#vaguely? There's not much body here but I'm tagging it to be safe

[tunaf1sk]

Being of pain

[gothcsz]

Imperfect For You | Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | ~10k wc | Part 4 of the Fantasize series | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: The night Javier proposes.

Tags: established relationship, semi-public sex, jealous!javi, but also sweet nervous javi that might be a little ooc but irdgaf, oral (f&m receiving), a smidge of degradation, light breath play, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex (practice safe sex pls), facial, pwp, porn with feelings, some physical descriptions but overall it's pretty vague, javier can pick reader up, no use of Y/N, reader is a badass photojournalist, reader speaks spanish, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: did not expect to write another part in this world so fast, but the idea for it came to me in a dream and my mind kinda just took it from there, lol. i hope you guys like it, pls feel free to come bother me about this, okay?! in the wise words of queen bey: i'm swerving on that, swerving, swerving on that big body been servin' all this swerve, surfin' all in this good-good 😋🙂‍↕️

DIVIDERS CREDIT: saradika

Navigating your relationship with Javier stateside was definitely an experience.

When the highs hit, they were nothing short of breathtaking.

That summer was a whirlwind of sweet moments. You spent your days with him and his dad on their family ranch, immersing yourself in the rustic life— learning about the animals, how to care for them, and getting your hands dirty in a way that was surprisingly fulfilling.

Nights were filled with fun adventures, like hitting up those grimy dive bars Javier loved so much, only to find yourselves tangled up in the back of his pickