin, pearly whites flashing. “Mornin’, Agent. Surprised to see you here.”

“I could say the same thing.” You pressed your lips together (and your thighs, but you’d never admit that), turning to Agent Singer instead. “Should I leave Harvelle outside, sir?”

“That’s ideal.” Singer nodded, so you signalled to Harvelle to stay outside as you closed and locked the soundproof door. You passed the file on the Brierson drug ring to him, which he checked over. “Impressive work, as always. This’ll land them behind bars for sure.”

“Always the perfectionist, aren’t you?” Winchester quipped, arms folded across his chest with a smug smirk. Your brow twitched; you knew exactly why he was highlighting that word in bold, italics, whatever he was intending to do. You’d just rather not think about it.

You scanned him over, adding all the facts in your head. His shirt wasn’t ironed. Belt was wonky. Hair looked like it had a comb desperately run through it but failed to tame it. Faint hint of something red you recognised as a lipstick smear on his jugular and a sliver of a purple bruise that disappeared under his collar. Which was hastily pulled up. His tie done in the simplest knot ever and still looked tragic.

He got here in quite the rush.

“Nice night?” You shot back, a full smirk tugging at your lips and making his drop. He gave you a look which blatantly said smartass, while you proudly notched that win on your belt.

Singer looked between the two of you before tapping his desk. “Entertaining, but not why you’re both here. We’ve found ourselves in a fix. Franz Brierson wasn’t at that party.”

Your blood ran cold. That guy was the big boss, the guy who started it all, got everyone on his payroll. If he was loose… but he couldn’t be loose. Unless you didn’t check?

“I’ve been looking into it for the past five hours. That’s right, I got here early.” Singer huffed out a breath. “There’s a chance that our big boss was notified beforehand. A mole that told him we were coming.”

“A mole. In the FBI.” Dean muttered, now serious as he rubbed a hand into his mouth. “We’ve been clean for years.”

“It’s the only explanation.” You piped up, shaking your head as you began to pace. Heels tapping, Dean’s eyes fixating on the sway of your hips and your ass in that getup at the wrong goddamn moment. “That operation was airtight. No room for error. Only someone on the inside could have leaked that info.”

“You two are the best Major Crimes has. Most arrests, most drug and crime busts I’ve seen on a record in all my years of being here.” Singer folded his arms, looking between the two of you. “I don’t know the whats, whens, whos, hows, whys of what happened when you two were last assigned on a case together, but I need this operation to stay in this circle right here.” He faced you. “When you’re working this case, Agent Harvelle can’t be there. It’s gonna be hard to shake, but you can handle it. As for you,” Singer shot an exasperated look at Winchester, “look presentable!”

“I look hot.” Dean pouted, now holding his jacket over his shoulder with it hooked on his index.

“Hot isn’t FBI. Go sort yourself out, or I’ll get your brother to do it. I need to oversee operations.” Singer left the room and the tense air between you and Dean, which you faced head on.

“So,” You started in a lilting voice, which he recognised instantly as your teasing tone and prompting an eye roll before the words left your lips, “was she good?”

“Shut up.” He groaned, shaking his head as he pulled his suit jacket back on. “None of your damn business. It’s an intimate exploration, not exhibitionism.” He lowered his voice so you couldn’t hear. “Though she’d probably be into that.”

“Are we calling sex an intimate exploration now?” You scoffed lightly, laughing afterwards. “You’re such a sappy romantic.”

“Asshole.” He shot back. Two can play, Winchester.

“Dumbass.”

“Smartass.”

“Jackass.”

“We gotta stop using ‘ass’ in every sentence.” He groaned, running a hand through his hair and picking up the file to busy himself. But the file was picked out of his hands, left carelessly on the desk, your lips claiming his something sinful.

Something that had him moaning, gripping your hips and his mouth soft, pliable, agreeable to your every want and need. He was all yours, and that was all it took to silence him.

Well, not really silence him, but details weren’t necessary. Not when your plush lips were pressing against his neck like that. Hot, open mouthed. Insistent. Rousing. Dizzying. Intoxicating.

He’d be damned if he ever got enough.

His shirt was soon hanging open, tie discarded as the marks of that sexy lipstick shade littered his torso, and he wasn’t complaining. He definitely wasn’t complaining when you sank to your knees, unbuckling his belt as your tongue traced his abs. Didn’t dare when his slacks pooled to the floor, boxers dropping next, his hand tangling in your hair as-

“Hey.” Your fingers snapped in front of him, taking him out of his delightful daydream, however ill-timed. He swallowed, giving himself a once over. No tie discarded, no shirt undone, no lipstick marks and definitely no you looking so sexy on your knees for him. Having him whine for you.

That was a thought worth biting his lip to.

“You with me?” You continued, and upon his shaky nod, you gave him a weird look before continuing on with your briefing. He inwardly wiped sweat off his brow, thankful to whatever god was watching for the lucky save.

You were sipping a late-night decaf coffee as you contemplated the case again, dressed in your worst-looking pyjamas with an old tea stain on the front and fuzzy socks. Had you scoped the party properly, you could’ve clocked if big man Brierson was actually there. But he’d known, he’d known, and now everyone in Major Crimes was under investigation.

By you.

Well, and Agent Winchester, but you’d rather not think of him. You’re actually not quite sure what happened between you two, all that you broke your own rules for your heart to be broken too. You focused on your job, he had fun. Your cycle went that way.

You’d find a new case, he’d find a new girl. Both to busy yourselves so you wouldn’t have to think about each other, which worked until now.

You got a phone call, and you mindlessly picked it up, irritated as you were pulled from your contemplative thoughts. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

‘Dean, so nice to hear from you.’ You heard, his voice mimicking yours before switching back to his. ‘Wow, Agent, colour me surprised; it’s nice to hear from you too. How are you, Dean? I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart, how are you? You’re so polite.’

“Do I sound like someone to engage in small talk right now?” You deadpanned among chuckles at his own joke, putting your dinner - leftovers - in the microwave. God, you weren’t in the mood for this.

Eventually his snickers subsided, and he cleared his throat as you set the mug down. ‘Duly noted. You’re boring. Anyway, about the mole case. I think we should meet up in the office tomorrow to draw up a list of potential suspects.’

You took your warmed dinner, placing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you stabbed the spaghetti with a fork, chewing as you spoke. “And I think you’re insane. That’s the place we’re casing. Why in the hell would we start drafting up names there?”

You heard Dean clear his throat at the end of the line. ‘Right. Got it. My place?’ Truth is, Dean had been hoping you’d say anything but ‘let’s not draft at the office’. He was scared he’d lift you up on the nearest surface and do what he hadn’t the previous time, mark you, claim you and then let you claim him, mark him, wreck him. He didn’t know what you two were, or what you’d become.

Maybe strangers with very intense, deep seated sexual tension.

“What time?” You asked through yet another bite of spaghetti. You weren’t about to forgo dinner for this dude, cordiality be damned.

‘Tomorrow, straight after hours, just head to my place. Does that work for you?’

“Mm, yeah.” You nodded, setting down your plate to quickly note it in your schedule. “See you then, Agent Winchester.”

‘Call me Dean.’

“Agent Winchester.” It was the least you could do after how things got last time. Again, you’d rather not talk about it.

You walked into the DC office after registering, briefing with Agent Singer before heading to the break room, where you found Trainee Agent Harvelle, Trainee Agent Kevin Tran, Agent Benjamin Lafitte, Agent Garth Fitzgerald and Agent Sam Winchester.

You knew Sam. He was a damn sight more respectful and less… Dean-esque than his older brother. Smarter, yet less effective on brute force raids. For that, you needed Dean Winchester. Anything research, or hacking into databases, Sam was your guy.

“Agents.” You smiled awkwardly, not knowing how else to greet them as you went straight for the coffee pot. Thank the Lord for the petition to make the standard of coffee in that jug better that got the vote from every damn person in the department.

HR and Maintenance can suck it.

“Agent.” The rest of them replied, identically sipping cups of Joe.

“Agents.” Singer walked in, holding a file. “Briefing room. Now.” He walked out, and you all followed suit, taking your coffees with you because you needed the caffeine to sustain your brains. Once you all stepped into the briefing room, where Agent Winchester and Agent Nick Garrison were waiting.

Singer grunted, pulling up a slideshow on the board. “Let’s get this over with.” He showed bodies, robbed banks, hostage situations. “Six occurrences of organised crime over the past four weeks. All hitting major municipalities. Now it’s our jurisdiction.”

“What have we got from the crime scenes?” Agent S. Winchester asked, brow furrowed in thought.

“Nothing but this snake logo, spray painted at every scene.” Up comes a logo of a rearing cobra.

You shrugged, quickly figuring something out. “Well, that solves half of the mystery. They want our attention.”

“It is possible.”

“I think it’s a temper tantrum.” You snorted, pointing to the board. “Look at where they’re hitting. Large cities, maximum damage, it’s a cry out for our beady eyes. Leaving a logo at the scene? Someone either wants to get caught or lead us on.”

“Sounds kinda like girls at a bar.” Agent D. Winchester snickered, but earned a weird look from everyone in the room. “What? I make my own style of analogies, don’t come at me for it.”

“Who’s on the team, sir?” Lafitte asked, the man all slow drawl, suave talk and suspenders.

You pointed to Agent D. Winchester, smirking. “Leave him out, his main interests are girls and booze.”

“Blow me.” He scoffed in retaliation, glaring at you. That was a mistake on Dean’s part, cause he started to imagine it. Oh, that memory’s vivid as hell.

“Beg for it.” You shot back, and despite the steady inflation of awkwardness, he really had half a mind to beg for it, honour be damned to hell.

Pin drop silence. Shared smirks. Uncomfortable eye contact between you and Dean, your minds going to places they really shouldn’t.

Agent Singer cleared his throat, then continued talking. “I want you,” he pointed to you, “and the two Agent Winchesters and Agent Lafitte on it, and the two trainees Agent Tran and Harvelle to shadow. You’re dismissed, except for you two.”

Didn’t take a genius to know who ‘you two’ were.

So everyone but you and Agent D. Winchester filtered out, and the moment the door closed, you were both less bickering, head chopping and heart ripping. More on business.

“This is a good chance for you two to scout for our mole.” Singer looked between the two of you pointedly. “As much unknown history as you two have, you idjits need to set that aside. For the sake of our damn Major Crimes unit. Narcotics will give me hell if I don’t sort this out. And the board of directors will be less pleased that we’ve been compromised.”

“We understand, sir.” You nodded, understanding how goddamn serious this was. Lives were on the line. Your jobs, the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s maintained integrity. “We can put aside our differences, can’t we, daddy’s boy?” You smirked at Dean, then pretended to realise that you’d made a mistake. “Oh, my bad. Agent Winchester.”

Dean resisted a clapback with all his might. He didn’t care if their CO was right there, he’d bend you over this desk and show you who’s really in control here.

That would wipe the smirk off those pretty lips. Replace it with his claim over you.

“So, Dean, I wanna know.” Sam smirked, cracking open a beer and passing it to his older brother. “What’s with you and her?”

Dean scoffed, sipping the beer and shaking his head. “I’m asked this fifty times a day. There’s nothing going on here. We’re work colleagues. She’s incredibly annoying, and grating, and infuriating, and I’m extremely handsome.”

That got a wider smirk from Sam, a knowing one. “You knew who I was talking about.”

That caught Dean out, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. “Say what?”

“You have so many girls in your life that half of your contacts are women.” Sam raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. “But you knew who I was referencing first try.”

“Humour me, Sammy.” Dean grimaced, folding his arms. “How do you label intense sexual tension that was almost acted on yet it almost broke our personal set of rules? Hm? Thought so.”

“So, she’s kind of like an old flame.”

“That flame ain’t lit.”

Sam nodded slowly, giving a breathless chuckle and an inclination of his head. “Yeah. Sure.” He stepped out of the room to head upstairs, which alerted Dean of the implication. He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Hey! Sammy!”

NEXT UP:

“Oh, honey, such a flirt!” You laughed in a posh accent, mimicking your mother’s laugh to the best of your ability while you swatted Dean’s chest. He smirked at the look in your eyes, because goddamn was it obvious that you hated this.

“Darlin’, I can’t help myself around you.” He turned to the other charity goers with a proud smirk, gesturing to all of you. “Can’t keep my hands off my gorgeous wife. Might have to have something off the menu for dessert, if you catch my drift.” He winked at some elderly ladies, who giggled and waved him off.

“Such a charming boy.” One cooed, obviously eyeing Dean up with poorly restrained envy. While you looked around for your target, you missed the way Dean’s eyes travelled down your body in that form-fitting red dress, v-neck, v-back, thigh slit where he knew you had a thigh holster strapped in, all the good stuff. And his eyes were on those scarlet heels.

He was imagining ramming into you with those sexy things on. And that dress, well, it’d be off in second if he had the chance. And that lipstick? Well, it’d be smeared and leaving prints on his neck, chest, abs and- that’s going a bit too unprofessional.

Like, comment or reblog! I’d love to hear your feedback. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

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[lokisgoodgirl]

Secretive Santa: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (8) Seasons may have changed, but some hearts still need soothed. And what better time than Christmas for some well-intentioned mischief? Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Usual Lakes fare. Established relationship. Theve (?) Soft smut , mild angst, humour, fluff and cunning plans throughout. (w/c 7.3k)

You would never forget the look on Thor’s face as the Fiat had drawn up the loose stone drive to the cottage. The glow of his smile was visible through the windshield at 100 paces.

As he and Rogers had exited the car with a spring in their step, you were starting to think the last two days had been just what everyone had needed.

The air was crisp this morning, winter’s first biting chill stinging your cheeks.

Steve’s face was glossy and fresh with the flushed sheen of recent spa treatments. His forehead shone. He strode towards you with a nod, extending his hand to shake Loki’s with a quiet ‘howdy’ as Thor brought up the rear.

‘Do you really think they slept together?’ you’d gaped to Loki as you’d lain in bed after dinner last night, thoroughly sated with food and sex. Loki had laughed gently, making your chin bounce on his bare chest. ‘There were twelve condoms in the pack I bought to get a rise from Rogers,’ he’d replied. An eyebrow had risen as you stared vacantly. ‘How many times have we had sex, darling?’ Loki had continued.

A smirk had played at the corner of his perfect mouth, still glistening with your arousal. It was burned into your memory. The soft mischief in every line.

You had bit your lip, the look of intense concentration on your face making Loki chuckle again. ‘Full, or just oral?’ you’d replied wilfully. ‘Ten,’ Loki had mouthed, raking a hand through his hair as he arched his back. One of his legs draped over the side of the single bed. ‘There were ten in the box when they left. So either-’ ‘It’s happened, or it’s going to!’ you’d gasped. Loki had shrugged. Maybe, his silence had said - but he was still smiling. Now, you tilted your chin as Thor stood beside Steve.

The captain hooked an arm around the blonde god’s shoulder, the pep of the men’s familiar pleasantries filling the air like birdsong. Thor’s followed suit, giving each other an affectionate pat before breaking apart. “You guys ready to blow off?” Steve asked, gesturing to the Fiat.

Loki’s nose wrinkled. “I humbly petition to sit in the front passenger seat this time.” he muttered, making his suitcase disappear in a flash of green. “We can take turns,” Thor offered. A relevation.

Startled, Loki’s eyebrows rose. You looked between them, smiling as the men nodded agreement in sage trifecta.

Although you’d been lumbered driving for the next seven hours back to the Essex compound, it would be another world than the trip up had been. And besides, none of these particular Earth's Mightiest Heroes could drive stick.

“Let’s go home,” you murmured, meeting Loki’s eyes as his hand slid into yours with a squeeze. “Home,” he smiled.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. The seasons changed again. But thankfully, Loki had not.

Frost adorned trees lining Central Park were visible from the god’s bedroom window. Like cake toppers, you mused as you pulled the curtains behind a sash, dusted with icing sugar. A pair of strong hands slid around your waist, slippers nipping at your heels as he moulded his stomach against your back.

Long fingers tugged against the loose sash of your robe.

“Come back to bed,” he murmured against the muss of your morning hair. His breath was warm in the shell of your ear, the heat of his skin sinking from his bare chest through your gown.

You could feel the bulge in his loose pyjama pants pulse against your ass. “They need me,” you whined, tilting your chin to meet his pleading eyes. He knew you couldn’t resist those eyes. Christmas lights on the tree in the corner lit up the golden veins of his irises. “I need you,” he retorted. The wounded tone of his voice tugged your heartstrings.

You rolled your eyes.

Loki tutted. “Agent?” he warned playfully. Playful, but no less devastating. It made your core flush with ill-timed desire. “We don’t do that anymore.” It had become a mantra. An amber light which snuffed out behaviours that no longer had a place in your relationship. And expectation of equality, you conceded, worked both ways. “Come back to bed,” he husked again, deeper this time.

Loki’s forefinger looped around the sash of your robe, stepping back slowly. Two steps, then three. You followed, falling to his lap as he sat back on the mattress. “It’s cold outside. Rogers will understand.” You scoffed, curling the mess of his hair behind one perfectly formed ear. Whatever happened, it needed to sound believable. Just a normal mission. A normal mission. “It’s not Steve I’m worried about,” you said.

Loki frowned, urging you to continue as his fingers danced dangerously up your leg. They began to massage the curve of your ass beneath the silk. “It’s your brother – he’s been antsy all week. All month, actually. Chewed Scott out the other day for being late – even Steve was embarrassed.” Loki’s hand paused. “Will he be there? On this ‘very important mission’?” he muttered, staring at your breasts with a faraway look in his eyes. “My brother, I mean…” You swallowed, the oath of utter secrecy bubbling behind your teeth, willing itself to be broken.

You managed a half-hearted shrug. Loki’s pinched fingers slid down the opening of your robe, before raising his gaze with a wolfish glint.

“Perhaps Rogers is rubbing off on him,” he quipped, lips stretching in a smirk. You slapped his shoulder lightly, trying to stand before Loki pulled you back in. His lips traced your own, inhaling against your breath. “Or on him,” he finished smugly.

You slapped his shoulder again.

“It’s been ages since the lakes, and neither of them have said a word,” you huffed, standing and shrugging your robe to the floor.

Taking a moment to enjoy the awed slant of Loki’s brows, you turned and made your way to the small selection of clothes you kept in his rooms. “If they were a thing, we’d know by now. They barely speak to each other these days.” You unhooked a combat suit, feeling the weight of Loki’s stare on your naked ass. “Has Thor said anything to you?” you asked innocently, glancing back over your shoulder. The god’s eyes snapped from your rear to your face.

“What?” he coughed. He was hard. “Has Thor said anything to you?” you repeated, trying to hold in a satisfied smile. “About him and Steve?” Loki crossed his legs, trying to dampen the arousal pumping through his veins. “No,” he sniffed. “But he is acting particularly meat-headishness of late. I should speak to him.” “You should-” you said, pulling the suit over your shoulders and sliding the zip upwards. Loki’s crestfallen eyes lingered as your cleavage disappeared from view. “I should-” he muttered absent-mindedly as you drew closer and leant down to give him a kiss. His train of thought dissipated in the air.

You paused, feeling his breath cloud around your mouth. As much as you wanted to stay, this was important. The secrecy that surrounded Steve’s message had made that clear.

Loki kissed you. First soft, then firm. A promise.

And the warmth of it lingered as you made your reluctant way down the Tower elevators and into the crisp New York December day.

You checked the top right corner of the screen nestled in your thick gloves. Nine seventeen. Shit. The dot on the GPS moved up East 50th street. Skies had darkened, clouds threatening snow. Wreaths and lightbulb-adorned foliage hung against shop windows, festive displays catching your eye.

That jacket would look incredible on Loki, you thought fleetingly; before the shade of a skyscraper loomed above. Making a mental note to come back and get it, you paused; taking a moment at the railing. It overlooked the golden statue in Rockefeller Plaza. Even at this time in the morning, skaters made their way around the rink with various displays of aptitude. A man who reminded you very much of Colin Robertson hung stiffly onto the side as his other half skated backwards, encouraging him enthusiastically. You smiled. “Thanks for coming,” a voice murmured over your shoulder.

You clutched your chest. “Steve!” you gasped.

Ever since the lakes, the relationship with your superior had become a lot more familiar. An unexpected bonus. The captain wore a thick hat low on his brow. And sunglasses, of course. A navy blue jacket was zipped up under his chin. He looked stiff, hands jammed in his pockets. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder while you leant against the railing. “You going to tell me what this is about, now?” you said quietly.

Steve nodded curtly, clearing his throat. It fogged the air. “Seems I drew Odinson in the secretive santa and I need your advice.” You arched a brow, ‘secretive santa’ making your lip twitch with laughter which would be entirely inappropriate.

“Go on,” you mustered warily. Steve cleared his throat again, removing his sunglasses. He produced a small microfibre flannel from his pocket, beginning to polish them. “You know him better than I do, see” he mumbled, meeting your sceptical gaze. You titled your head. Steve’s cheeks were pink. And not from cold. Not just from cold, anyway.

“I don’t know about that,” you replied softly. The captain’s eyes narrowed, searching for any hint of ulterior meaning.

“You spent a lot of time together before the cabin,” you explained, seeing his face soften. “- which I appreciate, by the way. We both do.” You squeezed his hand. “I think together we can find the perfect gift – don’t you?” Steve exhaled loudly. It was relief. “Well, I did have one idea I wanted to run by you…” he smiled shyly.

Your eyebrows rose.

In response, Steve nudged his head towards a store on the other side of the plaza. A smile stretched across your face.

“Perfect!” you cried, making Steve cringe. “Keep your voice down,” he hushed, wincing as a passer by jostled his shoulder. “I don’t want that Heimdall character ruining the surprise.” You laughed playfully. “If you’re on his radar then-” you started, before thinking better of it. Thankfully, Steve was too busy putting his sunglasses on and tugging the woolly hat down to notice.

FAO Schwarz was heaving with shoppers. Crowds bustled around elaborate displays of every toy imaginable. Normal-looking businessmen and women clutched large paper bags with boxes slotted in expert precision making their way quickly past you to the entrance. Trying to fit in what they could before work, you reckoned. The superheroes of the everyday. New York’s iconic toy-store was a Christmas wonderland, wreaths adorning pillars and large glittering snowflakes hanging from tall ceilings. Paul McCartney’s chirpy vocals rang from concealed speakers, heralding the season. Steve paused beside one of the perfectly coiffured trees lining the walkway through the store, glancing shiftily over his shoulder. “Maybe you should lose the sunglasses?” you suggested. He nodded reluctantly, slipping them into his pocket. “It’s over here,” he murmured.

He was frowning lightly, concern in those famously blue eyes. His Captain face. If you weren’t acutely aware of the context, you might be forgiven for thinking that this was a super-serious mission.

But, you reminded yourself, for him...maybe it is. You decided not to make light of it.

The two of you slipped around several hordes of shoppers towards a wall at the back of the store. Rows of plush animal faces stared vacantly in immaculate lines. Steve stopped. He folded his arms, spreading his feet in a stoic stance.

“There,” he said firmly, nodding towards a modest circular display. “Oh my god,” you whispered, eyes widening.

Out the corner of your vision, you saw Steve’s chin snap towards you; the feeling of his anxious stare beating into your profile. A grin spread on your lips. “It’s perfect,” you squealed, turning to him. You gripped his shoulders, shaking him lightly. “You’re a genius. He’ll love it.” Steve blushed, looking down. He scuffed his foot on the polished floor. It squeaked. “Golly,” he muttered, smiling bashfully. “You really think?”

You nodded, meaning it with your whole heart. “Perfect.”

Loki pursed his lips. He could hear the neolithic grunting of his brother doing some manner of inane task in the kitchen up ahead. It echoed.

Apparently, Thor had not been called to whatever mission had stolen you from his bed after all.

He rounded the corner, immediately tensing. The God of Thunder stood hunched over a toaster, miniscule in one meaty hand. In the other, he had a knife jammed deep in the contraption, wiggling it around. “You should turn that off at the wall, you know-” Loki drawled. Thor looked up, smiling.

“My breakfast is entrapped, brother. There is no other way.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “I thought you weren’t doing that anymore,” Thor muttered, demeanour hardening. "The rolly-eye-thing."

Loki bristled. “For some things there is no alternate or adequate lexicology to express oneself, brother.” Thor humphed, rattling the knife deeper.

A blackened pop-tart fell to the counter amid a cascade of crumbs. With silent vindication, he raised it in his grasp and shook it in Loki’s direction. A triumphant grin spread across his face as Loki slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “So?” Loki said smoothly, tilting his head. It was a loaded syllable. Thor’s brow scrunched. Loki wasn’t sure if it was the bitterness of his ill-gotten prize or the vagueness of his opening gambit which caused it. “What?” Thor crunched. Flecks of burnt fell with abandon to his scruffy beard and a white muscle vest stretched tight on his chest. It was stained with what looked like mustard, and chocolate - one hoped.

This is not that garment's first dawn, Loki thought. He sighed pointedly. “Look, we’ve been dancing around this for weeks. Your increase in short-temperedness and decrease in both affinity and hygiene has been noted.” The blonde pressed his fingers sarcastically to his chest, eyes wide. “You talk of me?” he exclaimed incredulously before chuckling, shaking his head.

Without warning, Thor released a thundering fart. It tapered to a whining toot before he spoke again. “You must be mistaken brother.” Loki didn't flinch. Not even a millimetre.

“I am not,” was Loki’s curt response. He clasped his hands on the counter-top, now marred with specks of charred pop-tart. They looked like ants. His disapproving eyes rose to meet his brother, now looking shifty. He was chewing, avoiding Loki’s analytical stare.

Thor flicked his hair back. It had a crispness to it. Some kind of resolve settled over his features, and there was a sharp glint in his eye Loki didn’t like.

“Have you told her you love her yet?” his elder brother quipped bitterly. Sarcasm seeped from him like steam. Or maybe that was the lingering stench of flatulence. “Again?” Loki tensed, resisting the bait. “That is none of your concern.”

He straightened, making space as Thor leant on the counter opposite, fist propped beneath his chin. The blonde batted his eyelashes innocently. Loki wanted to punch him. “Oh but it is, brother-” Thor smarmed, lip curling in a smirk that Loki would recognise in a mirror. “I am most concerned about it indeed.”

The two of them sat in silence, unspoken asgardian curses curling the air. “A truth for a truth?” Loki postured coldly, circling his fingertip on the counter. The question hung in the air. An old compromise last involked in their youth, in the days of the cabin-with-no-place.

It had become such a staple of breaking their stubborn stalemates that Frigga had commissioned the Asgardian Crones to weave a token.

‘To solidify the sentiment, for harmony’ she had said.

Millions of silken threads created the finest handkerchief in Asgard, an ombre of green and red which softened in silken waves to the centre; melding to one. Harmony.

On it, hand-stitched in the truest gold were the words. The only words which could provoke amnesty between the heirs. The symbol exchanged between them at times of familial discord. Whoever held it, must forfeit one admission for another or face the consequences.

En sannhet byttet mot en sannhet, A truth exchanged for a truth, Loki mulled as he traced a dark vein of the marbled counter-top.

It was not an accord invoked lightly. The ceremonial handkerchief itself may be lost to places known only to few, but once uttered, the oath must be fulfilled. He followed the winding tendril to the edge before meeting his brother’s eyes. Thor snorted, slapping the hand beneath his chin to the surface. “Fine” he gruffed.

“You and Rogers-” Loki cut in, seizing the moment. He watched his brother’s brow crease, short-lived victory turning to regret. “Is he the cause of the foul mood which has plagued you these past weeks?” Thor shuffled his feet, pushing himself upright against the counter. “I see not business that is of-” he began to parrot, but Loki waved a dismissive hand. “Brother, please-” he snapped sharply. “Even adorned with our lifespans, this banal rhetoric could last us to the gates of Valhalla.” He watched as his brother’s features relented, a quiet sigh rising in his chest. Thor swallowed. “He will not speak of it,” he muttered.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Of what?” Thor’s jaw set, looking at his brother with exasperation. “Our amorous union, short-lived as it was.” A small smile played at Loki’s lips.

Vindication, he thought. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

He summoned the willpower that had become so familiar from his newly-trained approach to your relationship, reminding himself that vulnerability was to be encouraged, not exploited. Carefully, he re-adjusted himself on the stool. He made sure he looked sympathetic. “I wasn’t sure if-” “Yes, yes…” Thor mumbled dismissively, glancing around the walls. Pink had risen in his cheeks.

“Rogers asked me not to say anything. But methinks it’s all for nought now regardless.”

“So the two of you...at the cottage?” Loki probed.

Thor nodded. “It started as a ruse, a part of the plan should it be required to stay you in the correct location but-” he swallowed.

“When the moment arose, the moment took me...us, and- our kinship, such as it was, had changed somehow. The nights we spent setting things in motion for the two of you, we grew closer. I cannot place it, brother. I just…”

“That sounds familiar,” Loki said softly. Without realising it, he had reached for his brother’s hand.

Thor squeezed it, staring down as he continued. “The love of a male is not unfamiliar to either of us-” Thor said, glancing up briefly. “But to Rogers…” he trailed off. “-It is all unfamiliar.” Loki finished. His brother nodded. “At the spa...we talked about what the future could look like. Many plans were made, but-” Thor swallowed thickly. “-when we returned, things were different?” Loki murmured tentatively.

Thor nodded again.

Loki knew that fear all too well. He would be lying if he said that his heart hadn’t pounded the whole flight home, wondering if a return to reality outside of the bubble created in the cottage would return you to your senses too. The thought of losing you again had been almost too much to bear. “I know not if it is his values. His image. Whether his feelings have changed or whether the intrigue was more of an allure than reality- he has barely spoken two words of warmth since our return. And when he does speak – I find myself behaving most unbefitting my feelings. Pushing him further, like you did.” Tears welled in the blonde’s eyes.

“Or perhaps it is I, brother,” Thor continued, smiling in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. It twisted Loki’s heart. His elder brother released a mirthless chuckle of resignation before continuing, fingertip circling on the marble anxiously. “Perhaps it is I.”

In seconds, Loki stood and rounded the counter.

He drew his brother close, feeling the strength of Thor’s grip tentatively curl around his shoulders. The god’s chest heaved, shallow breaths ricocheting against Loki’s neck. He found himself pressing his brother’s head into his hold, trying to steady the silent sobs swallowed with every gulp of air.

Had they ever embraced like this? Loki didn’t think so. Not that he could recall. But, strangely, he found he didn’t care.

“It’s alright, brother” he heard himself murmur, not knowing what else to say.

Thor choked back a shuddering sigh as Loki continued to stroke his hair. He rested his chin on his brother’s head, closing his eyes. “It’s alright.”

A paper bag adorned with toy soldiers rustled by your feet below the table.

Steve had given strict instructions to keep it in your sight while he bought coffee. You peeked inside again, smiling.

Somehow, you’d managed to convince him to while away a little more time before heading back to the Tower, citing Loki’s suspicions. But really, you just wanted to spend time with him.

Ever since the lakes, Steve had softened – which wasn’t a bad thing. In some ways you felt much closer, but in others; from others – he seemed to be pulling away. “Careful, it’s hot” he quipped, nudging the wooden chair out with his foot.

He squeezed to sit at the world’s smallest table that you had commandeered in the corner of the café. You mouthed thanks, pulling the mug over. “Reminds me of the cottage,” you smiled; looking up innocently. Steve’s eyebrows peaked, before he frowned lightly. “I guess,” he muttered. Festive jazz played over the bustle of mid-morning conversation and clinking plates. The milk steamer spluttered endlessly behind the bar. You scooped a blob of cappuccino foam onto your finger, sucking it off. It was now or never. After all, it was Christmas.

“Are you alright, Cap?” you started deferentially, hoping that the softness you felt in your heart shone through. Steve looked up, blue eyes deep in thought.

“Can I trust you, Agent?” he asked warily as his gaze glanced over your shoulder. Your features softened further, tension easing. You reached across the space between you, fingers curling over his forearm. “Steve,” you whispered. “I owe you so much. So much. I care about you, and Loki does too.” Steve’s brow arched sceptically. “He does,” you smiled, squeezing his arm. The smile fell gradually as you studied his face. “You can trust me,” you said quietly. Seriously. The captain nodded, taking a deep breath. “I…” he started.

Your brow twitched, an uneasy feeling spreading under your skin as Steve readjusted his feet beneath the table. His fingernails scratched at the wood, tapping as he glanced out the window and back again. “I…” he pursed his lips, avoiding your eyes. “-fucked up,” he hissed. Your stare widened. “Steve!” you gasped. He looked at you sheepishly. “Apologies,” he muttered. Clearly, your look of abject confusion was enough to spur him on. He leant forwards, urging you to do the same. A woman stood at the next table. Both of you watched her leave. Steve turned back to you, his eyes trained on the coffee cup nestled between his palms. “Our...mutual friend. The blonde,” he said quietly. You squeezed his arm again to signal understanding. “Well...as it turns out, I enjoy his company a bunch.” Steve’s eyelashes fluttered upwards, bashful gaze swimming above pink cheeks. He bit his lip. “A bunch. You see?” “I see,” you replied gently. Steve released a wistful sigh.

He licked his lips, fingers playing with the mug handle. “Things happened at the lakes that I didn’t expect. That I never woulda...that I-” he sighed, hanging his head.

“I told him it was a mistake.” He blew out a puff of air. “What a ninny,” he chided himself under his breath. You tilted your head. It was breaking your heart. “Do you think it was a mistake?” Steve shook his head, sighing again. “No,” said quietly. “But now he won’t talk to me. Not like before– as though he’s realised it was a mistake. He’s done with ol��� chum over here. I can’t blame him. I guess it’s not a big deal for a god and whatnot but for me-” Steve swallowed, words drying up. “Trust me, I know how it feels” you whispered.

Steve’s eyes met yours. They were glassy with tears, darting from your own to the pictures hanging on the wall and back again.

“I fucked up,” he breathed again. His voice trembled on the swear.

“It’s alright,” you cooed sadly as your thumb stroked Steve’s palm. You squeezed again. "It's gonna be alright."

Loki paced back and forth across the rug in his living room.

He’d tried buzzing your apartment four times at thirty minute intervals. Each time, he had been left more enthused than the previous.

His mind was alight with the thrill of the plot.

Through an entirely subtle process of elimination over the past hours, he had deduced that there was only one member of the team you could be with on this auspicious morning. Rogers. And after his conversation with his brother – he needed the intel you had most certainly gathered – whether intentionally or no.

There was more to this ‘mission’ of yours than met the eye, of this he was certain. He was certain, because he had planted the seeds himself.

There was a knock at the door. Loki’s feet skidded back against the rug in his haste to the handle, throwing it wide and bustling you inside.

“-Loki-” you gasped while he glanced to either side of the hallway before spinning you against the wall with a ravishing kiss.

His senses came alive beneath your touch. The bright cool of your skin, the scent of coffee and spiced gingerbread clinging to your hair; an almost imperceptible tacky patch on your cheekbone where some soul had left a passing kiss. Lipbalm. Rogers.

“What have you been up to my secretive elf?” he purred against your parted lips. Your coat hung open, the avengers uniform you had donned this morning for his benefit, he was sure; on half-display.

“I...uh-” Loki smirked as your palms steadied against the wall. You were panting, face flushed from the onslaught of his affections. Fingers raked through your hair as you met his eyes, blinking several times.

“You tied your hair back,” you noted, dazed.

Loki scoffed at the attempt at subterfuge, grabbing your hand.

“Come,” he said as he pulled you towards the sofa. You landed with a soft bounce as the god took centre stage in the living room. He pressed his fingertips together, hands peaked in a triangle. It touched his lips briefly. “Brace thyself, darling” he drawled. Unbuttoning your coat, Loki felt his gaze fall down the black material tight to your arms. It clung to your chest, the zip far too low for any official business. His stare lingered on the curve of your waist, how it taunted and teased him as you shuffled back on the sprawling sofa.

“Consider me braced,” you said pointedly. He cleared his throat. “My brother,” he started, pausing for effect. You stared at him expectantly.

Loki admitted to himself that he was a little disappointed you did not seem more intrigued by the fatted bounty of gossip he was about to spill forth. But he decided to maintain the theatre it deserved regardless. “-is in love with…” he paused again, smirking mischievously- “Rogers.” Your head fell back, landing in the cushions as your hands covered your face. “Oh thank fuck for that!” you gasped, beginning to laugh despite yourself. Loki frowned. This was not the response he had expected.

Between sighs of relief, you peered through your fingers at the bemused god. He was standing with his hands on his hips, the irritation palpable. The foot began to tap.

“Come here,” you placated. Patting the cushion beside you, his face softened; but an eyebrow remained raised.

“I would have thought my most excellent investigations would yield a smidgeon more praise from you my dear,” he said with feigned annoyance as he sat. “Nonetheless, I imagine your response means welcome news?” You nodded. “Steve feels the same. At least – I think he does.” Loki’s face scrunched. “You think? Please. Rogers should be on his hands and knees thanking the norns for my brother’s affections.” It was your turn to frown. “But Steve doesn’t know how Thor feels – your brother’s been palming him off.” Loki smirked.

“Not like that,” you sighed as you fell back again against the cushions. “We have to do something Loki...they’re mad about each other. They both think the other isn’t interested for one reason or another. They just need-” “-a little nudge?” Loki purred.

You met his stare. Those beautiful eyes swirled with the warm glow of the treelights, sparking mischief in golden flecks buried in deepest blue. Shadows cast by candlelight danced in the carve of his cheekbones.

“A little nudge,” you repeated, tilting your head with a knowing smile.

“After all, it would be rude not to return the favour. Don’t you agree?” the god murmured as his fingers danced up your suit.

They fastened around the zip at your chest, pulling slowly down. In seconds, Loki had gracefully shifted and buried his face in your cleavage. Hot kisses worked against the skin, breath warming any hint of chill still lingering in your bones.

Your hands slid past his temples as he made it to your neck, fingers winding in the lengths of his ponytail before pulling it free.

“Minx,” he slurred against the curve.

You could feel the sharp of his teeth against your collarbone as he smiled. Hands sliding over his broad shoulders, you took a moment to appreciate the tight knit of the camel sweater he wore at the meat of his biceps. Camel, he’d insisted. Not beige. And in the heady afterglow of lovemaking amidst a sea of sparkling Christmas lights, a cunning plan began to form.

You made your way to the common room, gift-bag swinging.

The presents that you and Loki had procured for your team-mates sat nestled inside – one for Scott, one for Wanda.

The tradition was a fairly new one, but a highlight of the festive calendar. On Christmas Eve, before outsider guests for Tony’s annual party began to arrive- the Avengers gathered and exchanged all manner of tat and risque shit. You often wondered how much the picture on your phone of Bruce holding up the dinner-plate sized cock ring Tony had made for him would fetch on the open market. But you had decided long ago that it was priceless. “Brother!” you imitated in a deep, accented growl.

Thor spun on the common room sofa, his wary look melting to a wide smile. You ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck. He spun, making you squeal. A whining mash of faint tunefulness emitted from his chest as the god lowered you to the ground. Jingle Bells. “Ah, you pressed the penguin’s nose” he hummed, booping the knitted beakish blob. “He sings,” he explained, pleased with himself. “I can see that,” you said as you made your way to the tree. “But turn around – you can’t see which presents are ours...” Thor obliged, smiling as he busied himself fluffing a garland by the fireplace. "Perhaps we should invite my Penguin friend to the carol concert at Stark's festive jamboree tomorrow," he boomed across the room. You watched him, remembering the feeling of acting normally while tendrils of heartache wrapped around your insides.

"-Certainly, he can hold a tune better than I" Thor continued, chuckling to himself. A pang of sadness mellowed as you turned back to the pile beneath the tree. Scanning, you tried to look for one that could be Steve’s – but none fit the bill. “Okay I’m done,” you said casually as you stood. Thor continued fluffing the garland. You sidled over, trying to act casual. “Have you um...added yours yet?” Thor shook his head regretfully. “Having a little trouble with my assigned giftee” he muttered. His eyes flickered to yours guiltily. “There is something I wish to give them, but I am unsure it would be welcome.” A small smile played on your lips. “Something tells me any gift of yours would be welcome,” you said, watching his bottom lip roll beneath the top with a sceptical grunt. “Is it something I can help with?” you probed, “maybe a second opinion would ease your mind.” “No,” Thor mumbled. He sighed. “I fear this is something I must endeavour alone, sister.” You frowned. How the fuck did Thor manage one of these cunning plans, you wondered as Michael Buble crooned in the background. “I wished to speak to you as it happens,” he murmured. Your lips pursed. The tone of his voice, the tension in his shoulders. Flashing lights interwoven in the fireplace garland illuminated a newly crimson hue to his skin. “Did my brother...mention anything to you of late?” You snorted. “You’ll have to be more specific when it comes to Loki. He never shuts up,” you smiled, feigning ignorance. Thor chuckled. “Indeed,” he said as he picked at a ribbon. “Well then...more specifically about, me.” You shook your head. You hated lying to him, but in this case – it was for the greater good. The god nodded softly, still inspecting the ribbon between his fingers. “Good. Well. That wasn’t what I wished to speak to you about anyway.” You swallowed. Cryptic Thor was never a welcome guest at any gathering. “My brother,” he continued cautiously, eyeing you before moving his fingers to another strand of greenery hanging over the side of the mahogany mantel. “-He intends to declare his love for you this Yuletide.”

Your jaw dropped, neck craning forwards. “Oh,” was all you could manage.

The side of Thor’s mouth twitched in an apologetic smile. “I am aware that your relationship has been, what is the parlance...taken ‘back to basics’ in some respects-” “Yeah,” you mumbled. Suddenly the ribbons decorating the garland looked very interesting. You and he stood in silence, straightening Pepper’s ornamentation.

Thor cleared his throat. “Knowing you the way I do sister,” he said softly, “I thought that forearmed would be forewarned.” “It’s the other way around,” you snipped. "Forewarned is forearmed." Out the corner of your eye, you saw Thor’s face fall. “Sorry,” you added quietly. The god’s hand curled around your shoulder, pulling you to him in a brief sidehug before releasing it.

“It’s just...we agreed not to rush things,” you explained under your breath.

You knew that he knew this, but verbalisation was needed. The cogs of your mind whirled.

“We haven’t moved back in together, we just keep a few things at each others places...go on a lot of dates, we’re working on ourselves, you know? Avoiding the mistakes we made last time. Like...well, like rushing things.” Thor turned towards you, bicep leaning against the mantle-piece as he listened diligently. You could feel the track of his gaze over your face.

Unable to take it anymore, you turned to look at him. “He’s doing so well, Thor. We’re doing so well. I’m happy. Really happy,” The words sounded panicked. You hated that. Thor reached out, cupping your hand in his. “I just...I don’t want it to ruin anything,” you finished. Looking up, the god’s concerned stare was waiting like you knew it would be.

“Do you love him?” was all Thor said.

Heat rose in your cheeks.

The truth was that you did. That you always had, and probably always would. But in hindsight, those three little words had heralded the beginning of the end last time. When his rose-tinted effort to contain the smarm and arrogance had well and truly gone absent without leave.

In some ways, the old Loki had taken your love to mean your unending loyalty. Unconditionally, in the truest sense of the word. Your unquestioning support and adulation no matter his behaviour, however many times you tried to stand your ground. And while his actions these past months had gone a long way to assuage those lingering doubts – the fear that it could flare up his old habits made your blood run cold.

Seconds ticked on while Thor’s question hung in the air.

“I thought it best you have time to consider it before the moment was upon you,” he said quietly. “My apologies if I have overstepped.”

You shook your head, linking your fingers through his. Without realising, tears had begun to prick your eyes. He raised a palm to your cheek, wiping away a droplet which had spilled over the rim. “No tears, sis” he rumbled lovingly. “It’s Christmas.” You felt a weak smile grow as Thor extended his forefinger. It lingered in the air between you. He paused, raising his eyebrows.

He moved the finger slowly to the penguin’s beak.

It pressed against the jumper. Against the lumpy misshapen knob of black knit, Thor's eyes never leaving yours.

And as the squeaking whine of electronic Jingle Bells filled the air, it dissolved the scent of sadness into a waft of cinnamon candlesmoke. You and the god of Thunder began to laugh.

Loki leant against the counter of your kitchenette.

He watched as you waited for the kettle to finish boiling, staring at it intently. Something was off. Your fingertip ran around the rim of a glass teapot sitting on the side. Loki could smell the spiced chai leaves from here. “Are you alright, darling?” he ventured cautiously. You offered a weak smile as the kettle clicked off the boil. Steam billowed around your jawline as you poured.

Loki was careful not to let his face betray the nerves bubbling in his stomach. If he was honest with himself, he’d been waiting for something to crop up that would throw the fine-sailing vessel of your relationship off-course.

It’s only a matter of time until she changes her mind, he’d think with twisting sadness as he watched you sleep. With me, it’s always just a matter of time.

He absorbed the purse of your lips, the absent-minded wipe of a droplet of tea from the counter-top before you blew the steam gently. Its motion sent a wave of rich tea and spices in his direction.

Your slipper socks rustled against the tiles as you made your way over to him, still resting against the counter’s lip. You set the mug down to his side, hands sliding over his hips. They clasped behind his back at the base of his spine.

“I have to talk to you about something, and it’s not easy-” you murmured softly.

Your eyes were wide and vulnerable, a slight tremble of your lip making his heart race. The scent of your festive perfume filled his nostrils, like ginger biscuits.

“Go on,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure he could manage much more.

You swallowed thickly, fingers toying with the back of his sweater. Black, today. Loki hoped it was not an ensemble of foreshadowing. “I ran into your brother in the common room."

Loki exhaled a sigh of relief. “Oh,” he breathed, a small smile breaking. But your expression didn’t change. The god felt your fingers pull nervously against his sweater. Bad for the knit. “He um-now, don’t be mad at him-” Loki began to frown. “He uh, mentioned that you were maybe thinking about...um, saying something soon. To me.” Realisation blossomed, vines of anger and embarrassment twisting around the thought as he cursed his brother’s loose lips. He should have known. Loki swallowed, feeling his features harden but being unable to stop it.

Your gaze fell, the trace of your fingertips around his middle as you brought them together in front of you; pulling nervously at the ends.

“That devious, two-faced buffoon” Loki muttered bitterly, concerned eyes darting back to your face. “I told him that in confidence.” You looked up at him incredulously. “Well, he told you about Steve in confidence.” “That’s different,” he snipped, noting the immediate rise of your eyebrow. “It’s you.” he finished, glancing to the floor as he felt his cheeks begin to flush. “Loki…” he heard you begin softly, curling a rogue strand of hair behind his ear. He couldn’t look. “Loki,” you repeated, firmer this time. Your forefinger nudged beneath his chin, tilting his face up. He wondered if he looked as wilted as he felt. From the look in your eyes, he suspected he did.

“I understand,” he heard himself say. It was petulant. It was cold and detached in a way that scared him. The warm hit of your lips meeting his unexpectedly made his knees buckle, hands bracing against the counter-top. Your palms slid up his chest, over the tensed ropes of shoulder muscle, over the curve of his neck. Everything was in that kiss. The heat, the longing, the need. “Loki,” you breathed softly into his open mouth. “Mmm,” he mewled, eyes closed. “I love that you feel that way, I’m just…I’m scared that-” Loki opened his eyes. He saw a swirl of tears threatening the beautiful hues of your irises. There would be no tears of sadness this Christmas, he had decided. Not on his account. “Afraid, of things that may change?” he probed quietly. You nodded.

Loki sighed, cupping your jaw. He ran a thumb back and forth across your lips, moist from the kiss. “Change be not always a harbinger of doom, I hope the last few months have reassured you of that.” You nodded again. “I know that it's different now, it just...took me by surprise. I hadn’t expected...I just-not yet...” you trailed off. Loki smiled softly. The way your body was pressed against him, as close as you could be. The way your fingers gripped and grasped against each dip of muscle it encountered as though he would turn to dust if you did not.

Loki realised in that moment that if this scenario had occurred years before, he would have been insulted. He would have been childish. Enraged, perhaps, at the audacity of the woman he adored doubting him. But now, all he felt was closeness. The bravery of your admission that he felt his soul. That you trusted him again.

Words, he pondered as he placed a lingering kiss on your forehead. What wounds have I inflicted on this woman with words.

Action must once more be paramount. The words can heal, he realised as he memorised the softness of your skin beneath his lips. But words can wait. “Perhaps we can agree” he began, measuring every syllable with the rise and fall of your chest against his own, “that, should you feel comfortable in doing so...you could, say it first- when it is right for you. When it is right for us.”

His voice was deep and melodic, a rumbling lullaby of devotion he willed would still your thundering heart. He hoped you could feel the love simmering in those words. He had never hoped anything more. You tilted your head into the curve of his neck, kissing the exposed skin. “-and be safe in the knowledge the sentiment will be returned, when you are ready” he added quietly.

Your hands slipped once more around his hips, pulling him tightly against you with your head buried in his neck. Loki held you like that, letting the waft perfume from your hair fill his nostrils.

I love you, he mouthed silently.

The soundless click of his tongue over mute syllables wound its way through strands of your hair.

He felt your fingers begin toying with the waistband of his trousers. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “Darling,” he purred as your head left his shoulder. You tilted your face to meet his gaze, alight with the comfortable joy he knew so well.

“You’re amazing,” you whispered. A smile had spread across your face that made Loki’s heart burst. The first button on his chinos popped. “Well, quite-” he smouldered playfully. Loki felt his hips rock upwards into your waiting palm, a low groan bubbling in his throat while you stroked the arousal growing beneath cotton. “You fixed the secret Santa, didn’t you?” you coaxed. Changing the subject, Loki noticed. But he let it pass. It was hardly a question.

Loki rolled his lips, pondering. “I may have ensured that my brother and Rogers drew each others names, yes.” He let out another moan as you squeezed the thick root of his cock through the chinos. “Good boy,” you hummed. It sent a shudder of need up his spine.

“How long have you been planning this?” you said, beginning to walk backwards with Loki’s sweater firmly in your grip. He chuckled, curls tapping against his jaw. “A while,” Loki smouldered. “Seeds that I have planted have sprouted most elegantly. Although there were a few pieces of the puzzle which remained unclear until the last few days.”

You paused, making the god’s stomach collide with yours. He released an exaggerated ooft.

“Final pieces of the puzzle? Like the fact they actually have feelings for each other?” you giggled. Loki shrugged non-nonchalantly. You were playing. “A minor detail,” he drawled. “Everything needed to be in place, just in case.” Your mouth hung open, stunned into silence. “It’s Christmas,” he added with mock-incredulity – as though it explained everything. “Miraculous things happen at Christmas in this realm, do they not?”

His fingers curled around your shoulders, switching your positions and lowering himself to the sofa. He widened his legs, hips flexing upwards. Fairy lights gleamed and sparked their warmth in a halo, golden spills rolling over your skin as you pulled the jumper you wore over your head. Firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows against the walls.

He would never understand the beauty of you. And perhaps, Loki surmised, he did not have to. It was his fortune to appreciate it, not question it.

A finger twirled in the air, evaporating his clothes in a seasonal golden and scarlet shimmer. Yours followed. Loki’s thighs widened further as you manoeuvred onto his lap, covering his mouth in a hungry kiss. His fingers raked through your hair, hips bucking up as he sought the sweetest harbour his body had ever known.

“Say it again,” he pleaded darkly as you slipped a hand between your bodies, guiding his throbbing cock to your entrance. Twin gasps cut the air as you seated yourself on the thick tip, slow motions rocking down into shallow moans. “Good boy,” you murmured lovingly in his ear.

Loki let his head fall back against the cushions, fingertips sinking into the soft rounds of your ass as he bottomed out. He let you work against his body, feeling your pleasure spill and slip against the taut veins of his cock. Every little gasp, every breathy groan of his name. Your god. Each slow roll of your hips met the gentle buck from a clench of his ass. Your god. He was yours, completely.

You knew that now for certain. He was sure of it. And all the while, a few floors below, his brother was wrapping a gift for Steve Rogers.

As the final strip of crinkled sellotape was placed firmly against the paper, and as the ribbon he had smuggled from the common room garland was retied- one might have been forgiven for thinking a green light glowed within it; leaking from loose edges.

Thor had frowned, doing a double take.

The package seemed to tingle in his hold. The blonde put the strange feeling down to nerves.

But as his younger brother lost himself in pleasure, spilling his seed and his devotion within the arms of his beloved; the gift had been made whole in Thor’s oblivious hands.

A gift that would change everything.

Continued in Comfort and Joy (Final)

Tags

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pugnacious 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, arranged marriage, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: the day has come to do your duty as a noble daughter.

This is part of the Three Sisters for Three Misters AU (this reader is know as Wren)

Characters: James Conrad

Note: We've rounded out the trifecta.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stare at the empty stable and growl. White hot rage ripples through then subsides as you let out a long breath. The days of letting your mother rile you are behind you. You rescinded her power over you at your sweet sixteen when she made you wear that ridiculous clown suit. No longer will her victories needle deeper than the twitch of a cheek. 

You flick your lashes up and twist on your heel. Suzanna gives you a guilty look as you pass. It isn’t the groomer’s fault. Your mother does as she wishes, so much so that she can’t help make others align with whatever those wishes may be. Well, you’ve agreed to do your duty, she’ll have nothing else out of you. 

The furrow in your brow eases and you put on a smile. The one you’ve trained since you were a girl. It’s rather convincing. Even she buys it sometimes. Though, since you’ve grown into adulthood, your mother does seem rather wary of you. Good. 

You roll your shoulders to free yourself of the last of the tension and breeze inside. The furor of the evening’s preparations greets you in a cacophony. You see Nancy frantically pulling lacy table mats from the closet and Annalise thunders demands in the kitchen. 

Before you can reach the stairs, your mother appears like a witch in one of those childhood movies she forbade you to watch. Well, all your friends had them and no matter what she thinks, she cannot command all. You keep your lips curved and bat your eyes innocently. 

“There you are,” she proclaims and gives a sniff, “and you don’t smell like a barn.” 

“Mother,” you retort, “I am on my best behaviour. Do you need to rub the salt in?” 

“I am only making sure you are on schedule. Tonight is very important.” 

“Oh, wow, I had no idea it was,” you say dryly. 

“Get it out now,” she snaps. “Our guest will not appreciate that lip, nor will I stand to be embarrassed.” 

“Motherrrr,” you draw out the word, “you needn’t worry for me. I gave my word and despite my lineage, I do know how to keep it.” You tilt your head wryly, “but you will have Lottie back in the stable tomorrow or you might question my integrity.” 

She frowns, “I only sent her out to be shoed. Don’t be so paranoid.” 

“I know what you’ve done, mother. She’s my horse.” 

“You are not a girl anymore,” she girds. 

“Don’t I know it,” you sidestep her and proceed upstairs. 

To describe your mother cannot be done in a single word. You have more than a dictionary’s worth for her; overbearing, conniving, heartless, soulless... Yes, well, you have faith that whoever she’d bartered you to cannot be worse. You don’t know that there’s any in existence who could even match her. 

“Wait,” she calls after you, “have you seen your sister?” 

You don’t ask which one. Either of them are prone to disappearing. Better they do than you. You would be certain not to be found. 

As you come down the hall, your name wrenches you back like a leash. Your father keeps his voice low as he waves you closer. You turn and stride toward his office door. He can be as stubborn as your mother but he has his moments of softness. At least, for you. You think it’s only his natural obliviousness that makes him seem unkind. 

“Eh, how’s the Queen of Darkness then? Has she sacrificed a maid yet?” He whispers. 

“Father, really? Even if she heard you, she can’t be bothered,” you shake your head. “She has horse-napped Lottie so that I can have no joy on this special day.” 

“Oh, lovie, don’t be so pessimistic. It is about time. You need a husband. Eh, I need you to have a husband. You and the others. I count myself a lucky man that I’ve found you such fine suitors and you should measure your own fortune the same,” he tuts. “There aren’t many true gentlemen left.” 

You hold back a sigh. He can be amiable but he still rules over you all with the same iron. As you are to your mother, you are still merely a title bearer. Your duty comes before anything else. Yes, well, your husband will have his duty too, won’t he? 

“Right, well, I don’t need another lecture. So if you want me to thank you on my knees for a stranger, I will not do so. I am already marrying him, that should be enough gratitude,” you insist. 

“Oh, daughter, don’t be so hard. Sometimes...” he hesitates, “yes, sometimes you do remind me of your mother.” 

“Rude,” you snip back. “Father, I shall see you at supper.” 

You turn and storm down the hall. You slam your door. You’re already over today. But you can’t be. This isn’t just about you, it’s about your sisters. Chicky, your youngest, will be fine. She has her way of just getting by, but Wren... she’s another matter. You’re more nervous about them than yourself. 

You get out of your riding clothes. It’s as if your mother is setting you up. As if she wants you to act out. She does love drama. Even when you’re going along with her machinations, she does her best to ruin them.  

You pull on your red robe and go to your en suite bathroom to start your routine. Cleanse, moisturise, tone, makeup, hair... You leave your lips bare, not trusting yourself not to lick it off. At least your mother can be thankful that you enjoy getting all prettied up. As you set away your makeup, you hear a door in the hallway. 

It’s safe to assume it’s your missing sister. It’s closer than Wren’s door, it must be Chicky. You peek out before you emerge and go to knock on her door. You enter and give her wry look. She has paint behind her ear. You won’t mention it. 

“There you are. Mother’s been squawking all day.” You intone. 

She glances at you in the mirror and shrugs. You give her a pointed look. Playful, not serious. You laugh and frame your hips with your hands. 

“Please, let me do your hair so she doesn’t tear it out.” You insist. It’s as much a favour to her as yourself. You need to keep busy. 

“If you want to,” she gives another shrug. She’s not as particular as you about her hair. 

You near her and eye the dress hanging from the vanity drawer. Pink, short, and fluttery. “Oh, that dress is so you.” 

You touch the neckline and play with one of the facsimile petals. She takes her blush stick and blots her cheeks.  

“What about Wren? She’s usually much more elusive than me,” Chicky asks. 

“Oh, yes. She took her nose out of her book for five seconds to get the witch off her back.” You recall your other sister’s dull stare as she faced your mother at her bedroom door. You take a comb and start at the ends of Chicky’s hair. “Even after a lifetime, she can’t really accept that this is what we were born for. I worry for her but she locked her door.” 

“And probably climbed out the window,” your sister chortles. She’s probably right. 

“Always the most clever of us.” You agree and focus on your task before you find your voice again, “are you nervous?” 

She looks at you in the mirror. Her shoulders rise once more. She tries to act like she doesn’t care but you know she does. You do too. 

“Strangers, aren’t they? But mother and father were too,” she says. 

“Mm, and look how well that turned out. I don’t think they’ve been alone together since right before you were born,” you hiss. 

“Likely not... but mother says the men are well-bred. Polite.” 

“Frigid,” you smirk. You know exactly how gentlemen are. And you’ve gathered that these men are older and established. Will they even have the energy? They are looking for status, not lovers. “You must read between the lines. That is how society talks. They never say the truth, the toe around it until it kicks you in the teeth.” You slide a pin into her hair, “I’ve asked around but people never talk about interesting things, do they?” 

“No, not really,” she pouts then stretches her lips in a goofy smile. “Am I pretty, sister? Will mother approve of me?” 

You laugh and shake your head, “oh, it will be quite the night, won’t it?” 

“Don’t act as if I will be the only menace. And I’m not so worried about mother, as she shouldn’t be of us. We have to impress these men, not her, right?” She argues. 

“Impress? Well, I shouldn’t need to try for that. He can win me over. Tradition and all,” you retort. You aren’t looking to endear a husband, he’s already been snared. You will be what he needs. A wife in title, not in your heart. You won’t delude yourself to think society has any room for love. 

You give a start as the door clicks. You look back as Wren enters and pushes herself to the door. Her eyes are wide and her hair is just as manic. She never has been able to rein in her strands. Her mane seems to reflect the stubbornness she carries so quietly. 

“I saw one,” she says. 

“Saw one?” Chicky drones. 

Wren hushes you and scurries closer. There’s a leaf in her hair and you can smell the oak on her. She’s been in her tree again. He glasses stick of her tresses crookedly and her book threatens to slip from under her elbow. 

“He’s tall. Blond. Look!” She gestures to the window. 

You look to your other sister and she stands. You both approach the window and peer through. Wren hovers behind. 

“Oh, wow, isn’t that typical? Aan antique car. Well, Wren, you should hope he’s yours then. By the looks of it, he’ll spend more time with that beast than you.” You scoffs dryly. 

Wren whimpers as you hear her fussing. You can’t imagine tonight will be easy for her. She doesn’t do well with strangers. And by her expression, they might assume she’s annoyed rather than anxious. If only they knew how lovely your sister truly is. 

“Mm, he has manners. He is chatting rather intently with Reginald.” You remark. 

“Yes, Reginald can be rather chatty,” Wren grumbles. Well, she may be a bit grumpy. 

“Well, Kes,” Chicky faces you, “you said you asked around. What did you hear?” 

“Like I said, gossip is rarely useful,” you sigh. Marcianna offered you crumbs and you don’t have the patience for all those other gabbers. “Mine, Conrad... he’s not much history in ‘society’,” you nearly spit the last word. “From what I’ve gathered, he comes from a well to do family. I heard more of his brother than him. Frustratingly mysterious.”  

You cross your arms and sit, “then there’s Laufeyson, Wren’s match. He does have quite the reputation. A tricky man. I’m not entirely sure why mother and father chose him but no offense, Wrenny, you are a middle child.”  

You don’t mention all that you heard of him. To think your mother chose him for her. Well, it isn’t a match you would have made but if need be, you can set more than your own betrothed straight. 

“Mm, I’d say better than no one but no one sounds rather nice,” Wren bemoans.  

Chicky laughs, amused by the comment. You can’t help by empathise. Wren is right; no one does sound lovely.  

“And me?” Chicky asks.  

 “Pine. Proper gentleman by my measure. Never a toe out of line. No mystery, no scandal. He sounds like he was created in a factory.”  

“Boring?” She sniffs.  

“I wouldn’t expect any of them to be more than,” you check your nails. “But we should try to pretend they are interesting.”  

“Forever,” Chicky adds.  

“Forever...” You echo. “So is our lot, yes? We must make the best of it. Get through tonight, then the wedding, and when all is said and done, we can still be us.” You hook one leg over the other and lean on your hands. “I’ll take Lottie with me. She’s a loyal stead and I’ll need something fun to ride.”   

You wink and Chicky giggles as your implication. Wren whines and sways at the very thought. Oh, how will she ever face her wedding night?  

“Wren, you can take all your books and add a thousand more to your shelves. You could build yourself a castle and lock yourself away to read forever,” you try to comfort her, “and Chicky,” you turn to your other sister, “you can just be you. Go out shooting or dancing or shopping. As long as our duty is met, we will be free. Truly. No more mother, no more father. We will laugh in their faces and say ‘no’.”  

“I hope you’re right,” Chicky refocuses through the window. You haven’t the heart to tell her that the man below is hers. She’ll find out in due course.   

“I do too,” You say. “Think of it this way, we want out of this house. This is how we get out. Then we have our own titles, our own rights, and our husbands, well, they can have their own hobbies.”  

Chicky turns back completely and nods. She returns to the vanity. She’s in a rare state of apprehension. You don’t dare mention it. 

You put your attention to your other sister and lighten your tone, “So, Wren, you look ready to meet your beloved.” 

She winces and you almost feel bad for the joke. No, you have to be strong. For both of them. And you will get through this together. Husbands be damned. 

[ohtobeleah]

Terms Of Endearment // Bradley Bradshaw

Series Masterlist

Summary: They always say when you aren’t looking for love it tends to find you. So when you and your daughter turn up in Fighter Town, Bradley Bradshaw is instantly infatuated. With reluctance to trust and harbouring a bad past, you don’t make it easy for the fighter pilot to love you.

Warnings: Will be allocated to appropriate chapters. Bradley Bradshaw x F!reader. Jake Seresin x Platonic!F!Reader.

~ Terms of Endearment Main Masterlist Link ~

1. Matchmaker // Jake Seresin decides to take your love life into his own hands when an opportune moment falls into his lap.

2. Sunny Side // Rooster picks up your daughter from daycare.

3. Pillow Cases // After looking after your daughter for the afternoon, Rooster questions you about the pile of unwrapped Christmas presents in the closet. Your response? Something he’ll never forget.

4. Branded Father Figures // Bradley stays the night only to join in on a tradition Jake Seresin had been keeping a secret. Learning a few things about your past.

5. Christmas Crisis // Jake spends Christmas with his family and is told an ugly fact. Bradley spends Christmas Eve and morning with you and Dot—enjoying the calm before the storm.

6. The Calm Before The Storm // After Christmas lunch at Penny and Pete’s house, you and Bradley venture home. But don’t make it without a hitch.

7. The Clash // When Jaidyn Dolan moved to town Bradley Bradshaw gears up for the fight of his life. Having your back without question.

8. In Shades Of Terror // Things between you and Bradley and you and Jake reach a boiling point when Jake returns home, he finds himself spilling the beans about how him and Bradley knew about Jaidyn being in town.

9. To Build a Home // You’re finally approved for your own home through staff accommodation. But when you find out who your neighbour is you’re at a loss for words.

10. Biggest Stans // We see just how long Jake Seresin as been your biggest stand for and Bradley asked an all important question. If you’d consider moving in with him.

11. Trifecta // Jaidyn’s on a revenge driven path that’s only just the beginning.

12. Chase That Feeling // An unhinged Jaidyn causes chaos as Jake meets a woman who’s willing to put her front foot forward and Bob plays the hero card.

13. Dammed if you do, Dammed if you don’t // Jaidyn takes the games he playing to a whole knee level while Jake and Bradley do all that they can to get the higher ups involved.

14. Unlikely Savours // Jake and Bradley butt heads over what they need to do when Jake gets a call. Everyone’s racing against the clock, to find you and get to Dot.

15. Bringing in the reinforcements // Bob makes a call to someone he knows will be able to help and Amilia stalls Jaidyn to give Jake enough time to reach Dot.

16. It’s been a long, long day // Jake and Bradley reunite after having gone their separate ways. You need surgery and it’s not a good prognosis.

17. Not So Malice Intentions // When you wake up from surgery to find out Jake wants to keep Dot from seeing you for a first days, all hell breaks loose.

18. Cowboys & Apologists // When you wake up from being heavily sedated to a stranger but familiar man sitting in the corner of your room—you don’t take well to the carbon copy of Bob Floyd

19. It’s Personal // A week passes you by and you’re still in the hospital. You miss your daughters third birthday, Bradley goes in to bat for you against the Secretary of Defense and Jake has a run in with an intruder.

20. Yellow Polkadots // In the aftermath of Jakes unexpected intruder, decisions are made that bring you and your baby girl back together. Bradley struggles with a hard interior design decision & Jaidyn gets comfortable in his finale plot to end your happily ever after.

21. Heaven // (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) Discharged from hospital after suffering severe injuries from a near fatal run in with your ex has you high strung and on edge. For good reason too, you should always trust your instincts because no one around you is safe from the chaos that transpires in our final two part finale.

~~ Complete ~~

Concepts & Blurbs

-> Marked // Jake sees the infamous cattle prod mark your ex left behind.

-> Bobby Bear // Robert Floyd left this world too soon. But does Odette see his ghost when she’s a little girl?

-> Lessons in Love & War // On one of your first shifts back at work after the events of ToE. Odette is plagued with an illness that sends her to the emergency room with a very panicked Bradley Bradshaw.

-> Bath-time // Bath time isn’t always an easy feat when your little girl is afraid of baths. But they do make for some core memories.

-> Tunder Storm Sleep Overs // With a heavily pregnant wife and a toddler afraid of a raging thunderstorm outside. Bradley kicks into his favourite mode. Dad mode.

-> Easter Time // You don’t have an Easter Bunny—you have an Easter Rooster.

-> The sex positive couple // You and Bradley are busy getting it on when your daughter wakes up from hearing noises in the night. Afraid you’re hurt she calls for you.

-> Baby R // Riley Carole Bradshaw makes her big entrance to the world when Jakes in Texas and Bradley isn’t sure if he’s ready to be a dad twice over.

-> The Eternal Mark // When at the Abbott Ranch for thanksgiving, the sound and sight of a cattle prod has you feeling like you’d been thrown back in time into the arms of the man who swore blind he was going to kill you.

-> From Tooster to Rooster // The first time Odette calls Bradley Rooster and not Tooster.

-> Dots Promise Ring // Odette forever keeps the promise ring Rooster gave to her as a child. But one day she throws it away.

-> The not so real dad dad // Young, dumb and oh so impressionable Odette Bradshaw freaks out after the police show up at a house party she snuck out to. Calling her uncle to come get her didn’t go according to plan.

-> Sticks & Stones // The one where Rooster finds out about the time you absolutely let loose on your daughter during her teenage hellion years while he was on an eight week deployment. And the one you find out you weren’t the only one who kept parenting secrets.

-> Dots Pot // Bradley knows his oldest daughter smokes weed on the roof. I’m an attempt to stay hip with the youth he joins in—only to be left a paralytic on the couch. Outsmarted and out numbed.

-> Fruit of my loins // Odette Bradshaw is full of existential dilemmas about who she is and where she fits in. In an attempt to figure herself out, she goes to see the man who never wanted her in the first place.

-> Brother & Sister love // The dynamic between the Bradshaw siblings.

-> Uncle Jakes second wedding. // Jake has a no kids wedding and Odette isn’t too happy about the situation. Giving him one hell of an attitude about it.

-> Jake & Amilia // A glimpse into the fuck around that is Jake Seresins first marriage to a woman called Ellie who would never be Amilia.

-> Dot & Chase - The Dagger babies // Odette Bradshaw isn’t the easiest girl to get along with, and doesn’t Chase Fitch know that. -> Dot & Chase 2.0

-> What does Odette do for a living? What Nicky & What Riley Do for a living. The Bradshaw’s siblings go leaps and bounds in their respective careers. From soccer players to aviators to lawyers.

-> The Commanders Daughter // Odettes TopGun instructors.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

[chaotic-iguana]

Sleep

Summary: Reader suffers from lack of sleep, caused by a recent event. As she continues to overwork herself, she reaches her breaking point with near disastrous results. Starring concerned!steve murphy, chaotic idiot!steve murphy and clueless!reader. javi has my fucking heart though.

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no use of y/n though)

Rating: M

Wordcount: 2.2k 

Warnings: fluff, mild angst, sort of a panic attack, mild MILD allusions to someone being creepy (not javi though), mild flirting, humour, lots of swearing sorry

this is my first fic - let me know your thoughts! check me out on ao3

masterlist.

“I swear to fucking god Murphy, if you don’t stop bouncing your leg against the table, I’m slamming your head right into it” is the gospel that flows out of your mouth at 7 am on a Monday morning. Feels like it’s gonna be a great week.

“The hell did I do? You’d think Connie’s cookies would be enough to get you animals off my back, but no, first sign of any damn fire an’ the first person you’d throw in?” Steve huffs. “Murphy”, he repeats mockingly. You scoff and roll your eyes at him, clenching and unclenching your fists in an attempt to talk yourself down from strangling the idiot situated two feet to your left before turning back to the paperwork in front of you. The one-foot-tall, monster stack of paperwork. Right. In. Front. Of. You. And would the golden boys ever do it themselves? If they ever got a moment’s relief from jacking each other off during missions (or however the hell they manage to fumble practically every single little op), maybe. But most of the time, you were stuck with it. Because god forbid the two princesses you were partnered with ever had to so much as lift a pen themselves. Hell would freeze over.

And it isn’t like you mind. At all, really. Half your job is the paperwork, and you’re happy to get it in order - if only to avoid Noonan’s wrath. Besides, what good is an agent if they can’t do their fucking job? In its entirety; not the half-assed shit most of the men did around the embassy. But a single glimpse of yourself in the mirror while rushing to leave the house revealed that these past few weeks of skipping lunch breaks, going home late, and taking files home to work on have been catching up with you - sunken, bloodshot eyes, cracked lips, and bruises smudged under your eyes now, perpetually, since the nightmares had started. Anything to keep you busy, right?

Another aggravating side effect of the amount of work you had taken on apart from the usual? The constant irritation. Marlene’s new nails, Katie’s suspicious last lay, the stupid fucking demon alarm clock that never quite managed to wake you up, the busted tire, the broken coffee machine, Dave from accounting’s downright idiotic whistling, your pen running out of ink, and finally - Murphy’s bouncing knee banging the table every fucking millisecond, practically in tune with the pounding ache beginning to form between your brows. If you were a better person, you’d let these things go. Such is life, right? But since the lack of sleep, the increased workload and general mishappenings had already created this beautiful trifecta of shit just to screw you over, better people could go fuck themselves. As could Murphy. “Don’t use your wife’s cooking as an excuse. I’m telling you, make another sound and die.” you spit out, whirling in your chair because the incessant fucking banging still hasn’t stopped - just in time to catch Peña sauntering in, already smirking.

“Already nailing Murphy’s balls, cariño? Careful, I’ll fall in love, baby.” You can hear the laughter in his crooning voice as he throws it over his shoulder - but you don’t care - can’t care, beyond the spots that seem to be forming at the edges of your vision. Were your fingers always a bit tingly? Or is that a new development, like your tongue suddenly feeling thick and heavy in your mouth, like you’re choking on it? But even though your thoughts feel slow and weighed down by molasses, rage sparks brighter in your mind as Peña’s flirty nicknames and bullshit teasing registers. You push away from your desk, and shoot up from the chair, striding towards the door to get some air - or you try to - because before you know it, your vision is blinded by white and you’re breathing quick, shallow breaths as you lay on the ground trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. Distantly, you can hear someone calling your name but it sounds so far away you barely even register it. Hands wrap around your wrist, your head, attempting to stabilize you, to ground you, as you flail wildly in a panic. A low hum begins to fill your senses, forming words that sound to fuzzy to understand or care about right now, but you lean into it, something in your being telling you it’s safe.

When your sight clears, you’re curled up on the on the floor trembling. Shaking, like a scared fucking child, while Peña kneels to hold you to his chest, repeating the same few phrases over and over: “You’re okay, it’s okay hermosa. You’re safe. Safe. No ones gonna hurt you, it’s over now, okay?” as Murphy stands next to him, watching with panic and a hint of sympathy in his gaze. You scramble away from them both, panting, nearly slipping in your effort to get to your feet. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, pretty. You’re okay” Peña repeats his assurances with his hands held out, palms facing you, as you stand on wobbling knees, wiping at your face.

“‘M fine” is all you whisper to them hoarsely before ducking your head and rushing out of the pathetically cramped room you three work in. You can hear footsteps behind you, but can’t find it in you to turn around - not even at the panicked sounds of your name being called by a familiar voice. You’re making a scene, you know it, but you don’t care. It’s all too much, and you’re too far gone. Reaching the parking lot, you struggle to unlock your car as your trembling fingers drop the keys twice. Swearing, you resolve and pick them up again, pressing them and reaching for the door. But just before your fingers find the handle another hand - much, much larger than yours - splays out on the window to stop you, just as Peña’s signature bedhead comes into view. He looks at you with wide, concerned eyes, his mouth tucked low at the corners, like he’s disappointed. You want to melt, you do, because the melting pot of emotions you have for him make you preen at his worry - but your usual defense mechanisms humble you. And so you sharpen your claws, flash your fangs, and the hackles raise again, leaving a “What, Peña?” to come tumbling out in a tone so sharp it makes you flinch. HIs frown just deepens as his gaze rakes over your form frantically, as if checking for injury. He says nothing, pursing his lips further before snatching your wrist and tugging you behind him as he stalks to his car, opening the side door. You raise a brow at him, and he counters by jerking his head towards the car, scowling slightly. You get in, slightly confused, and wait for him to walk around and get into the drivers seat. “What the fuck, Peña? I just fainted, I’m not senile. And I don’t give a shit how mad you are, you can’t just-just drag me to your car and f-force me to get in. The fuck are you playing at?” you begin to ramble, fury somehow still rising at a dizzying speed. Peña doesn’t respond, just starts driving while looking straight ahead while you continue fumbling over a panicked rant so pathetic it sounds nonsensical to your own ears. “…And what? You just enjoy calling me s-stupid nicknames? You think it’s cute to flirt with me while I’m- while I pass out?” This one makes his nostrils flare, eyes darkening a bit while his jaw tightens just for a second before letting go. You pause for a second, getting your breath while your hands still shake in your lap. “I’m fine, it’s fine. Can I just go home please? I’ve already done the month’s paperwork for all the ops we have planned, and you can just give me the rest post-op. I’m just a bit under the weather, I just need to lie down for a bit.” you start trying to reason, but the stubborn ass just keeps driving, and alarm starts bubbling in your chest again. You look down to your lap while you fiddle with your thumbs, willing to control the irrational fear yelling at you that something’s wrong every second Peña chooses to stay silent.

“Think I was flirting with you while you passed out? Y’think I don’t see it, you working yourself to the fucking bone? Think I can’t see how you’ve stopped eating, honey? Stopped laughing like you used to? Think I don’t know how late you’ve starting going home? As ‘f I’ll ever stop waitin’ for ya to clock out first so I know you’re home okay, baby. You gotta tell me what’s wrong - this is eatin’ you up.“

Peña’s tone softens, but his harsh whisper makes you turn your head to look at him. He sounds so…tortured, as if he’s the one suffering. He glances your way, locking eyes with you for a second before turning his head back to the road. You sit there and practically gape at him, your jaw slack as your head whirls. Peña knows? No, wait, he waits? For you to go home so you’re safe? He cares? What the fuck? Confused, all that comes out of your mouth is a mighty elegant open-mouthed “huh?” before you blink at him, waiting for him to continue.

“You gotta know by now, sweetheart. Gotta see how I’ve been lookin’ at you. You’re the smartest fuckin’ agent I’ve seen, with the balls to take down men I’d sweat to be ‘n the same room with. You swear like a sailor, an’ make me laugh till I’m chokin’ on my own damn cigarette. Tell me what’s hurtin’ you, honey. I can’t promise I’ll fix it, but I can swear to you I’ll damn well try my best.” He responds, turning to hold your gaze as his own eyes widen, and his brows turn down. Puppy eyes, you think. 

Your brain has gone from hazy to too fucking clear in a matter of five minutes, and now it feels like your thoughts are gonna come ripping out of your head. So you just blink at him, again, before reaching an unsteady hand out to cup his cheek. “I’m okay, I swear. Just-you remember that deal I had to cut last month? With the sicario? For intel on that lab?” Peña nods, and you continue. “Fucker led me to a dead end. Ambushed me. O-only got out ‘cause his gun jammed, and his child-soldier ran away. I just-this is so fucking dumb I’ve been in worse but- I can’t get it out of my head. The shit he said to me, the way he looked at me, t-touched me. I should be dead or worse, Peña. And I nearly was.“ you look down again, ashamed of the truth that’s spilling out of your mouth. It’s so small, so weak, you just want to fold into yourself and never come out. Your voice wobbles towards the end, tears filling your eyes as you turn your head away from the man you’ve wanted for so long to save whatever dignity you still have left. “‘N I can’t sleep anymore. Just see- or feel him every time. So thought I’d work for a bit. Clearly didn’t fucking work out, though.” small hiccups have started to punctuate your words, testament to the tears now flowing down your cheeks. Peña pulls up to an unfamiliar building and turns to you.

“‘S Javi, honey. Look at me, pretty baby.” He cradles your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to turn your head towards him. “None of that was stupid, okay? Come lie down at my place. I’ll sit in a damn chair next to you and fight him away if he comes in your dreams, sweetheart, okay? Nothin’ to be ‘fraid of. Never letting any fuckers near you again.” Javi leans in to brush a kiss to your forehead before stepping out of the car and hooking his index and middle finger to beckon you too. You step out of the truck and towards him, smiling while swiping at your face. “Didn’t know this was what the girls meant every time they bragged about sleeping with you” you snark softly, with a teasing grin on your face as you reach him. Javi rolls his eyes playfully before unlocking the door.

“Ain’t gotta do no sleepin’ you don’t want to, honey. You’re here to get some rest. Be a good girl and sleep f’me, and I’ll keep you up for as long as you like after,” he  throws over his shoulder with a matching grin and a wink.

[astonmartingf]

LOVE, AGAIN ; LH44

— after another failed first date, lewis calls yn for a debrief reminiscing their past relationships

amgf in case you didn't notice, i'm moving my works... that's it

masterlist

Waving goodbye to the man, you stand in front of your apartment complex watching his car leave from the corner of your eyes. Pressing your lips on a thin line, you fish out your phone pressing ‘4’, but before it could input your command the screen flashes of a familiar contact photo.

Chucking to yourself at the coincidence you swipe your phone answering the call as you make your way in the elevator. “Good evening. I was just about to call you. Is this where you say you’re staying the night at her place?”

Your voice filled with excitement for your friend, in the hopes that his date went better than yours. On the other end of the phone you could hear the sound of his engine purring, perking you up as he could be on his way to a successful date.

His laughter rings to your ears, “I am staying over but not at her place-”

An audible gasp left your lips, cutting him off- “Oh my gosh you cheeky bastard! Are you actually going to have a one night stand Sir-”

“I’m staying over yours.” Your enthusiasm slows down as you ponder over his words, wincing while you enter your apartment.

Removing your heels you set your bag down the counter, opening the fridge your eyes land on the bottle of wine you wanted to share with him- “Debrief?”

A hum was heard from the other side of the phone, “I’ll be there in 10. See you darling.” His voice was curt as he ended the call before you could sympathize with him.

“And then she just kept talking about herself, which I personally don’t mind as it takes off a lot of the burden from me constantly talking, it was a nice change…” Lewis swirled the wine in his glass, adorning matching pajamas with you, face covered in a clay mask, the perfect trifecta after a long day.

“But- clearly there’s something else that you’re omitting for the story. What happened after Lewis?” You scoot closer to him, desperately closing in the distance, curiously pressing the details on his eventful night.

Looking away, Lewis sighs before taking a sip of his drink, “She just said something that rubbed me off the wrong way.”

Sitting up straight you squint your eyes, inspecting his facial expressions, observing his body language and looking for little quips that could help you pinpoint what exactly his date said. “You don’t say… she said something about Abu Dhabi right?”

Gawking, Lewis scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You of all people… I can’t believe you sweetheart, you’re supposed to console me after my sad date. And no, for the record I don’t think she cared too much about me being a driver, which was a plus but there were other factors that outweighed why the date ended sourly.”

You stop laughing halfway as your face softens at his statement, “I’m sorry… But you have to admit that was funny. It just came out of nowhere, I shouldn’t be teasing you when you called me to hang out after a failed date…”

Lewis perks up as you mention failed dates, “Speaking of dates, what about you? Now that I’m thinking about it, you left earlier than me, what happened?”

A sigh left from your lips, grasping the bits of memory about your date just hours ago. “Honestly, it wasn’t that memorable. It was like an interview, he kept asking me questions and not in a way to form a conversation, he’s just nosy.”

Lewis grimaced before shaking his head in disappointment, “Yikes… sucks to be you I guess.” shrugging, Lewis downs the remainder of his drink before setting the glass on the table.

“Who would’ve thought, we’re both successful in our careers, getting paid, we have ample time, yet here we are… Is this the mid-life crisis people were talking about in their 30s?” Your eyes met Lewis’ mulling over his questions.

“I disagree. I think it’s alright… I mean where else would I be if not here with you? I’m fine with that, I think you just miss being out and about with people apart from me… Am I boring you Lewis?”

Shaking his head in disagreement, Lewis lets out a breathy laugh, “I’m not even sure what I miss, this is fine… It’s a lot better, I’m stable, I’m doing the things I love to do and spending time with the people I love. Maybe I just miss the feeling of what could’ve been, the choices I made that put me here, every now and then I think if things had gone differently.”

A small smile forms your lips, “You’re missing her aren’t you?”

Raising his brows, the corners of Lewis’ mouth curl up to a small smile. “I think about her, I do. But do I miss her? As a lover, no. As friends, maybe. It’s just, she was there in my life for a long time, and now she’s gone. A lot of people have come and gone, and at the end of the day we always come back to each other.”

You nod, tracing the rim of your glass, “I remember you calling me after your break-up with Nicole- funnily enough I don’t think I told you this but I was on a date that time.”

Lewis let out a gasp before scooching closer to you, “What? When was this? How did I not know about this?”

Holding back your laughter you place your glass on the table beside his. “It just happened, I was on this date with a guy… I’m thankful you called because he was insisting we go have drinks at some bar, I wasn’t interested and he kept saying something. You just called then and there when I needed you the most… and I guess the same goes for you.”

Silent, Lewis trails back on his memories of what happened that night, nodding his head slowly as he recollects what had happened. “I’m glad I called you, I guess we both needed each other that night. And I’m sorry for your shitty date in the past.”

“It was fine, it gave me something else to focus on… and when I went over to yours we ended up drinking either way so it’s just a full circle. I ended up drinking with a different person.”

Lying down on the sofa, Lewis settles his head on top of the pillow on your lap, “It’s been so long… You think I still have it? The charm?”

Choking on your drink, you laugh at Lewis’ statement, “Are you actually worried about that? Lewis, you’re in your thirties… What was that film again? Thirty, flirty, and thriving? Yeah, you don’t have to worry Lew- look at you, I don’t think you should worry.”

Lewis hums in your assurance, “You think so?”

“I know so. You’ll feel it Lewis, you’ll be in love again.”

[nights-flying-fox]

TMNT STORY AU COMP COMPETITORS MASTERLIST (@tmntstorycomp )

☆ Danny Phantom ROTTMNT Crossover by @chasingrabbits-art

☆ Love me, Love my Dog. by @tothefiniteyou

☆ We're not babysitters by @theawesomeninja-xd

☆ (Too Many Leos) Put One Back by  @beeceit

☆ Mitosis = duplication and separation by @varianlikescheese

☆ The Loyal Remain by @daboyau

☆ Monster Inside the Man by @keepsdrifting

☆ A Tear in my Eye by @cartoonhostage

☆ ERICA by @13runningsomething

☆ Captainx2 by @veearrifarrariboom

☆ Black and brown fur AU by @haro0o

☆ Set a Course for Home by @los-ninos-tortugas

☆ Catch You AU by @mudlarkspur

☆ Same Story Different Font by @tmnt-obsessed-ace

☆ Saviors of the Yokai by @mostlyvoid-partiallyturtles

☆ Everything Stays by @oddpocalypse

☆ Twin-Sync (More Than You Think) by @little-banjo-frog 

☆ Dimension Hopper Leo AU by @nights-flying-fox

☆ Inverted Confrontation by @boots-with-the-fur-club

☆ Cardinal Rules by @m0ths-wanderings / @dluebirb

☆ Manhatten: TMNT FARGO AU by @jxstacey [au masterpost]

☆ Universal Mayhem by @trixanimations

☆ Reminiscing that Old Time by @misshowdoyoudo

☆ Old Soul au by @delicatechildwitch

☆ Prime Leo AU by @darth-sonny

☆ TMNT: Broken Trifecta by @genderfluid-envy / @ask-broken-trifecta-turtles

☆ Body Horror Baby by @bambiraptorx

☆ Tiny Lil Fruit Turtles by @mochi-myles

☆ Through Your Hollow Bones au by @idiot-mushroom

☆ One Turtle Short of a Lair by @bucketofbugz

☆ Kitty's TMNT-Verse by @kittynumyum

☆ Shattered Pieces Of The Same Mirror by @xcometstarx

☆ Soulmates (Evil) AU by @error-core-animations

☆ Oh Hades, Let Me Have This by @faggotdonnie

☆ Empathy is Learned by @alicat54c

☆ Teenage Mutant Beetle Turtles by @beetleviolet

☆ Wouldn't it be Easier by @14muffinz

☆ Teenage Turtle Ninja Mutants (ttnm) by @idiot-mushroom

☆ The Birds & the Bees

☆ Two Nardos one dream Sequence by @tinytinyturttlesoup

☆ Sub-Zero AU by @noxvee6

☆ An OC, Echo! by @smol-bean-boi13 & @percy-eats-souls

☆ It's a Complicated Equation by @leilanising-vault-of-knowledge

☆ Good Genes by @lordshroom

☆ A Ghost of the Ninja I Used to Be by @robin-with-a-pen

☆ Sanctuary by @aquietwritingcorner

[mywitchyblog]

Shiftblr Supposed Toxicity and the Hypocrisy of Shiftok

Masterlist :

Disclaimer: It seems the "Shiftok exodus" wwhere shiftokers in fear of tiktok getting banned in the US has flocked to other platforms, tumblr included has begun, with people who haven’t been properly informed arriving from the cult-like environment of Shiftok.

Now, these individuals are attempting to declare that certain topics, like age and race changing, are fundamentally bad and are "calling us out" for discussing them. So, enjoy this essay I quickly put together in response.

If you wish to engage in discussion or debate, feel free to do so in the comments. However, if I see you resorting to insults, threats, or failing to argue without a trifecta of straw man, hasty generalization, and ad hominem fallacies, kindly get the hell off my page. I want nothing to do with that nonsense.

With that said, enjoy the essay—because I am definitely not done dealing with the mess that is Shiftok. And I would rather die than let Shiftblr turn into a Shiftok 2.0, driven by people who don’t know anything about shifting or who are trying to impose rigid, uninformed rules.

I never experienced any toxicity from shiftblr its a breath of fresh air compared to other thing.

Introduction: Understanding the Dynamics of Shifting Communities

In the world of reality shifting, there are vibrant communities across various platforms where shifters gather to share their experiences, discuss methods, and offer support.

Two of the most prominent spaces are Shiftblr on Tumblr and Shiftok on TikTok. However, these communities often clash over their views on certain shifting practices, particularly those involving age and race changing.

While Shiftok frequently accuses Shiftblr of normalizing unethical practices, a deeper look reveals a complex web of misunderstandings, double standards, and even hypocrisy within Shiftok itself.

Part 1: Shiftok’s Criticism of Shiftblr

Subpart A: Accusations of Normalizing Controversial Practices

Shiftok has repeatedly criticized Shiftblr for allegedly "normalizing" practices like age and race changing, which some in the TikTok community see as inherently problematic. They argue that by discussing and engaging in these practices, Shiftblr is promoting behavior that crosses ethical boundaries. Critics claim that age changing, especially when it involves shifting to a younger age, is morally dubious, while race changing is often labeled as cultural appropriation or fetishization.

However, these accusations are grounded in a shallow understanding of shifting and a refusal to engage with the nuanced realities of these practices. For instance, critics often fail to recognize that age changing in shifting is not about retaining adult consciousness in a younger body but fully immersing oneself in the mindset, maturity, and emotional framework of the desired age in the new reality (Desired Reality or DR). As said in my essay about age changing, maturity is linked to the brain’s development, and when you shift, your consciousness aligns with the age-appropriate cognitive functions of your DR self. This immersion means you are not simply an adult pretending to be a child; you truly embody the age and life stage of your DR self.

Similarly, race changing in shifting is not about superficial role-playing or exploiting another culture. Instead, it’s a profound experience where shifters fully immerse themselves in the cultural, emotional, and even historical aspects of the new identity. As explained in my essay about race changing, shifters experience the world through the lens of their new racial identity, gaining insights and understanding that are impossible to achieve from a distance. This isn’t about "trying on" a race; it’s about fully inhabiting and understanding a different cultural perspective, often leading to increased empathy and a deeper commitment to social justice in the Original Reality (OR).

Subpart B: The Reality of Shiftblr’s Approach

Shiftblr is not about promoting controversial practices recklessly; instead, it’s a space where shifters are encouraged to explore their identities responsibly and thoughtfully. Reality shifting is deeply personal, and Shiftblr recognizes the importance of allowing individuals to explore different ages, races, and life experiences as part of their self-discovery and healing process.

Encouraging Ethical Exploration: Shiftblr emphasizes the importance of approaching age and race changing with respect and a deep understanding of the implications involved. The community provides nuanced guidance, encouraging shifters to engage in these practices not out of curiosity or fetishization but as a means of personal growth, healing, and empathy development. For example, age changing can help individuals relive experiences they missed or heal from past traumas by allowing them to experience life from a different perspective. Similarly, race changing can offer profound insights into the lived experiences of different racial groups, challenging biases and fostering a deeper understanding of cultural dynamics.

Criticism Stemming from Misunderstandings: The criticisms from Shiftok often stem from a failure to understand these deeper motivations. By shutting down conversations about age and race changing, Shiftok not only stifles personal growth but also misses the opportunity to engage in meaningful discussions about the ethical implications of these practices. Instead of fostering an environment of open dialogue, Shiftok’s approach often results in gatekeeping and the suppression of diverse perspectives, leading to a less inclusive and supportive community.

Part 2: The Hypocrisy of Shiftok

Subpart A: Cult-Like Behavior and Double Standards

While Shiftok is quick to condemn Shiftblr for allegedly normalizing controversial practices, the TikTok shifting community often engages in behaviors that are equally, if not more, problematic. Shiftok operates much like a cult, where popular shifters dictate what is considered acceptable, and anyone who challenges these norms is ostracized or harassed.

The Cult of Popularity: On Shiftok, certain figures have amassed large followings and set the tone for what is deemed "correct" within the community. This creates a toxic environment where conformity is enforced, and dissenting voices are silenced. The double standards in how Shiftok approaches different types of shifts are particularly glaring. For instance, shifts into fictional characters or races, even those involving ethically questionable scenarios (such as becoming a vampire who preys on humans), are widely accepted and even celebrated. Yet, shifts involving real-world races or age changes are harshly criticized and labeled as unethical.

Romanticizing Fictional Oppression: Shiftok’s hypocrisy is further highlighted by its acceptance of shifts into fictional races that face oppression or discrimination, such as the Na’vi from "Avatar" or mutants from "The X-Men." These shifts involve experiencing fictional forms of racism or societal prejudice, yet they do not receive the same scrutiny as shifts involving real-world racial experiences. This romanticization of fictional oppression trivializes real-world struggles and reveals a lack of critical thinking about the ethical implications of different types of identity shifts.

Double Standards in Age Changing: A particularly stark example of Shiftok’s double standards can be seen in their attitudes towards age changing. As discussed in my essay about age changing, there is a significant double standard when teenage shifters criticize adults for aging down while they themselves often age up in their Desired Realities (DRs) to experience adult situations. Teenage shifters frequently shift into realities where they are married adults with children and engage in mature content, yet they are quick to condemn adults who wish to revisit their youth. This inconsistency not only highlights the hypocrisy in their arguments but also exposes a lack of understanding about the nature of shifting and the fluidity of identity across different realities.

Subpart B: Judgmental Attitudes and Lack of Empathy

The judgmental attitudes prevalent in Shiftok are often rooted in ignorance and a superficial understanding of shifting practices. Many in the TikTok community are quick to condemn those who engage in age or race changing without taking the time to understand the motivations behind these practices or the depth of the shifters' experiences.

Misunderstanding the Immersive Nature of Shifting: Critics often fail to recognize that reality shifting involves complete immersion in the new reality. When a shifter changes their age or race, they do not merely adopt the appearance of a different identity—they fully embody the mindset, emotions, and cultural context of that identity. For example, shifters who engage in race changing experience life from the perspective of their new racial identity, including the societal challenges and cultural nuances that come with it. This is not a superficial act but a profound, empathetic engagement with another way of being.

Hostility Towards Different Perspectives: The hostile environment on Shiftok discourages open discussions about controversial practices, leading to a community that is less supportive and more divisive. Shifters who explore different identities or challenge the status quo are often met with harsh criticism and even harassment. This attitude stifles personal growth and limits the potential for meaningful, transformative experiences within the community.

Part III-Further Delving into Age and Race Changing: A Complex and Misunderstood Practice

Subpart A-Age Changing: The Healing Power of Revisiting the Past

Age changing in shifting is often misunderstood and unfairly criticized. Critics argue that shifting to a younger age is inherently inappropriate, especially when it involves romantic or sexual relationships. However, this criticism ignores the reality that when shifters age down, they fully adopt the cognitive and emotional framework of their younger self in the DR. As said in my essay about age changing, this process involves a complete alignment with the DR self's maturity, making the experience age-appropriate within the context of that reality.

Healing and Exploration: Aging down allows shifters to relive experiences they missed or to heal from past traumas. It offers a second chance at life stages that may have been marred by anxiety, trauma, or missed opportunities. For many, this practice is not about escapism but about gaining a deeper understanding of themselves and finding healing through immersive experiences in different life stages.

Subpart B-Race Changing: Fostering Empathy and Understanding

Race changing is another practice that is frequently misunderstood and criticized. Detractors often accuse shifters of cultural appropriation or fetishization, but this perspective overlooks the profound potential for personal growth and empathy development that race changing offers.

Immersive Cultural Engagement: When shifters change their race, they do not merely adopt the physical characteristics of another race—they immerse themselves fully in the cultural, emotional, and historical aspects of that identity. This experience allows shifters to gain insights into racial dynamics, challenge their own biases, and develop a deeper understanding of different cultural perspectives.

Addressing Concerns About Appropriation: Critics often argue that race changing constitutes cultural appropriation, but this argument fails to account for the deeply immersive and empathetic nature of the practice. Unlike superficial acts of cultural appropriation, race changing in shifting involves a comprehensive engagement with the new identity, including the challenges and discrimination that may come with it. This immersive experience fosters genuine understanding and empathy, rather than reinforcing stereotypes or trivializing cultural experiences.

IV-How Shiftok Has Harmed the Reality Shifting Community

Shiftok’s approach to shifting has had a detrimental impact on the broader shifting community. By prioritizing trend-driven, superficial practices over deep, meaningful exploration, Shiftok has contributed to the erosion of community knowledge and the spread of misinformation. As said in my essay about how Shiftok destroyed shifting, the TikTok community’s focus on popularity and aesthetics has led to a decline in the quality of information shared, with many shifters abandoning the platform in search of more supportive and knowledgeable communities.

Surface-Level Engagement: Shiftok’s emphasis on aesthetics and trend-following has reduced reality shifting to a series of shallow practices that lack depth and substance. Instead of encouraging shifters to engage with their experiences on a meaningful level, Shiftok promotes a surface-level engagement that prioritizes what’s popular over what’s personally meaningful. This shift in focus has led to a homogenization of shifting practices, where only certain types of shifts are considered "acceptable," stifling creativity and personal growth.

Toxic Environment: The cult-like behavior on Shiftok has created a toxic environment where dissenting voices are silenced, and critical thinking is discouraged. Shifters who challenge the mainstream views or explore controversial topics like age and race changing are often harassed or ostracized. This stifles open dialogue, limits the potential for collective learning, and alienates individuals seeking support and understanding within the community.

Conclusion: Embrace the Full Experience of Shifting

In conclusion, Shiftblr is not about "normalizing" controversial practices for the sake of it; it’s about fostering a community where shifters can explore the full spectrum of human experience in a meaningful, ethical, and transformative way. The accusations from Shiftok are rooted in misunderstandings, fallacies, and a hypocritical approach to shifting that fails to recognize the depth and complexity of these practices.

While Shiftok operates like a cult, enforcing conformity and punishing those who deviate from the norm, Shiftblr provides a space for thoughtful, nuanced discussions about the ethics and implications of shifting. Whether it’s exploring different ages, races, or entirely new realities, Shiftblr emphasizes the importance of respect, understanding, and a willingness to learn.

Shifting is a personal journey, one that should not be limited by narrow-minded judgments or superficial ethics. By embracing the full experience of shifting, including the challenging and controversial aspects, shifters can engage in a journey of self-discovery and growth that is truly transformative. It’s time for Shiftok to take a step back, recognize their own hypocrisy, and allow for the open, thoughtful exploration that Shiftblr encourages.

[winterscaptain]

A Joyful Future Masterlist - Part II

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader  Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

summary: canon-divergent, big family!au

currently working on genuinely whatever i can come up with

beta’d by @ssaic-jareau​, without whom none of this would be possible

Part IV: Optics

Ao3 Linking in Progress

2012

Figure It Out ✦ | 7x11 "True Genius" Spoiled Many More ✸ Seven ✸ Misdirected ☰ Talent Tell ✦ | 7x23 - 7x24 "Hit/Run" Cracks Implication ✦ Optics Long Shot ✦ Jurisdiction | Crossover: NCIS 10x09 "Devil's Trifecta"

2013

A Big Step A Favor ✸ The Whole Picture | 8x18 "Restoration" Mom ☰

Part V: Qualified

Ao3 Linking in Progress

2013

Trifles Light as Air ☰ | 8x23 "Brothers Hotchner" A Given Qualified Meaningful Support ✸ In a Minute ✸ Leave It ✸ Marksmanship Caught Out | 9x05 "Route 66" - 9x10 "In the Blood" Professionalism | 9x11 "Bully"

2014

Attention ✸ Reservations Presumption Strategy | 9x16 "Gabby" Scarecrow of the Law | 9x23 - 9x24 "Angels/Demons" Birds of Prey | 9x23 - 9x24 "Angels/Demons" Keen Pretty/Drunk ✸ Fifteen ✸ Balm Two of Us | 8x14 "All That Remains" Reality Check ☰ | 10x09 "Fate"

Part VI: Close Calls

Ao3 Linking in Progress From this point forward, all fics are fem!reader unless otherwise noted.

2015

Unimaginable Faith Priorities ✸ News | 10x17 "Breath Play" Metanoia ✂ Meraki First-Born Credentials A Technicality ✸ | gender neutral reader Naming Rights Full Disclosure Acting Out | 11x01 "The Job" A Boy Double Digits Bunker | 11x02 "The Witness" Close Calls March Complicated | 11x03 "Til Death Do Us Part" Off Homefront | 11x15 "A Badge and a Gun" Locked | 11x16 "Derek" Loaded | 11x16 "Derek" Ready for Bear | 11x16 "Derek" Roadblock | 11x04 "Outlaw"Mouthwash Questions

Masterlist Part I

Masterlist Part III

[msgexymunson]

Rumour Part 5: Ready

Description: After your love confession, you're wondering if Eddie feels the same. Something happens to make him see how special you are to him.

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI this isn't for you bbys, the usual trifecta of angst, smut and fluff, brief violence (not between reader and Eddie) L bombs, brief male and fem oral receiving, p in v unprotected sex

A/N: this is the penultimate part!! I'll be sorry to see this version of Eddie go, I'm so happy you lot liked him as much as I do! If you enjoy this, please comment and reblog if you like it, it seriously makes my day reading your comments ❤

5.8k words

Masterlist    Part 1    Part 2    Part 3   Part 4

Sitting at your dressing table, you claw your hair into a sensible ponytail, fussing with the fluffy bits that stick out the sides. You really weren't in the mood to put a full face of makeup on, so you just apply mascara and lip gloss. It helped with tips.

Sighing into the room, you pout, attempting to stare down your own reflection, your mind wandering to the sticky dark cloud that clung to you. Intrusive thoughts had grabbed you and refused to let go for a week now. Black tar thoughts; slow moving, bitter and impossible to remove.

You hear your front door open with a rustle of leather and a creak of boots.

"Hey baby." You call out of the door frame, still fixated with your countenance in the mirror.

"Hey sweet thing, you good?" Eddie's voice is higher than usual and bursting with barely concealed excitement.

You don't trust your words, sensing they'll betray you, so you settle with a nonchalant "uh huh. You?"

"Pretty girl, I've got something to tell you."

You're sure your ears would have swivelled towards him if they could, heart suddenly inflating in hope. You turn to him, taking in his beaming face.

"What is it?"

He's pacing your room at this point, telling you what's clearly been dying to burst out of his chest, words manifesting with undeniable glee.

"Well, you remember that band we saw?" You nod, shoulders dropping, heart sinking again.

"The guitarist came into my shop for a tattoo, right, and told me they've had a falling out with the front man, Bill or Buck or whatever. Anyways, we got talking and I told him I could sing, and one thing lead to another- well guess where I just came from? Their managers office, I'm in! They want me as a front man! They're going to change the name, and obviously we need to practise and stuff, but I'm gonna be in a band! With a manager! Isn't that awesome?"

He squats by where you're sitting, grasping your hands in his. You've never seen his eyes more alive. His coarse thumbs rub circles into the backs of your delicate hands.

You do your best to swallow the lump in your throat, the disappointment bitter on your tongue. This clearly means the world to him, and you are pleased for him, truly. A smile adorns your face, warm and loving, even if it doesn't reach your eyes.

"I'm so happy for you Eddie." Leaning forward  you press a soft kiss to his mouth as a distraction. He smiles against your mouth.

"It's gonna be great sweets, for both of us." You can't help but scoff slightly at his comment but he doesn't seem to notice, instead moving to mouth at your throat, nibbling at your ear.

"Eddie what are you doing?"

"I'm happy," he says, sucking at the pressure point in your neck, making you stifle a moan, "I need you."

You laugh mirthlessly "well, do you know what I need?" The words have more bite than intended, an edge to your voice that's razor sharp, cutting through the room and changing the ambiance in a heartbeat.

Eddie's taken aback, leaning on his heels. "What do you need sweets?"

"I need-" not now, not now, he's so happy, just drop it. "I need to go to work." You finish lamely.

"I can drive you, I'm not working tonight."

"It's fine, Eddie, I could use the walk."

You stand, wrenching yourself away from him and his soft eyes. Marching into the living room you perch on the sofa to put your shoes on. Eddie's propped up in the doorway, frowning at you.

"I don't like you walking at night on your own."

You laugh at him, the sharp sound nipping; it has teeth. "Eddie it's 7 o'clock. I'm a grown ass woman, I'll be fine. Can't you trust me to look after myself?"

"It's not like that sweets and you know it." Long strides cut you off from the front door, his arms folded.

"I just need some space. Fresh air." You stand up to leave, but Eddie's about as immovable as a mountain; all rocky arms and stony glare.

"Can I leave? I'm gonna be late."

"I said, I'll drive you." He's towering over you, broad and intimidating.

You stick your chin out, mustering your courage.

"And I said no." You push past him but he holds your upper arm with a firm hand.

"Sweet thing what's this about?" He ducks down to your height, searching your face for clues.

Your eyes are glossy, vision beginning to blur. "You know exactly what this is about."

Eddie steps back, releasing your arm. "Sweetheart, I..." he trails off, arms falling to his sides. "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't. Lock the door when you leave."

You ignore further wordless protests from him and pull your front door open, not bothering to close it as you march into the biting cold, struggling to put your coat on as you go. You refuse to look behind you, knowing he's outlined in your doorway, watching you leave.

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

The bar is a bustling, chaotic mess when you get there. It's unusual, but you're very welcome for the distraction. You serve drinks, run around collecting glasses, and make yourself as busy as possible.

Nothing can quiet the dark voice inside your head.

You're an idiot. Why didn't you just talk to him? You're acting like a brat. No wonder he doesn't treat you like a woman.

As soon as you push any of your self deprecating thoughts aside however, more comments run through your head like a freight train.

Him not treating you like a woman is not your fault. He said it already, he called you a play thing. Maybe that's how he sees you? But why would he do all that for your birthday if he doesn't care about you? Why won't he just say it?

You stop for a second behind the bar, pinching the bridge of your nose. Maybe if you pinch hard enough the thoughts will go away.

"Hey darlin', you ok?"

Looking up, you're met with the ashy mop of hair and concerned eyes of Matt.

"Hey, sorry just real busy tonight, what can I get you, the usual?"

"Yeah, and a glass of red for the lady."

You look over his shoulder and see the unmistakable blonde hair and, well, physique, of Estelle.

"Oh, are you two-"

"Together, yeah." He beams at you.

"Aw that's real sweet, happy for you," you smile back, "hey you know there's a free booth over there, there's a reserved sign on it but it doesn't look like they're coming. Just, collect some glasses for me, ok?"

"Sure thing sweets." You flinch at that; continuing to get him his order.

After a while the hubbub dies down and your manager leaves you to lock up. It's just you and four drunks, and Matt and Estelle sucking each other's faces like there's no tomorrow.

Shouting last call, they're ushered out of the bar, leaving you to lock up. You think about calling Eddie to come get you, then remember how you left. Guilt twinges your stomach.

This is stupid.

You pick up the phone and call his number, nerves bubbling in your gut. After four rings, it defaults to voicemail. There's no way he's asleep already. He clearly doesn't want to speak to you.

Grabbing your belongings you leave, locking the front door behind you. You stomp briskly in the direction of home, trying to move fast to avoid the cold, your breath fogging in the air.

You're so lost in thought that the first time you see the two men in front of you is when you walk head first into one of them. Shock shakes you; a sharp cold breath shoots into your chest. Nearly falling, you teeter until one of them grabs you by the arm.

"Woah, falling for me are you?" He laughs perniciously, helping you get your balance. You look up at a tall, gruff looking man, wearing a dirty Demin jacket. A rough, wanton demeanour radiates from him. Dangerous. He keeps his hold on your arm despite your pleading eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."

The other guy speaks up, moving to stand behind you. Crowding you; a silent threat, an escape blocked.

"You ought be more careful." Every word seems heavy and considered, like it was an effort to string a sentence together. You could smell the booze from here.

"Look, I'm sorry ok, I've got to go." You go to pull your arm free but he just grips you tighter.

"Seems you owe us a proper apology. Hot young girl like you, you should come with us."

Fear stabs you in the stomach; a red hot knife falls through your guts, twisting and cauterising as it goes.

"Yeah, we're havin' party." The man behind slurs out. You feel an unwelcome hand travel to your waist, flesh crawling with horripilation.

"Hey, let go of me!" You move to punch with your free arm but it's instantly pinned to your side by the gruff man in front of you. Hot alcohol breath is in your face, making you cringe and scrunch your nose up, panic gripping you as tightly as his hands.

Suddenly the hand on your waist is wrenched loose and you hear a dull thud. A shadow is cast over your shoulder, blocking the street light. You try to open your mouth to ask for help when a familiar low voice growls out.

"Don't you dare lay your fuckin' hands on the woman I love."

You see a blur, and hear a sick thud. It sounds wet and crunchy. Unable to process what's happening you stand there, frozen in shock. There's a scuffle, but it sounds underwater; after a while a firm hand guides you to an open car door. You smell cigarettes, and weed, and Aramis aftershave. Eddie.

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

The next thing you're aware of is Eddie's apartment, Eddie's couch, safety; a blanket over your shoulders and a mug of something hot being placed into your waiting hands.

Eddie's crouching in front of you, hand with roughened bloodied knuckles stroking your arm so, so gently.

Your eyes refocus and there he is, chiselled jaw clenched, brown eyes filled with worry, blood running down the side of his face.

"You're bleeding Eddie." Placing the mug down with shaking hands, your fingers come up to his face.

"Fuck, you're ok." He collapses to his knees, pulling you in for a tight squeeze. Both of his arms encapsulate you, hands splayed against your back, holding you close.

His voice is muffled as he continues, speaking into your abdomen. "I was so worried when you wouldn't say anything, I didn't know what to do."

He pulls back enough so you can look down at his face. To your shock, tracks of tears run down his cheeks, shining in the light.

"Baby, you're crying." Your brows knot as you stare in the face of this dishevelled man in front of you.

He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and half laughs, "yeah, seem to be doing a lot of that tonight."

Your heart breaks at that remark, splintering at the thought of causing him pain. Standing up, Eddie stands too, holding onto your shoulders.

"What are you doing sweets?"

"Sit down I need to clean you up."

"No don't worry you sit-"

"Eddie, you're bleeding."

He finally sits down, holding his hands up in submission.

Fetching a first aid kit, a wash cloth and a bowl of warm water, you sit next to him on the couch and clean the blood off of his face, grateful to have something to do.

"I think you need stitches baby." You frown at the cut on his eyebrow.

"No it's fine, eyebrow cuts just bleed a lot. Trust me, I used to get beat up all the time." You give him some cotton wool so he can hold it against his eyebrow to try and stop the bleeding.

Taking his bear paw of a hand in yours, you gently take his rings off and dab lightly at the blood marks with the cloth, water in the bowl turning murky.

"Did you mean it?" Practically a whisper, knowing your voice will break if you say it any louder.

"You remember that huh?" He chuckles, still holding the cotton to his brow.

"Pretty hard to forget Eddie." On cleaning his hand it looks like most of the blood isn't his.

"Pretty shitty way to hear it for the first time. I'm sorry, I'm a stupid asshole." He huffs, looking down.

"Hey," his eyes meet yours, red raw and soft. "You're not an asshole."

"So I'm just stupid yeah?" He flashes a lopsided grin.

"Hey, you said it not me." He chuckles at that.

You gesture for him to move the cotton wool. The bleeding has stopped. You go over it with an antiseptic wipe and bandage it for him.

"You know, I tried to call you, for a ride. And I felt awful. I'm sorry. I should have spoken to you."

"Well, I felt awful too. I thought you didn't want to see me, so I waited outside the bar and tailed you home."

"Wow," you giggle, impressed by his chivalry, "I'd call you a creep but you saved me. So, thank you."

"Anything for you sweet thing." You blush at that.

"You're so fuckin' cute. I just, I'm sorry. And for the record, I don't fight, not really, but I saw them touching you and I just lost it. Can I explain a little?"

You nod, feeling your eyes already start to fill with tears. He takes your hands in his, looking at you dead in the eye.

"I'm not used to people wanting me. I'm not used to people staying, you know? Everyone always leaves me. I thought if I distanced myself a little, it would help, when you realised you were too good for me and left. When you realised I was too old for you."

Your heart swells, filled with love for this soft, vulnerable boy.

"Eddie, when have I ever mentioned your age? Or mine? I don't care. You are good, you're spectacular. You're mine. I love you."

"Pretty girl, I love you too."

Rough hands meet soft cheeks, chapped lips meet smooth. Crushing your lips together, you sigh in contentment, kissing the man you love.

His tongue laps into your mouth, softly massaging yours. You feel the chime of steel against steel. He quickly pulls away.

"Shit can I kiss you yet, I'm sorry I forgot-"

"It's fine Eddie, please." You press your mouth against his eagerly, tongue pushing into him. You take turns massaging each others tongues with your studs. It's sensual in a way you can't describe, an infinite connection, the sensation leaving you both breathless. Every movement conveyed with a lasting passion, an adoration for the ages.

His fingers start fumbling at your shirt, unbuttoning it slowly. He breaks away from you so he can start trailing hot little kisses all over your collar bone.

"Can I take you to the bedroom? I want to take my time with you."

You nod, biting your lip in anticipation. He doesn't scoop you up in his arms, like he does when he's desperate. He simply stands up and holds his hand out to you. You take it, allowing him to lead you gently to the bedroom.

You both perch on the edge of the bed, hands sweeping over torsos, ridding each other of your shirts. Each inch of skin displayed earns a kiss, each kiss earns another. Soft fingers trace tattoos, calloused hands rub warm flesh.

Time is inconsequential; nothing as crass as time could possibly invade this moment. You explore each others bodies as if it were the first time; touching, stroking, kissing.

Dragging your nails down his naked chest procures you a hiss through his teeth. You smirk, planting open mouthed kisses over every patch of skin, guiding him to lie back with your delicate palm. He complies, resting one arm under his head, the other hand stroking softly at the back of your head.

Unbuttoning his jeans, you pull them down slowly along with his underwear, stopping to kiss at the apex of his toned thighs. No matter how many times you see it, you can't help but think how pretty his dick is. Huge and girthy, resting against his stomach, flushed nearly purple at the tip, leading to the heavy steel bar though the slit.

You press little teasing kisses up the shaft and down the sides, watching it twitch at your ministrations. When you lick all the way up and circle the tip he practically whimpers; the steel of his piercing hitting the metal ball in your mouth.

Moving to rid yourself of your jeans he stops you to do it himself. Laying you down just where he was, he inches them down so, so slowly, kissing and licking at each inch of your exposed skin. The sensations building are progressing straight to your molten core, lava threatening to bubble out at all his small, careful, gentle touches.

Kneeling between your legs, thick digits trace the outline of your heat, spreading around your growing wetness. He leans over you, lips brushing your own, leaving paper trace kisses, his nose whispering against the side of yours.

"You're so beautiful like this. My beautiful good girl. I love you so much it fuckin' hurts."

With that, he sinks two large fingers into your pussy, gliding through your slick easily. You grasp at his biceps, mouth forming a silent gasp, heavily lidded eyes seeking his.

"I love you Eddie, you're- you're everything."

Eyes shining, he kisses the tip of your nose, the movements of his hand slow and soft.

You whine at his touches, gasping breaths escape your lungs as you stare into his eyes. He quickens his pace but you still him with a squeeze of your hand.

"Please, baby."

He knows what you need. Moments later he's between your legs, hard length rubbing against your folds.

"Like this, ok sweet thing?" A rough thumb pad strokes against your cheek as your breaths intermingle.

"Yes, please."

He smiles and pushes into you, diffusing the gentlest kisses over your forehead, cheeks, lips.

The feeling of being filled by him never ceases to amaze you. You feel him, in every pore, every cell. You open to him, exposed and vulnerable. Staring into his eyes you see him, really see him. He's just as exposed, just as vulnerable. Stroking at his cheek, you peck him lightly on the lips, allowing him to move.

Your bodies meld together, hips meeting in perfect unison. You feel his muscles tensing against your own; inked skin rippling against you, rose hip tattoo sliding against his skin.

Hooking your legs around him, you pull him deeper, and deeper. Your moans crest in a wave of longing, loud and lascivious. He smirks at the volume of your want, giving you exactly what you need. The bubbling heat of your release overflows, pouring out of your heat and into the universe, the feeling stretching and lasting forever; you and Eddie, an eternity in a moment.

Quivering and gasping, you make it back to this plane of existence, grasping at the roots of Eddie's hair in fear that you'll float away, begging with your eyes for God knows what. He takes one of your shaking hands in his own, lapping at your fingertips with his pierced tongue, deft kisses bringing you back to the here and now.

Smiling against your fingers when he sees you've made it back to him, he cages you in the unassailable fortress that is his arms; safe and warm and loved.

He holds you, large hand nearly encompassing your thigh, keeping you close as he moves against you. Both of you are glistening, the very aura around you pulsing in a crimson cloud of passion.

You're surrounded, engulfed and taken by him. There is nothing else except Eddie; this beautifully broken man, with his barely contained ardour, and his fragile soul.

You feel him speed up, mouth beginning to hang open, chasing his release. Pressing soft kisses to him, you map out your love over his cheek and jaw. He presses his forehead to yours, wide eyes locking, as he releases inside of you. Burly arms cling to you as he falls from that precipice, a tight embrace of consummation. The steady panting of his chest presses into you, wordless for a moment.

"Well, that was... intense" he chuckles softly into the skin of your neck, overridden by sheer joy. You stroke the back of his head.

"Yeah I know baby, same."

"Can we just stay like this? For a while?" The roundest doe eyes gaze at you.

"Of course we can. Just like this."

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

Three months later and you're squeezing your way past giggling girls and denim clad men trying desperately to get to the backstage area, clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels to your chest. You're honestly impressed, this is the biggest crowd you'd seen them play for; there had to be a couple hundred people in this place at least.

After a few starter shows in dive bars, and a lot of practises, they were playing their first official gig as their rebranded band, Tongue Tattoo.

When Eddie had first told you the name you were very confused, staring up at him with an empty furrowed brow, wide eyes innocently gaping.

"But Eddie, you don't have a tongue tattoo."

"That's not what it means sweets."

"But what could it possibly-" Eddie flicked his tongue in an obscene gesture towards you, making you blush profusely.

"Eddie you can't call your band after-"

"-eating pussy? Why not? You seem to enjoy it." All smug grin and wandering hands as he pulled you in.

Thinking about it, it did seem appropriate. It was filthy, and sexy, and very Eddie.

Finally wiggling your way past some biker types in leather jackets you see two bouncers in front of you. Thankfully they remembered you, allowing you to pass with a nod and a wink.

You shuffle through the door, pulling down the front of your too short skirt with one hand, desperately clinging to the bottle with the other. Smoothing down the wrinkles in your top you let out a sigh of preparation and move down the narrow corridor into the back stage area.

If you could call it that. Bare brick and old sofas, a broken amp being used as a side table in the corner, cigarette butts on the floor. The room was swamped in smoke and noise; music playing from a beat up stereo, guitars being tuned, a couple of giggly girls hovering near the drummer trying to get his attention whilst he was in deep conversation with Anthony, the bass player.

Eddie's hunched over his guitar, fiddling with the strings, when Rich the guitarist nudges him. He looks up and sees you, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"Well, my pretty girl, holding a pretty bottle. What you doing fetching drinks? You don't need to do that sweets." You're drawn in to the warmth of his smile, hands grabbing to pull you in by the flesh of your hips, guitar pinched awkwardly between you both.

"I wanted to. It's a gift for you and the guys. For good luck." He grins whilst you pull yourself away for a moment, grabbing some loose glasses on the side and handing out a shot for each of them.

"Hey, don't forget yourself sweet thing."

"Oh I'm not-"

"-part of the band? Pretty girl, you've been to every practise, every dive bar, helped with equipment. Come on." You flush at his words but pour yourself a drink anyway.

Toasting to the band, you knock the bourbon back, relishing the burn.

The band are called and you move to leave to support them front and centre of the crowd, but Eddie has you by the wrist.

He pulls you in roughly, and speaks low and sultry in your ear.

"And don't think I didn't notice this tiny skirt," he says, grabbing you by the ass. Then his voice lowers further, almost a growl, just for you.

"When the show ends I'm going to fuckin' ruin you."

His words flood through you, leaving chaos in their wake. You're all wide eyes and clenched thighs.

Flashing you a grin and a wink as if nothing happened, he allows you to leave. You gape for a moment, then remember yourself and find your way out of the room and to the front of the crowd, elbowing your way to your place.

A couple of fans notice you and move out of your way. One guy even pulls you in front of him so you can see. No one wants to upset Eddie.

And suddenly it's all lights and noise as they come on stage and you see your beloved once again in all his glory. This is where he's supposed to be. You knew it the first time you'd seen him perform. He prowls across the stage as if he owns it, as if it were made for him.

They whip the crowd into a frenzy, playing a mixture of original songs and covers. The style you recognise from that night you'd seen the band without Eddie leading them, but now they had an edge. It was darker, sexier. As always he brought this undeniable sin to the table that sent the crowd crazy.

And that was all before he unbuttoned his shirt.

Girls screamed. Hell, some guys screamed. Eddie laughed deep into the microphone, and you noticed a splash of colour on his chest, deep red, that wasn't there before. There's an unnatural shine to it. You squint and finally figure out it's a plastic layer; he must have gotten a new tattoo, just over his heart. It's not until he finishes a song, taps the pop of red twice and points directly at you, that you see what it is.

It's a rose, almost identical to your own. The permanence of the act makes tears prickle behind your eyes, a gush of feeling flooding your heart.

Almost as suddenly as the show starts, it's over. The energy in the room is palpable, electrifying. It was definitely a good gig; you're certain the band are going to be pleased.

Pushing and shoving your way backstage, you get there just as Eddie does.

"Baby that was incredible!" 

He picks you up in his large hands and spins you around making you squeal like a school girl.

"Yes it fuckin' was! Incredible. C'mere."

Before you can blink he's pulling you in for a devastating kiss.

"Hey, come on guys, get a room!" You hear Anthony groan.

"We have a room Tony, you just happen to be in it." Eddie bites back, grinning carnivorously.

"Seriously? Not cool!"

Eddie laughs, but nods at the guys and pulls you through a door, down a hallway, and into what you can only assume is a supply closet. You haven't exactly got much time to take in your surroundings before Eddie's biting at your throat.

"Eddie, wait just one second!" You giggle, pushing his head away. Wild eyes meet yours. You can feel the post show glow practically vibrating through his system; you know you have a small window if that.

You hold your small hands to his shoulders, ducking your head to actually look at the new ink he has.

It's nearly identical to your own rose tattoo he gave you about nine months ago, just a slightly different style. It's a little more illustrated, slightly less realistic. It's still beautiful, a perfect accompaniment to your own.

"Eddie, its beautiful. I don't know what to say."

He gives you a lob sided smile, stroking at the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

"I love you sweet thing."

"I love you too baby."

You're about to lean forward to give him a sweet kiss but your mouth hits nothing but air.

Eddie's fallen to his knees, reaching under your skirt to pull your panties down. You kick them off and away. Expecting to feel his tongue, your eyes half close in anticipation.

The world falls downward. Suddenly, Eddie's picking you up, your head advancing towards the ceiling. He's lifted you with ease, bear like hands grasping at your ass, your thighs either side of his head. Pulling your heat towards his waiting lips; he's holding you in the air like a rag doll.

Abrupt slam of your back into shelves; Eddie's dexterous tongue laps between your folds. A guttural moan winds its way out of your lungs, tinged with animalistic need. The heat of his mouth is igniting the fire within you, hips rolling into him as nature intended.

You want to tell him he's making you come. You want to tell him how much he means, how good this is. All you manage is a broken scream and a muttered "Eddie, oh fuck!"

Eddie knows. He forces his face into you, ferocious intent clearly exhibited. His tongue is wickedness personified; fiendishly flicking into your core, so evilly it may as well have been forked.

Fire bubbles deep within you, an unearthly lust boiling just under the surface of your skin, waiting to lash out with all the force of hellfire.

Eddie sucks on your clit like the devil himself and forces your release out of you. Your thighs clamp around his head as your orgasm flies through every nerve ending with a cleansing fire. Your moans ricochet through the tiny room and probably out to the rest of the band. You're past caring at this point.

Panting and sweating, you want to take a moment to centre yourself but there's no opportunity. Eddie's pinning you to the shelves with one arm, as if you were his toy. The other is frantically pulling at his belt and fly.

Pushing his pants down just enough, he slides you down his sweating torso and towards his waiting dick.

You feel him breach you and bite your lip to control the burning sensation. Even in this elevated state, Eddie knows he's a lot to handle. He bottoms out, grunting with the feeling of finally being seated inside of you, but gives you a moment to adjust.

"You ok sweet thing?" His words are heady and husky, barely containing the predatory want, devious desire spreading into his very vocal chords.

"Yeah baby," you manage in a small voice.

That's all he needs. Eddie's huge hands are grabbing you by the flesh of your ass, pulling you up and down his length. He's using your  body, his puppet to control; a burning effigy for his desires.

"My fucking good girl, letting me use her like this. Fucking pussy beginning to be used." He's growling, low voice shaking slightly with each heavy thrust. 

You moan, clenching at his filth, slick from your cunt dripping down your thighs.

"Yeah? That good huh? So fucking filthy for me, so ready for me to fuck you. Shit, hang on."

He pulls you off bodily and places you on your feet, only to spin you around and force your front into the wall, kicking your legs apart.

The tip of his solid cock is teasing your entrance, breath of his words ghosting your ear.

"You can take me like this, huh? My good girl."

You're about to scream your submission to the heavens when he pushes back into you with no warning, turning your scream into a whimper.

One of his hands twirls into your hair, forcibly pulling your hair back so he can plant burning open mouthed kisses to your throat. His thrusts are unyielding, pushing his entire length into you, leaving dull bruises deep inside. Gasping at the relentless onslaught you tighten around him, feeling another orgasm about to race through you.

"You're gonna come, I can feel it. Don't you fucking dare. You wait, you come when I come. You come when I tell you to come."

You tighten your muscles, cunt constricting his cock, eyes tight shut. Your impending release is held on a gossamer thread, grasped by the fingertips of his threat.

"Eddie, please please please-" it's just babble at this point; inane, needy noises.

He speeds up his powerful thrusts, one hand holding you against the wall by your throat.

"You do as I fucking say. You want to be my good girl, don't you?"

You attempt to nod, head lolling to the side, only held upright by his firm grip.

Hot breath, a low whisper on the shell of your ear, "I asked you a question."

"Please, please, I'm your good girl!" So high pitched; you'd think you sounded pathetic if you were aware of anything other than Eddie's thick cock penetrating your entire being.

"Ok, fuck, I'm gonna come, come with me, please, oh fuck-"

Eyes tight shut, you do as you're told. Your release cries out, speeding through you, ripping out of your very soul and beyond, leaving your decency and sense of self in tatters, torn by Eddie's hands. Every bone turns, changes, now slipping into useless puddles, muscles unresponsive and uncaring. You'd sink to the floor if Eddie wasn't pinning you to the wall, with not a thought in that pretty head of yours.

Eddie gently pulls his member from you and softly sits you down on a nearby stool, pulling up his pants. He kneels in front of you, palms pressing into your thighs.

"Fuck, I'm sorry if that was a bit much pretty girl." Half a laugh huffs out his chest.

"It's ok, it's fine, baby." You want to sound sure, confident. Your voice is a whisper, a shadow of itself.

"Shit sweets you know what to say if it's too much." He frowns, palm coming rest on your chin as if he was inspecting your face for damage. 

You hold his sure hand in your trembling fingers, softly kissing at his skin.

"I'm ok, I know what you needed."

He laughs, pulling you in for a crushing hug. Voice in your hair, you hear "the fuck did I do to deserve you."

"Something really good?" You smile, relishing his hold on you.

"Seems unlikely but I'll take it" he grins, "you're an angel."

Preening at his praise, you soak up the feeling of Eddie pressed against you, the love of your life holding you as tightly as he can.

Masterlist    Part 1    Part 2    Part 3   Part 4

Part 1 of tag list! Rest in the comments

@angelsarecallin @cutiecusp @pxrxcxa @spencerinmydrawls @munsquinns @sillypurplemurple @tiannamortis @walleloveseve @sinczir @biblichornerd @frogers @lauraasiain @madiisixx @leftdonkeygothgoop-blog @rafestarkeysblog @kittykatvenom @southside-serpent-bae @psychedelicsandsunsalutations @biblichornerd @angelina16torres-blog

[waynes-multiverse]

Labyrinth

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Summary: A dangerous Wendigo hunt takes the Winchesters and their companion to an abandoned mine shaft and a maze of tunnels. Dean, on the other hand, not only has to find an exit in an underground cave system but also fights against his feelings for a young huntress as he battles through a labyrinth of thoughts and fears.

Warnings: a bit of language, angst, a trifecta of monsters, caves & earthquakes, canon-level violence, injuries & rebars, protective!Dean, idiots in love, silly jealousy, fluff

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Written as a request for @tieddown-withbattleshipchains​. Hope this scratches the itch! It turned out a little angstier because Wendigos scare the shit outta me, but there’s tons of fluff in between and certainly at the end! 🥰 Inspired by Labyrinth by Taylor Swift (Duh. What else? 😂) and my favorite horror flick The Descent. Enjoy!

Feedback is highly appreciated! Get me drunk on it and fill my writer’s juice 🤓🥃

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchster Masterlist

Have you ever loved someone so much that just being in their distanced proximity hurts your heart? Loved someone so much that every time they pass you by, their scent drives you mad, their voice gives you shivers, and your own words fail to come clean? So much that lunacy seems like sanity?

Well, Dean pretty much feels precisely like this, feels like he’s going slowly but surely insane as he trails behind Y/N through the woods of Montana. Every wind, even the tiniest breeze, wafts microscopic particles of her perfume into his nostrils, causing him to bite the insides of his cheeks harder, hoping the metallic taste will erase everything that is her. So far, not even the intense smell of pine helps, though. For the last half an hour, all he keeps thinking about is the huntress he’s known for years, wondering if he were able to taste the M&Ms she ate earlier in the car on her tongue once he would finally gather enough courage to kiss her – not that this fantasy would ever be maintainable in the first place.

It’s like a kid’s dream. Dean’s a rockstar, an astronaut, and a pilot all at once whenever he’s near her.

“I think we should be there in an hour,” Y/N muses and halts in her boots to check map and compass, Sam instantly joining her to take a look over her shoulder. “The mine shaft and the cave system are a few miles up the mountain. If we follow the trail along the river, it should lead us right there.”

“Sounds good. We still have enough daylight,” Sam agrees with a resolute nod and a look to the sky, where the sun is still standing high above their heads.

Dean, on the other hand, ignores the eerie feeling in his gut. Aware Y/N is a seasoned hunter with a superb skill set, he knows there’s no real reason for him to worry more than he should. She can handle herself; she always could. It’s a hunt like any other, one of many over the years. Hell, it’s not even the first Wendigo they’ve hunted together. There was another one three years back in Michigan. So truly, what’s different this time?

Right, his fucking feelings…

Y/N and Sam keep chatting as they cheerily march up the mountain, their breaths not even remotely labored, even though the climb is pretty steep. Apparently, going for a jog every morning pays off. Dean, however, stays quiet and trails behind them, green eyes observing their surroundings as he swallows the tiny bit of apprehension and jealousy down.

“You’re quiet today,” Y/N notes and purposely falls back to his speed as Sam wanders ahead – not before the younger Winchester shoots his older brother a secret look that says tell her, though. “You okay?”

The green-eyed hunter mirrors the small smile on her lips and nods, gulping, “Yeah, I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” Y/N accepts with a slight pout, although she’s obviously far away from buying his lie. She licks her lips and adjusts the straps of her backpack on her shoulders. “So, uhm, after the hunt, I figured we could check out that bar across the motel?”

“Sounds good,” Dean agrees, his smile widening and cheeks blushing, even though it’s just the usual hunter invitation to celebrate the end of a case.

“Okay, great,” Y/N lets out a small breath of relief. Was she nervous to ask him? Why the hell would she be? “I actually have to tell you something, so I could use a little liquid courage.”

Dean’s brow furrows, his heart rate accelerating. “Liquid courage? For what? You know you can always tell me everything.”

“Not everything,” Y/N mumbles and averts her gaze to the trail ahead.

“C’mon, what is it?” Maybe it’s wishful thinking or sheer curiosity, but Dean can’t help it and hopes she feels the same way he does, although it sounds like complete insanity again. She’ll probably only confess that she’s been in love with Sam this whole time. He is the smarter choice, after all. Just look at that flawless mane of hair!

Y/N only shakes her head at him and hides a mischievous grin behind her lip bite. “Nuh-uh, forget it. Not drunk enough yet,” she says and then hops forward to join Sam again.

After an hour, the three hunters finally reach the mine shaft that leads to an intricate cave system – the perfect hideout for a monster. Eight women disappeared here last week, the location a popular hotspot for everyone who seeks thrills and adventures. Dean doesn’t count himself as one of those people. His life is adventurous enough as is. Frankly, he would’ve preferred pay-per-view at the motel over this hellish trip.  

Equipped with flashlights, the three carefully stalk inside. It’s incredibly dark and humid, low growls echoing off the stony, muddy walls, so the hunters know they’ve found the right place. The monster is definitely here, even though it still sounds miles away, which isn’t ideal. It only means they have to venture further in, and Dean already hates this with every fiber of his goddamn being. Caves are not exactly his favorite hunting grounds. Y/N, however, seems as fearless as ever, and Dean can’t help but admire her endless bravery. Obviously, she’s so out of his league it’s not even a little bit funny.

“Did you guys hear that?” Y/N stops in her tracks, her ears perked as she surveys the array of noises that bleed through.

“Woman’s voice?” Dean checks, although he’s sure all three of them can hear the faint screams and whimpers.

“One of ‘em is still alive, apparently,” Sam muses, concern and sympathy etched into his brow.

“I think it’s coming from here,” Y/N says and holds her ear to a small cave opening in the wall – if you can even call it that, the entrance as big as a cartoonish mouse hole.

“We can’t fit in there. We need to find another way around it,” Sam informs them and pulls out the cave map they’ve received from a park ranger.

“You guys can’t fit in there.”

“What?!” Dean’s head snaps to Y/N as soon as those words leave her mouth, seeing the gears turning in her head.

“I’m small… unlike my broad-shouldered friends. I can fit,” she shrugs casually as if it wasn’t the craziest suggestion she’d ever made.

“Mm-mm, no. You’re not squeezing through a small tunnel with a monster waiting for you on the other side, Y/N,” Dean tells her sternly, only one sharp tone away from making it a full-on order.

“Dean, she might be dead by the time we get there. I can do this,” Y/N assures him. “This isn’t my first Wendigo, you know?”

As Dean glances at Sam for some support, surely convinced his little brother would come to the same conclusion, the green-eyed hunter soon notices Sam’s suspicious silence on the subject matter and frowns. So much for brotherly support…

“Dean, it might be the only way to save that girl,” Sam agrees. Of course, the gentle giant does.

“Alright, so we all agree,” Y/N smiles and throws her backpack on the ground, pulling out a few flares, a machete, and a lighter.

“No, we don’t,” Dean shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t agree. Not at all. Very much disagree with this plan, in fact.”

“Okay, noted. It’s still two against one, so sorry. Guess you’re losing this one, De,” Y/N says simply and then puts the flashlight into her mouth, proceeding to crawl through the narrow opening.

Dean’s close to grabbing her ankles and pulling her back out, not caring about any surefire protests on her part and the huntress’s wrath as his heart pounds so harshly and loudly against his ribs it almost sounds like a Neil Peart drum solo in his chest.

“Y/N, you still okay?” Dean checks after a minute when the soles of her shoes have disappeared from his sight. As he shines his flashlight into the tunnel, he recognizes her a few feet ahead. “I don’t like this,” he tells Sam, chewing roughly on his plump bottom lip while his brow is in a constant crinkle.

“Me neither, but it’s the only choice we have, Dean,” Sam counters and focuses back on the map in his hands.

“Oh, is it?!” Dean mocks in sheer sibling annoyance. “You better find out where that tunnel leads and how we can fucking get there,” he barks as the anxiety claims his lungs. “Fast.”

“Already on it,” Sam assures him.

Dean’s heart only gets a single second free of concern, though, before Y/N’s voice rings every alarm bell in his goddamn head.

“Guys? There’s something wrong here. And there’s definitely blood and… stuff in this tunnel,” Y/N informs them, her voice barely audible the farther she gets. “It’s really gross…”

“Okay, Y/N, just get back out here. We’ll find another way,” Dean orders her, his flashlight and eyes unable to see her as he peers into the hole again. Her sweet voice is all he has left now.

“I-I don’t think I can move back out, De,” she says, her tone laced with slight panic now. “This thing is kinda tight. Kinda like… You know what? Never mind.” Dean knows she attempted a dirty joke there, one he certainly would’ve appreciated if he wasn’t currently fearing for her life. “I can only go forward. Just meet me at the end, okay?”

Quite panicked himself at this point, the green-eyed hunter turns back to his brother, “You found it yet?”

“Uh, yeah, I think it’s that way,” Sam muses and points at one of three tunnel options ahead.

“You think or you know, Sam?!”

And because misery loves company, at this exact moment, the ground, the walls, the ceiling all suddenly begin to violently shake and tremble, small pieces of stone and dirt coming loose. There’s a “shit” echoing through Y/N’s tunnel that reaches the hunter’s ears before more rumblings follow, more stones fall, and the tunnel closes completely and cuts the huntress off from the brothers.

“Was that a fucking earthquake?” Dean tries to shield his head from falling debris and coughs the dirt from his lungs before frantically checking the small tunnel for proof of life, but all he can see is dirt, dust, and more stones. “Y/N? Y/N! Are you alright, sweetheart? FUCK!”

“Dean, c’mon, we’ll find her,” Sam soothes and heads for the far left tunnel opening.

“Why is there a fucking earthquake in Montana? It’s not freaking California,” Dean huffs as he stomps behind his little brother, hoping the huntress is still alive and not hurt too badly as he speeds up his strides. Either she’s been crushed to death, or a monster will munch on her, and needless to say, neither option is acceptable to him.  

“Actually, Montana has seven to ten every day, which makes it the fourth most seismically active state,” Sam shares his National Geographic knowledge nonchalantly, earning him an angry scowl from the green-eyed hunter.

Yeah, guess what – Dean’s not super interested in random nerd facts right now.

There’s a loud scream that echoes through the cave system, and for an agonizing heartbeat, Dean halts in his boots as he recognizes the voice. No doubt it’s Y/N’s, and his feet set into motion and start running, following the noises of struggle as he rounds corner after corner, blindly running into different tunnels as Sam tries to keep up with him.

The maze of cave tunnels feels as familiar as his mind, a labyrinth of unknown paths that lead him to different options. But the green-eyed hunter doesn’t need a map anymore; he knows exactly where to find her without wasting a single thought on it. His heart is still the best navigation system.

There’s a flicker of red light at the end of his path, and Dean knows Y/N is close. There are growls and hisses before he hears the huntress desperately call his name – his and not Sam’s. It definitely shouldn’t warm his heart the way it does, especially in a life-or-death situation like this, but Dean literally can’t help the slight relief and happiness he feels in his chest over that fact, although he probably shouldn’t read too much into it.

Y/N’s brightly burning flare comes into view first before his emerald eyes spot the huntress on the ground and then the monster. She’s fending off the Wendigo as best as she can, keeping it at bay as she waves her flare in the air like a weapon, but Dean notices soon enough that she can’t move much and is hurt badly.

The older hunter quickly grabs the hairspray, pushes down on the dispenser, and lights the aerosol mist of chemicals on fire with his lighter – Y/N’s genius idea for a weapon, which she came up with in the motel room before their hunt. The flames shoot out and set the monstrous bastard on fire while Sam aims the flamethrower and incinerates the monster for good. Tarantino style, as Dean likes to call it. Unfortunately, he lost the round of Rock, Paper, Scissors over the glorious weapon to his younger brother, but truthfully, the hairspray was still satisfying enough.

As the monster turns to ash, Sam runs to the half-alive victim tied to a pole while Dean rushes to the huntress’s side. He cups her cheeks as she winces, inspecting her whole body and assessing her for injuries when he notices the small piece of rebar stuck in the side of her stomach, blood oozing out around the metal and pooling underneath her body.

“Ow, shit,” Y/N hisses and tries to wiggle, hand curling around his bicep. Dean’s hands quickly steady her before she accidentally drives the damn thing even deeper into her body.

“Shhh, don’t move, sweetheart. It’s gonna be okay, alright?” Dean assures her, although he’s frankly not sure if his calming words are more for his sake than hers. “Just breathe in and breathe out... There you go.”

“I-I don’t… I’m, uhm…,” Y/N trails off, her eyelids fighting to stay open, and his heart only begins to hammer louder in his ribcage, drumming in his ears.

“Y/N? Y/N, stay awake for me, okay?” But her eyes close for good, her palm lifelessly dropping from his arm to the ground. “SAM!”

“Dean, you can’t keep staring at her,” Sam reminds him, his voice only faintly audible behind the green-eyed hunter as his mind solely focuses on Y/N’s unconscious body in the motel room bed. “She’s gonna be creeped out when she wakes up.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles and hears Sam’s sigh of frustration and resignation.

“Alright, Twilight. I’ll grab more stuff from the pharmacy. She’s gonna need it,” Sam announces, hand reaching for the doorknob. “Be back in a few.”

As the door of the small motel room closes, Dean lets his head fall between his knees as he sits on the chair next to her bed, the tension still very much prominent in his shoulders and neck, although she should be in the clear by now. It certainly has been touch-and-go for a while, Y/N drifting in and out of consciousness, passing out from the pain as the brothers carefully removed the sharp piece of metal from her lower abdomen and stitched her up. Sam even had to send the older Winchester for a calming drive in the Impala while the younger one tended to her injuries, not being able to work with Dean’s constant yelling in his ears. The green-eyed hunter had surely been close to a breakdown. Luckily, they could forgo the hospital this time, the rebar not piercing through any serious organs and rupturing a spleen or a kidney.

His green eyes drift to her sleeping form. She seems a lot better now, some pinkish color having returned to her cheeks. Y/N always scares him, usually because she’s so much smarter and tougher than him, and every time he tried to order her around in the past always backfired, with her almost biting his whole head off. This time, though, she terrified him in a completely different way. She was pale, white as a sheet in his arms as he rushed her down the mountain. He swears he’s never run faster in his life. Even Sam, the professional jogger and marathon runner, could barely keep up, and Dean still feels the aching blisters from his boots whenever he shuffles on his feet too much.

“What would I have done if you died, huh?” the hunter mutters under his breath to no one in particular, knowing she’s dead asleep, and screws open the cap of his flask, taking a big gulp of whiskey, letting the burning liquid numb his throat. “You know if I lost you…” Another sip keeps the pricking tears in his green orbs at bay while his mind is battling a breakthrough. “I-I just… I can’t do that, you know? Probably would take me my whole life to get over you. I know you don’t know that, but you’re really important to me, y’know? I mean, hell, you can’t hear me anyways, so I might actually admit it for once,” he sighs at his own stupidity, fingers tapping against the silver flask. “I’ve been in love with you, Y/N… for a while, actually. At least, I think that’s what all those icky twinges in my chest are. Doesn’t feel like heartburn, like after eating a cheeseburger... I mean, they’re pretty much only there whenever you’re around, so that’s gotta be it, right? Love. Not like I have a lot of experience with that… I mean, not that I’m a virgin. I’ve had sex, you know? I just… I’ve never done the feelings thing. At least not well, I guess. So, in that case, you could probably say I’m a feelings virgin…”

Dean then groans loudly and lets his head drop into his palms, rubbing a hand across his freckled face. “Jesus fucking Christ, fuck me. God, I sound like an idiot… Thank God you can’t hear me. This is like the worst trial run ever… I mean, not like I would actually ever have enough courage to tell you all that shit while you’re actually awake, you know? I’m kinda a coward when it comes to that stuff. I mean, let’s be honest here for a second, you don’t care about me, right? You probably have the hots for Sammy. Can’t really blame you. You know, I’m not a girl, but I get it. Sometimes I’d like to tug on that hair too, so…”

And that’s when Dean’s muscles suddenly stiffen, his cheeks draining all color as he notices Y/N’s whole body quaking. His heart stops as he hears the first few snorts that slowly morph into a giggle and then into a full-on laugh.

Shit…

“Are you fucking awake?!”

Y/N pops one eye open at first, carefully checking the extent of his angered shock before she dares to pry open the second one, a mischievous twinkle gleaming in her orbs and an amused smile shaping on her pink lips.

“Okay… How much did you hear?”

Y/N shrugs her shoulders as much as she can and chuckles, “Well, pretty much… all of it.”

Dean scoffs, shaking his head as the tips of his ears turn beet red in shame. “What kinda psycho bitch pretends to be asleep while a man pours his heart out, huh? You know, I thought you were practically fucking dead!”

Y/N snorts and rolls her eyes. “You did not. And I think you mean, ‘What kinda psycho bitch pretends to be asleep while an idiot pours his heart out?’”

“Okay, haha, funny,” Dean huffs and chugs his flask. Is it too late to go back to that cave and hope the Wendigo eats him? “Can we just pretend this never happened before Sam gets back, please?”

Y/N responds with a casual twitch of her shoulders as she props herself up on the mattress. “I mean, sure… If that’s what you want.”

“Yeah, that’s what I want, okay?” Dean affirms, nodding. “Don’t want shit to be awkward between us from now on, you know?”

“Yeah, no, I totally get it,” Y/N agrees. “I mean, it would be pretty awkward for you if I didn’t feel the same way about you, which I do.”

“Yeah, see? Glad you get it,” the hunter huffs before his head snaps to her, green eyes widening and growing to the size of the moon. “Wait, what?!”

Y/N’s laughter then fills the motel room, but he can barely hear it over his own pounding heartbeat. Did she just say what he thinks she said? No, right? He heard that wrong. Jesus fuck, he better not make an even bigger fool out of himself.

“You’re cute,” Y/N tells him then and starts chewing on her lower lip.

Dean swallows thickly. “What, uh, what does that mean?”

“Jesus, you really are a feelings virgin,” she snorts another laugh and winces, all the giggles hurting her freshly stitched wound. Good, Dean thinks. She surely deserves that pain.

His cheeks heat up as he awkwardly clears his throat. “Wha-, uh… Let’s not make that a thing, okay? Please?”

“Oh, it’s totally gonna be a thing,” Y/N teases, chuckling.

“Great, mhm…” God, someone help him.

“Hey, Dean?”

“Hm, yeah?”

Y/N doesn’t say anything more – all he feels then is her soft lips pressing against his. The tension finally dissipates from his shoulders, his muscles relaxing as he leans into the kiss, his heart thumping wildly in his chest before it drops between his boots. He breathes her in, breathes into the kiss as her tongue slyly sneaks into his mouth and deepens the overwhelming passion as his head becomes dizzier the longer it lasts.

As he fervently kisses her back, he has finally found the right exit and leaves the labyrinth of his mind behind him. He’s on the right path, and it’s goddamn better than his imagination.

A few more one-shots are coming your way this week, so stay tuned, my loves, and let me know if you enjoyed this fic 🥰🖤

Everything Jensen Tags: @extraterrestriali​ @this-is-me19​ @writercole​ @awkward-and-indecisive​ @eevvvaa​ @panicking-outside-the-disco​ @globetrotter28​ @imherefordeanandbones​ @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior​ @xlynnbbyx​ @jassackles​ @maggiegirl17​ @perpetualabsurdity​ @deans-spinster-witch​ @deandreamernp​ @foxyjwls007​ @roseblue373​​ @lyarr24​​ @deanwanddamons​​ @deanwithscissors​​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​​ @justrealizedimmascifygurl​​ @akshi8278​​ @flamencodiva​​ @chriszgirl92​​ @lhymer1995 @wittyboldsoul​​ @djs8891​​ @leigh70​​ @snowlovespie​​ @b3autyfuldisast3r​​ @recoveringpastaaddict @ladysparkles78​​ @muhahaha303​​ @mimaria420​​ @creepzeyecandy​​

Dean Tags: @parinarain​​ @hobby27​​ @fromcaintodean​​

[hexidous]

Pretty As You Feel

Part II to Silk and Sweat. I highly recommend reading part I for context.

Series Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Summary: You find yourself back at the club Joel manages and try your best to seem unafflicted. As hard as you try, you may end up playing it a little too cool.

Warnings: Depictions of stripping, general adult content, oral sex, fingering, spitting, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, the holy trifecta, praise Joelsus

Word count: 4.4k

-

Slowly sinking down into the epsom salt bath you drew, you feel your tense muscles begin to relax in the hot water.

You imagine Joel behind you, enveloped in his strong embrace. His touch lingered on your skin, your nerves still whirring from his strong hands.

Enough, you think.

You had a rough night and he helped you get through it. Nothing more.

Unfortunately, you were used to men feeling entitled to your body because you chose to put it on display. They pay for a show and get angry when they want more.

When you were young and new to the life, you developed your own mantra to cope with the way you were treated.

What happens to Starla doesn’t happen to you.

What happens to Starla doesn’t happen to you.

You repeat it over and over, distancing yourself from the woman you pretend to be.

It works when it’s a random, rowdy customer causing you to question whether or not the money is worth the shit you put up with. It doesn’t work with Joel.

The way his face contorted into disgust and rage as he pulled that pathetic man off you flashes behind your eyes as you try to relax. How he beat a man bloody for you with ease, seeming to be holding back still.

You think of his face donning a similarly intense look, possibly indecipherable out of context, as he slammed his thick fingers into your desperate cunt.

Joel was a man no little mantra could force out of your head.

-

You mindlessly worked on whatever jobs came in, the days coming and going in a dull blur. A week went by and you had only petty design jobs coming in, alongside the occasional copywriting gig you’d pick up eagerly.

It wasn’t enough to pay the bills.

You trudged through five thousand words about cooling units and designed a logo for a shitty tech start up before calling it a day. Well, your day called itself because you didn’t have any more work to do.

“You got any rent money this month?” You ask the bemused cat laying on your desk, stopping mid lick of her belly to stare at you. “No? Shocking.”

You scratch behind her little ear before getting up from your chair. “I guess only one pussy is bringing home some money tonight.”

You start to put a bag together, rifling through folded dresses.

Which one would Joel like the most? You find yourself asking.

He strikes you as a man who likes a tasteful woman, not one eagerly putting everything on display. Obviously you didn’t have any modest dresses to wear, but you opted to toss in a few of the less skimpy ones.

Trying to breathe through your nerves, you watch as the bright red sign comes into your view. You park off to the side and grab your bag, clutching the strap tightly.

Play it cool, you warn yourself.

You greet the host at the front desk as you walk past her. You arrive a little later this time, the club already bustling with movement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got superstar Starla in the house tonight,” Tommy teases in his sultry club DJ affectation.

Joel’s head snaps up from the clipboard he’s holding. You smile and shake your head at him with a roll of your eyes, conveying your disbelief over Tommy’s silliness.

“Glad you decided to come back,” he tells you as you pass by his preferred spot on the floor, tucked away between the bottle service section and private dance room.

“My bank account didn’t give me much of a choice,” you half joke with a shrug before heading to the dressing room.

You don’t feel the need to find an isolated section this time. You take a seat at one of the many chairs lined up facing the stretch of illuminated mirrors. A couple other girls are seated along the row and a few flitter behind you, going to their lockers or on and off stage.

You slip your clothes off, folding them neatly and setting them on the counter.

The dress you decided on for the evening was short and black with long sleeves. The top came down to just low enough to tease at your cleavage. The dress was tighter on you than it used to be, but it hugged your curves nicely. There wasn’t room for a bra beneath it, but the back of it looked much better without one. It was a thick lace pattern, tightly woven flowers and loops dancing down your back, coming to a V-shape at the lowest point of your back. You strapped on some matching black shoes, grabbed your wristlet, and stashed everything else away in your locker.

You make your way through the narrow dressing room and walk up a few stairs leading to the hallway behind the stage, ending with the DJ booth.

“Ready for my spotlight,” you tell Tommy, poking your head into his booth.

“Here’s my superstar!” He bellows happily. “The night can finally begin.”

“Do I have to pay you up front to not torment me?” You joke.

“That was just a little first day hazin’,” he assures with a sly grin.

You turn from his booth and walk back down the dimly lit hallway, toward the pulsing red light of the club.

You exit just beside the stage, taking a good look at the dancer occupying it. She’s naturally brunette with blonde bangs and chunky highlights. Her face dons multiple piercings, one at the center of her bottom lip, a stud on her high cheekbone, settling like a sparkly little tear, and many in her ears. Her tattoos were all black and ornate, slithering across her body, perfect with her fluid, sensual movements.

You take your eyes away and head to the bar, turning slightly to continue to watch the dancer on stage.

Tommy’s voice dwarfs the song playing as it reaches an end. “Give it up for the fine, the feral, the absolutely fierce Fiona!” He bellows enthusiastically. “Now don’t be too scared gentlemen, she don’t bite… much.”

You’re ready for your first drink so you wave to the first man you see walk through the club like an old friend.

“I feel like it would be hard to forget a face so beautiful,” he says, putting a hand on the back of your chair. “But I’m terribly sorry to say I don’t remember you.”

“Oh you don’t know me,” you admit, pretending to look bashful. “But I’m new here and wanted someone to talk to.”

“Well I am honored you chose me,” he says politely before holding out his hand. “David.”

“Starla,” you tell him, shaking his hand softly.

“Oh come on, honey, I know your name ain’t Starla.”

“Look where you are, David,” you poke. “What did you expect? For me to say, ‘Hi, I’m Annie Mae, just a simple girl lookin’ for a husband.”

“Shit, you got me there,” he says after a beat, holding his hands up and feigning surrender. “So, you want a drink, Annie Mae?”

“Why, I’d love one.”

-

You don’t rush things with David, you know you’re not far off in rotation and it would be nice to have someone stage side for you.

Sure enough, you hear Tommy call you up for the next song as he transitions the music.

“Come see me up there?” You ask as you finish your drink and grab your small sequined clutch.

“Of course, darlin’,” he promises with a smile.

You take long strides to the DJ booth,

“Hey,” you say, getting Tommy’s attention. He turns to you but you cut him off before he can deliver whatever cheesy line he’s churning. “I know it’s not typical strip club music, but can you play Jefferson Airplane’s Somebody to Love?”

“Oh, my brother will love you for that,” he tells you. You cock your head, wondering if his brother was in the crowd, maybe David, but don’t think much of it as he starts to call you up.

“Alright gentlemen, get ready for the sensational, sensual, downright sinful… Starla!”

You take your cue and fling the curtain back dramatically as soon as the song begins.

You know the song well, adjusting your movements from soft and flowing to harsh and abrupt as the melody changes.

You climb the pole deftly before snaking around it and then finally dropping down down into a split on the floor.

Your eyes, I say, your eyes may look like his

You swing your leg around to face the small crowd and bend your knee slightly. You’ve got one hand gripping the pole beside you for leverage as you arch your back and lift your ass, rolling your pelvis slowly. David’s eyes are locked on you. Your gaze moves to the left, unable to help yourself.

Joel’s eyes are locked on you too.

You don’t break your stare until you see David making his way toward you. He sits beside he stage and you crawl toward him, flipping your hair dramatically before rising to your knees, playfully toying with your breasts. You shimmy your hips and bounce up and down like you’re riding an invisible ecock. He slips a twenty in the waistband of your thong as you hold it out. You snap it back and give him a wink.

You casually turn your head toward Joel and find him still staring. Your heart rate picks up, despite already thumping hard from your dancing. He had never watched you so brazenly.

You finish your song and thank David. You try to focus on steady breathing, fluid movements, and not looking back at Joel.

A few more men come up to tip you, though not quite as generously, until finally your set ends.

“I told you he’d like it,” Tommy jeers from his booth. You walk toward him, quickly throwing your dress back on and adjusting your suffocating tits.

“Who?” You finally get to ask. “David?”

“No,” he scoffs. “Joel. Didn’t know he was my brother?”

“Huh. I guess not,” you say in a flat voice, trying not to give hint to any emotion.

“Well you did the song justice. He doesn’t usually watch the girls on stage.”

You try not to blush or seem like you care at all, giving a quick, “Hmm.”

“Probably just zoning out, thinking about getting high in the basement while our parents were at work. I’d hear that shit blasting all the time,” he says with a laugh.

Your stomach drops. Maybe he hasn’t been staring at all, just lost in thought. “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

“I used to barge in, asking him why his room smelled so bad," Tommy laughs. "He'd get so mad, moodier than any teen girl."

You smile at the thought of Joel as an angsty teen. "Well I better get back. Think I got something real special with Dave out there."

"Get 'em, superstar," he calls out as you walk away.

-

You get a few dances out of David. He tries to get your number or buy you another drink, but you decline.

When you emerge from the private dance room, you're not really sure where to land next. It's slim pickings with most of the men already occupied.

You hear your stage name called by one of the girls sitting at a table of dancers. You walk over and sit down at an empty seat.

“It is Starla, right?” A pretty brunette asks. You nod in response. “I’m Tiffany.”

You exchange pleasantries with the women. You’d known almost all of their names already, it was easy when you heard Tommy announcing them every 10 minutes. But it was nice getting to know them, feeling like less of an outsider.

You chatted casually with the group, tipping them off to the still seated man you had just danced with.

“He just wants to think he has a chance in hell,” you scoff. “Easy money.”

One of the girls, a petite woman named Amber, stands up from her seat and makes her way over to him.

“God damn Joel looks sexy tonight,” Tiffany huffs from across the table, her eyes settling just over your shoulder. “He doesn’t even have to fuck me. Just spit on me. Anything.”

Tiffany notices your silence among the other girls agreement and calls you out.

“You seriously don’t think so?” She asks incredulously.

“I mean, he’s alright,” you lie.

“Right, you’re into Tommy,” she prods teasingly.

“No I’m not,” you scoff.

“He’s fun, but he’s easy,” Tiffany laments. “Joel is a challenge and fuck if I don’t love a good challenge.”

You try to quell the jealousy that begins to brew in your gut.

“Tommy will fuck anyone and Fiona will fight anyone,” another girl says with a laugh.

“They’re fucking but not exclusive,” Tiffany explains. “Doesn’t stop Fiona from losing her shit though.”

“Remember when Valerie blew him in the DJ booth? Bitch went full Monday Night RAW,” a tan, dark haired woman called Raven recounts, evoking laughter from the small group.

“You might want to keep it on the low, Starla,” Tiffany warns. “Fiona’s already caught whiff of you two.”

“Hand to god, nothin’ to smell,” you swear. You weren’t eager for Fiona to hate you but you were comfortable knowing no one had any idea of your infatuation for Joel.

“He’s got a nice dick,” Raven says with a shrug, a couple girls nodding in agreement.

“Before Mary Jane left she told me that Tommy is big but Joel is huge,” Tiffany admits. “Lucky bitch.”

Your cheeks run hot again as you picture Joel’s intimidatingly large bulge inches from your face. You also can’t help but angrily think who the fuck is Mary Jane?

“Well this has been informative, thank you ladies,” you tell the group as you rise from your seat. “But I better go find someone who’ll help my poor landlord pay off his Ferrari.”

-

The night is winding down to a late end. You hear Tommy play Closing Time as he tells the customers they don’t have to go home but they can’t stay here. It seems very on brand.

“Starla,” you hear Joel’s deep voice call to you. Your pulse quickens and skin becomes tingly from the mere sound of your stage name on his tongue. He continues once you step closer, “I must have tossed your paperwork by accident. Can you hang back for a bit?”

“Yeah, sure,” you tell him, unsure why it couldn’t wait another day. Not that you mind.

You’re slow to get everything together, taking your time organizing your bills and bag. It may just be missing paperwork, but you wanted the club to be empty on the off chance something more may happen. You give it another minute after the last girl leaves the dressing room before making your way to Joel’s office.

You knock lightly on the open door to announce your presence. He turns around and stares at you with an intense look written across his handsome face.

“You wanna suck my cock?” He asks, his demeanor taking a 180 since he last spoke to you.

Your stomach flips. “Yeah,” you reply, stunned. “I really do.”

“Tommy seems to think you wanna suck his,” his gravely voice speaks with a snarl. “That true, too? You just another slut tryna fuck every man who won’t pay you for it?”

“Nope,” you reply cooly, forcing your tone to stay even as your heart tries to escape your chest. “Just a slut who can’t stop thinking of you every time she makes herself cum.”

“Christ,” he mutters, running a palm over his growing cock. Your rapid heartbeat moves lower.

“May I?” You ask innocently, taking a tentative step forward.

“No,” he barks. You take a startled step backward.

He stands up and closes the distance between you two, towering over you now that your seven inch heels are replaced by a pair of comfy slip ons. His broad chest heaves as he stares down at you, the look in his eyes almost scaring you.

Joel brushes past you, leaving you alone in his office.

“Anyone here?” He bellows out to the empty club.

He’s met with silence so you follow him out.

“Wait here,” he tells you as he walks toward the club entrance. You hear the heavy lock fall into place.

Your head is swimming with anticipaion as he stalks back to you. Hell, your panties are too.

“Move,” he commands, pointing to the bottle service area. You do as he says, walking up the few stairs that lead to the semi private area.

The open facing entrance had the trademark red silk curtains strung open. Joel pulls them closed, leaving only the light filtering through the top of the curtains and three quarter wall to illuminate the small area.

“Alright,” he says, facing you. He rubs his hand over the thick cock straining against his pants. “Y’say you want it so damn bad, better make me believe it.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, biting your lip with anticipation as you take him in.

“Excuse me?” He says with a cocked brow, bringing his hands to his hips.

“I will,” you assure in a breathy voice. His brow stays cocked. “Sir,” you add meekly.

“Atta girl,” he says, his gravelly voice sending chills down your spine.

You slowly sink to your knees before him, looking up to meet his dark gaze.

Your hands shake as you bring them up to undo his belt. You don’t think you’ve been this nervous in front of a man since you were a teenager.

You reach into his soft, elastic boxer briefs and grasp his heavy cock, barely able to fit your hand all the way around it.

Your eyes widen as you take him in. His cock is literally mouthwatering. You press your tongue flat against his thick head, precum already beading at the top. You let your pooling saliva run down his shaft before tracing your tongue over the vein that runs down the length of it. You pump his dick slowly with one hand and while sliding his underwear down further, freeing his balls. You duck your head low and bring them into your mouth, gently licking at them.

You hear Joel groan quietly from above you. You look up to find him peering down at you. “Such a good girl,” he says breathlessly.

His praise sends warmth through your entire body. You return your mouth to his cock but gently cup his sensitive scrotum, squeezing lightly. Your jaw feels tight trying to fit his entirety into your mouth without accidentally scraping your teeth against him.

You remember Tiffany’s words from earlier and think how you love a good challenge too. Especially ones that paid off.

You feel the head of Joel’s cock reach the back of your throat and you gag a little before forcing a deep breath in through your nose. You do your best to relax as he starts to thrust his hips up into you, meeting your eager movements. Your free hand grips him at the base, gliding in time with your mouth. You use your thumb to add pressure to the underside of his dick, mirroring the action with your tongue as well.

Moans are escaping with his deep breaths. You look up again and see his eyes clenched shut and his mouth agape. The way his brows furrow and lips curl into a snarl the same way when he was enraged and aroused turns you on endlessly.

You quicken your pace, aching to feel him come undone.

“Wait,” he says weakly, getting closer. “Stop, stop, stop,” he pleads in quick succession.

But you can’t. You’re too drunk off his pleasure to ever quit.

His orgasm spills over, unleashing hot spurts of cum onto your tongue. You swallow him without hesitation.

You tilt your head up, pleased with yourself, but he’s not blissed out like you were hoping.

He seems… angry. Or turned on still. It was really fucking hard to tell.

“Thought I told you to stop,” he snaps.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you mewl.

“Sorry,” he scoffs. “Get up.”

You stand to face him, searching for something other than anger in his expression. He grabs you by the back of your hair, yanking back roughly. You let out a gasp.

“Since ya like swallowing so damn much.” You watch in awe as he spits directly in your open mouth. It partially paints your puffy, sensitive lip. “There you go.”

You swallow his saliva, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. It’s ironically the closest thing you’ve had to a kiss with him.

“Don’t I get a thank you?” He half questions, half demands in a harsh tone.

“Thank you, sir,” you tell him softly, giving your best innocent doe eyes.

“I guess you didn’t want my cock buried in that pretty pussy, huh?” He taunts.

“I want it so bad,” you whine, “but I wanted to make you feel good.”

His expression softens. “You did, baby,” he says, moving his hand to cup your cheek.

Your heart swells at the pet name and newfound tenderness.

Joel moves his hand again to lift your dress and dip past the waistline of your panties.

“So wet from sucking my cock,” he hums. “I should just leave you like this. Aching for me.”

You don’t want to beg but you shake your head quickly.

“You need to be punished somehow, sweetheart.”

“However you want,” you pant desperately.

His eyes fall on the couch behind you. He takes a few steps before turning to sit on it. He extends a hand out to you.

Tentatively, you make your way toward him. He holds your hand in his as you stand between his open legs, feeling a shyness take over.

“Over my knee, baby,” he tells you.

You turn to the side and bend forward until your hips are resting on his strong thigh and your forearms are resting on the couch. Joel yanks your underwear down swiftly.

Before you can brace yourself you hear a loud smack and feel the sharp sting of his hand. You hiss through your teeth, wondering how many more you have left.

He slaps his hand down again in the same spot, causing you to yelp this time. As he continues, the pain begins to mix with pleasure. You keep yourself from rubbing against his thigh without his permission.

He delivers another blow and you moan loudly. “Fuck, Da-“

“Say it,” he coaxes. “Who am I?” He asks with another sharp slap.

“Daddy!” You cry out, tears threatening to spill over.

He lands one more smack before switching to a soft caress. Your skin is so sensitive, it sends a harsh shiver through your body.

“Your ass looks so pretty covered in my handprints, baby,” he says, continuing to run his fingers lightly over the reddened skin. “You did so good for me.”

“I’m sorry you had to punish me, Daddy,” you sniffle, the tears finally coming down.

“Come here,” he tells you, repositioning your body to face him, straddling his thighs. You study his face in the dim lighting. His eyes always looked a little pained, you realize. Deep set lines etched themselves in his forehead over the heads, softer ones around his eyes. Your gaze wandered over his prominent nose and strong jaw, covered in graying, patchy scruff. He’s not your usual type and yet you couldn’t think of a man you’d ever found more attractive. Your eyes landed on his full lips, dying to kiss them.

He doesn’t leave you wanting for long, closing the gap between your faces. His lips felt somehow softer than they looked against yours. You part your mouth eagerly and he takes no time to enter your mouth. His tongue expertly licks at yours. You moan desperately into his kiss, grinding your drenched pussy into his half hard cock.

“Please,” you beg him.

He chuckles gently at you. “You’re expecting an old man to fuck like a teenager.”

You let out a huff, wishing you had listened to him.

“I won’t leave you hanging, sweetheart.” He brings his hand down between you, rubbing your clit with his thumb for a moment before pushing two thick fingers into you with ease. “But you gotta get yourself off this time.”

You start slow, dizzy with lust as you move yourself up and down on his fingers. He curls them slightly, hitting your sweet spot perfectly.

“That feel good, baby?” He purrs.

“So good, Daddy,” you answer, quickening your pace and grinding down on his palm.

He brings his free hand up, pulling the straps down on your dress. He ducks his head down and his mouth is at your chest, surely salty from sweat. He licks and kisses over your breasts before dragging his nose up your neck, inhaling your musk.

The simple movement send you that much closer to the edge, the pleasure threatening to bubble over at at moment. You chase your release, bouncing and grinding on Joel’s hand while you think about the orgasm you gave him moments ago. The twisting coil in your center comes free as you cum on his fingers with a loud cry.

“Good girl,” he praises in a strained whisper before planting a warm kiss on your forehead.

You come down from your high with shaky breaths. He takes his fingers away, wiping them on his already ruined pants.

You throw your arms over his shoulders and bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, trying to burn it into your memory.

He lets you stay that way for a while, running his hand up and down your back.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs in your ear. “We gotta go.”

You hate that you have to leave. You would sleep at the club if it meant spending more time with Joel. But you relent, climbing off his lap and retrieving your underwear.

Joel is first to exit the room, you follow slowly behind and see him emerge from his office with your bag in his hand. You hold your arm out to take it but he ignores your gesture, carrying it for you as he walks you to your car.

Yours and his are the only two left in the lot, well beyond close.

“Text me when you get home,” he tells you, giving you your bag back.

He pulls his phone out and hands it to you for you to put your number in. You enter it in alongside your real name and save the contact.

“I will,” you promise. “Goodnight, Joel.”

He bids you goodnight with another kiss on the forehead.

It’s late and you are beyond exhausted when you reach your apartment. You pull your phone out and see one new message from an unknown number.

Joel Miller

You smile, and send him a quick text back.

Home.

[ikemen-trifecta]

Shoko Sanzen's words became Shoko Ieiri's. –Edi

[meiliarotten]

Trifecta

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairing: Medic x Heavy x Fem!Reader

Summary: How it started didn’t matter. The point was, what began as a joke that you all played along with for laughs had evolved. A few lewd jokes turned into barely concealed flirting. Then there were semi-serious discussions, which soon became very serious propositions. (Aka the self indulgent HeavyMedic Threesome Fic TM)

Tags: threesome, riding, size difference

Word Count: 3.4k

The Masterlist

None of you were sure who suggested it first. Honestly it just started as a dumb jokes between the three of you as you slowly became closer, both on and off of the battlefield. Perhaps it wasn’t even one of you who made the first quip. You wouldn’t put it beyond some of the other mercs to make some lewd remark about what you, Heavy, and Medic may get up to at night behind closed doors.

Of course now, how it started didn’t matter. The point was, what began as a joke that you all played along with for laughs had evolved. A few lewd jokes turned into barely concealed flirting. Then there were semi-serious discussions, which soon became very serious propositions. Which one of you three first suggested it seriously was also a matter of mystery. But you couldn’t bring yourself to worry about all those specifics, not right now.

The three of you entered Medic’s private quarters together after making sure the other mercs were either asleep or out of the base for the night. You glanced around anxiously. Heavy and Medic stood just a few steps behind you. You knew what you came here to do, and you definitely wanted it, but you had also been nervous from the very beginning.

Now, confronted with the privacy of the room, the bed, and the two men standing expectantly behind you, your anxiety seemed to have increased tenfold. So you froze up, waiting for a cue, a hint, or any other form of instruction as to what was supposed to happen first.

It was probably only a minute at the most, but it felt like an eternity until Medic finally approached you. He placed a hand on your shoulder gently, reassuringly.

“Do you still want this, dear?” He asked, smiling down at you softly.

“Yes, I do,” you said, taking a few breaths to steady your nerves.

“We will take care of you, девочка,” Heavy said. “No need to be nervous.”

You calmed down at the reassurance from the two of them. Medic kissed your forehead before moving to your lips and eventually to the sensitive skin of your neck. You sighed as his hands traveled down your sides until they reached your pants, quickly pushing them down until they fell to the ground.

You stepped out of them carefully, kicking them to the side so as not to trip on them. You heard Heavy come up behind you and soon felt his hands begin to explore your body as well. You relaxed into the touch, thankful that things were finally heating up. Heavy ran his hands over your thighs and paused near the waistband of your underwear, considering them for a moment. However, he ended up passing them up in preference for tugging up the hem of your shirt.

Medic, who was still occupied with your lips, only broke the kiss when Heavy began to lift your shirt up and off of you. You shivered as your skin was exposed to the air, now standing in just underwear and a bra.

Realizing you had been letting Medic monopolize you for a while, you turned to face Heavy. Now that he was so close, you could see how much larger than you he was. You practically had to crane your neck upward to look him in the eye. A slight sense of intimidation ran through you as he took one of your hands and guided you over to the bed in a manner that was almost gentleman-like.

Heavy sat down on the mattress, and only then did you lean in to kiss him as well. Attempting to do so before would have required him to awkwardly lean down to your level. Even with him seated on the bed and you standing in front of him the two of you were just barely at an equal height.

You heard fabric rustling behind you as Medic got undressed, simply laying his clothes on the ground as he approached the bed. You shuddered when you felt him behind you, leaning over you and pressing rough kisses to the nape of your neck, grazing his teeth over the sensitive skin and making you whimper softly.

As content as you were to simply bask in the shower of kisses and attention, the arousal between your hips was slowly growing more intense. Pressing your thighs together wasn't going to quell it forever.

It wasn’t long before any lingering nervousness was smothered by your arousal. You climbed onto Heavy’s lap, startling the larger man. Medic simply made a small noise of interest, not so different from the hums you had heard him make in a laboratory setting when observing an especially interesting specimen.

Heavy’s hands fell to your lower back as you squirmed, grinding your hips firmly against the bulge beginning to form in his pants and eliciting a soft grunt. He was surprisingly quiet, the complete opposite of how he was on the battlefield. You gasped softly as you pressed yourself against him, desperate for any kind of stimulation.

Your breath hitched when Heavy suddenly held you by the waist, forcing you to stay still. He grasped you gently, like he was afraid to break you, but it was enough to keep you from writhing against him, no matter how much you wanted to. With his strength, he probably could break you, but that wasn’t your main concern at the moment. Why did he make you stop?

“Is everything okay?” You asked, genuinely worried that you may have done something wrong.

“Yes, is just…” Heavy trailed off, glancing around nervously until his eyes landed on Medic, who had climbed onto the surprisingly spacious bed next to the two of you. “Doktor should go first.”

You didn’t even get a chance to ask why. Medic began to run his hands over your thighs, gently pulling you off of Heavy’s lap and into his arms. Heavy watched as Medic grabbed your hips, letting you grind against his thigh and stifling your whimpers with rough kisses.

You and Medic were on more equal footing when it came to how clothed the two of you were. His vest and shirt lay on the floor, but he still wore pants. Not for long, you decided, reaching to unbuckle his belt, pulling his pants down in a quick motion and freeing his erection.

Although he had insisted that Medic go first, Heavy apparently wasn’t going to just sit back and watch without participating. You jumped slightly as you felt one of his hands run down your back until it reached the waistband of your underwear, pulling the fabric down. You hopped off of Medic for just a moment, allowing Heavy to remove the garment completely. The moment they were off and tossed to the floor, Medic pulled you back onto his lap.

Aroused and surprisingly impatient, you didn’t waste any time sinking down onto his cock with a grateful moan. Medic allowed you to bounce on top for a few moments, but it wasn't long before he took charge, pushing you back and thrusting into you faster.

As you leaned back, you realized you weren’t lying back on the mattress. You were leaning against Heavy’s chest, essentially sandwiched between the two men.

“Don’t be shy, mein Heavy,” Medic groaned, “Go on, touch her.”

You looked back at the larger man with a blissful smile, encouraging him to do what he wished with you. Heavy tentatively occupied himself with the upper part of your body, as it was currently pressed firmly against him.

Realizing you were still wearing your bra, Heavy went to remove it. After a short struggle with the clasp- small clasps didn’t exactly mesh gracefully with large hands- he finally managed to take it off, leaving you completely naked.

Now with your chest exposed, Heavy rested his hands on your breasts, running his fingers over your sensitive flesh as Medic continued to fuck you against him. Heavy’s hands were massive, much like the rest of him. They practically covered your whole chest as he caressed you, groping softly at first, but soon growing a bit more rough as he began to give in to his own arousal. You yelped at a sudden rough squeeze, and he immediately backed off.

“мне жаль,” Heavy whispered, and although you couldn’t quite recognize the words, you recognized the apologetic twinge in his voice.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. It actually felt kind of nice- fuck!” You cut yourself off with a moan when Medic thrust against an especially good spot. Noticing your reaction, he grinned and quickly made a point to keep hitting that area, turning you into a whimpering mess quicker than you thought was possible.

Heavy turned his attention back to your chest, eager to make you feel good too. After a few caresses he found himself holding onto your waist to keep you steady as your orgasm overtook you more suddenly than expected, your body writhing against him as you rode it out. Medic thrust harder into you, following soon after with a groan.

Heavy pressed soft kisses to your neck as you relaxed, your breathing gradually steadying. As you leaned against him, you became aware of something pressing against your back, reminding you that you weren’t done yet.

Still riding the euphoria from your previous orgasm, you turned to face Heavy with a smirk. With just a glance you could tell he was even harder than he had been before, his cock straining obviously against the fabric of his pants.

“It doesn’t seem fair that you’re the only one still clothed,” you said with an impish tone. Medic chuckled softly at how bold you were. Heavy laughed as well, albeit a bit more nervously.

“Perhaps you should do something about that, liebling,” Medic suggested, guiding your hands to Heavy’s belt. It didn’t take you long to remove it.

“Doktor,” Heavy said, with some slight concern in his voice, which didn’t really register in your mind as you eagerly unzipped his fly and pulled the waistband of his boxers down.

Oh.

Holy shit.

“Impressive, isn’t he?” Medic’s voice brought you back to reality, and you realized you were staring. Still, you couldn’t help but sit in stunned silence as Heavy shifted back to remove his pants and boxers completely, dropping them to the floor to add to the growing pile of discarded clothing. He glanced to the side, avoiding eye contact as if he was the one who was nervous.

It dawned on you why Heavy had wanted Medic to take you first. There was no way you were going to be able to take that without some kind of preparation. You still weren’t sure if you’d be able to, even now.

“Wow,” you whispered, mostly to yourself as you finally regained your ability to speak. Heavy’s face was flushed. It was humorous to see the large man looking so bashful.

“I understand if you do not want to,” Heavy mumbled, reluctant to look you in the eye. “I know size can be intimidating.”

“Oh no, I can do it,” you quickly stammered. Medic let out a small, incredulous laugh, which you tried to ignore. You placed a hand on Heavy’s face, leaning up to kiss him. You weren’t intimidated. Nope. Not at all.

“Go on then, liebling,” Medic whispered, “Climb on top.”

“Yes, that is best. Would not want to crush you, tiny girl,” Heavy said, leaning back to let you climb atop him.

All right, maybe you were a bit intimidated. Of course you only admitted this to yourself once you had positioned yourself over Heavy. Before you could make a move a soft ‘ahem’ brought your attention back to Medic, who held a small bottle up in front of you.

Lube, of course. You barely kept yourself from face palming for forgetting that. Removing the cap, Medic poured a generous amount of the bottle’s contents onto his hand before reaching around you and grasping Heavy’s cock, spreading it and eliciting a soft moan from the larger man as he did. You watched, your arousal heightening once again at the sight.

When Medic finally decided everything was ready, he put the cap back onto the lube with an affirmative hum. You took that as your cue to go ahead. With a deep breath, you began to lower yourself onto his cock.

Heavy groaned softly as you progressed. You, on the other hand, cursed quietly to yourself, maybe a bit louder than you meant to. Even with the lube, it was quite the task.

“Careful dear, there’s no need to rush,” Medic cautioned, placing a gentle hand on your back.

“I’m fine,” you gasped, rocking your hips in a desperate attempt to adjust as you finally took him to the hilt. It honestly took all of your willpower not to sob. It felt like your nerves were on fire, a conflicting combination of pleasure and pain that threatened to bring you to tears.

“She is very tight,” Heavy said, obviously concerned.

“Just try to relax meine liebe,” Medic whispered, continuing to stroke you back reassuringly. “It will feel good soon.”

“I know, just give me a moment. You can start moving if you want,” you said, your voice strained and not very convincing at all. Not to mention there was no hiding the somewhat pained expression on your reddened face. Heavy shook his head in response.

“нет. I do not want to hurt you, любимая,” he said.

“Here fraulein, lean back on me,” Medic said as he pulled you into his embrace. “Deep breaths, just like that.”

You leaned into Medic’s touch, letting the soft rise and fall of his chest soothe you until the pain began to fade into a pleasant stretch. He pressed soft kisses to the back of your neck, and you felt him smirk when you started to squirm, desperate for some kind of friction now that you had adjusted enough for it to feel pleasurable.

“There, isn’t that better?” Medic whispered, his lips brushing against your ear and making you shiver.

“I will move now, девочка, but will go slow,” Heavy said, sitting up, and carefully maneuvering the two of you into a position that offered him a bit more leverage. He looked down at you expectantly, waiting for permission to go on.

“Yes, please,” you moaned, nodding enthusiastically.

Heavy started off slow, just as promised, with long and gentle thrusts to carefully test your limits. You were grateful to see that he wasn’t the kind of man that thought his size would do all the work. He was very attentive, paying attention to your responses and taking note of what angles made you feel especially good.

It seemed that Heavy eventually decided that you were aroused enough to tolerate a slightly faster pace. It was only a small increase of speed, but the fact that he happened to be angled right towards your g-spot when he decided to pick up the pace had you moaning with abandon.

“Is this good, девочка?” Heavy asked, a bit startled but your stronger reaction, but eager to see more of it.

“Yes, please just keep moving like that!” You begged, trembling as Heavy managed to hit that sweet spot repeatedly.

Medic chuckled at your reactions as he began to take his time with your upper body, caressing your breasts as you writhed against him and gripped at the sheets below.

“That’s it, now it’s really starting to feel good, ja?” He asked as he teased you with small nips and bites along your neck and collarbone.

Any kind of response you had was cut off by your own desperate moans when you suddenly felt Heavy grasp your hips, picking up the pace of his thrusts even more while holding you steady. It seemed he was finally ready to get a bit rough with you, and the pleasure made your head spin.

“Yes, that’s what I thought,” Medic said, laughing softly at your failed attempt to answer him. “You see, mein Heavy? I told you she would be able to take you. And she seems to be having just as good of an experience as you are.”

So, they had previously discussed this on their own.

“Da, she is very, very good,” Heavy gasped between hitching breaths and soft grunts. He gasped softly, every so often moaning a word or two in Russian.

You were a mess, moaning and frantically clutching at the thin sheets beneath you as the pleasure began to build. Medic seemed to find entertainment in simply observing all of it, every move, every shudder, and every obscene noise that fell from your lips.

“Oh, you are enjoying yourself, aren’t you?,” Medic teased, knowing that the answer was obvious. Yet, you still nodded in response, just out of habit and politeness. He chuckled at that. “Such a good girl, taking him so well. Perhaps with enough practice you could take both of us at once? Do you like the sound of that, schatz?”

A shiver down your spine, and you felt a slight thrill at the thought, a bit of intimidation, and a whole lot of anticipation. The idea of somehow being stretched even more than you already were brought you even closer to the edge, nearly toppling over it.

“Doktor,” Heavy moaned, cutting off Medic’s plethora of teasing remarks. “I am very close,”

Heavy shuddered, his thrusts growing uneven as he approached his climax. He was looking at you with a desperate gaze, clouded with pleasure. It was most likely a mirror image of your own expression.

“I believe she is quite close as well. Aren’t you, liebe?” Medic asked, still unable to turn off the teasing even for a moment. “You don’t even have to answer. I can tell by the way you moan and writhe against me. You’re going to come very soon, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes please!” You gasped, those three words alone being the only ones you could formulate at the moment.

Medic reached around to the front of your body, his hand traveling down slowly until he was rubbing circles around your clit as Heavy thrust into you. That was all the push you needed to send you tumbling over the edge. Heavy shuddered as you clenched tightly around him, his soft groaning contrasting with your shrill cries as he reached his climax as well.

You bucked your hips weakly, chasing those last aftershocks of pleasure before you went limp, breathing harshly and letting Medic run his hands over your body, soothing you as you came down from your high. Heavy rolled to the side, reaching out one of his hands to rub your waist, where red marks were beginning to form; the results of his grip tightening as he got rougher with you. It was so gradual that you hadn’t even noticed any pain, but now you could tell that you would probably have some bruises come tomorrow morning.

Medic, probably the least fatigued out of the three of you at this point, maneuvered your body between himself and Heavy. Even with the bed being larger than average, you were still pressed rather tightly between the two men. It may have been uncomfortable in any other circumstance, but you were so spent that you could have slept soundly on a pile of rocks.

Heavy unceremoniously threw an arm over both you and Medic, and you hummed contentedly at the sense of security it gave you.

“Medic?” You said softly, wanting to ask one last thing before you let yourself give in to exhaustion.

“Ja, liebe?” His voice was heavy, as if he was just about to fall asleep.

“About what you said earlier,” you paused, your face flushing. “Do you really think I could take both of you at once?”

Medic chuckled, suddenly sounding much more alert, and you felt the low rumble of Heavy’s laugh in his chest more than you heard it, making you turn even redder.

“Hm, tell me, liebling, are you open to doing this again?” Medic asked, not yet answering your question.

“Absolutely,” you said.

“Well then, I suppose it’s only a matter of time before we find out for ourselves exactly how much you can take,” Medic whispered deviously, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You smiled, excitement mingling with fatigue as you thought about what was in store for you. However, exhaustion would win out, at least for now. You let your eyes drift shut as the three of you fell asleep in each other’s secure embrace.

[chaotic-iguana]

♡ - fluff | ✿ - smut/18+ | ☾ - angst | generic masterlist

one shots:

slumber(✿) - dubcon/somno kink - joel x f! reader

joel’s a horny bastard, you’re asleep.

tease (✿,♡, ☾) - dom! joel smut with some angst - husband!joel x f! reader

reader feels neglected and acts out. husband! joel takes care of her. request.

borrowed time (♡, ☾) - angst/fluff - husband!joel x f! reader

joel grapples with his feelings after his wife gets injured. request.

home (♡, ☾) - angst/fluff - joel x f! reader

reader makes a mistake leaving joel. can she fix it? request.

cockwarming drabble (✿) - daddy kink + cockwarming - joel x f! reader

400 words of smut bc i have horny readers heheh (and i love it). request.

daddy kink! drabble (✿) - daddy kink + smut - daddy!joel x f! reader

800 words of smut bc i have horny readers and i love it. request.

full - (✿) - daddy kink + anal - daddy! joel x f! reader

another 800 words of smut per request.

safety - (✿, ♡) - daddy kink + aftercare - daddy! joel x f! reader

reader panics and safewords during sex. joel takes care of her.

twisted love (✿) - stockholm syndrome, dubcon - dark!joel x f! reader

very fucked up twist on a mean joel edging reader fic. request.

cruel love (twisted love ii) (✿) - stockholm syndrome - dark! joel x f! reader

it continues. love and kind of fluffy but still fucked up sex with peepaw

hushed loving (✿) - smut and fluff - lawfirm partner! joel x paralegal! reader

songfic request, workplace relationship and fucking your boss. holy trifecta for the win. request.

burrow (♡, ☾) - hurt/comfort - joel x f! reader

joel’s had a rough day. you take care of him (no smut, just fluff). request.

desperate (✿)- smut and fluff - daddy dom! joel

joel edging and wrecking his pretty little girl

series:

refuge (✿, ♡, ☾) - angst/fluff/eventual smut. [ongoing]

post-outbreak husband! joel x wife!reader

what if reader and joel were married before the outbreak? a mundenly late night at the office caused them to live apart for over a decade. talk about awkward reunions.

headcanons

- joels favorite positions

- joels top three kinks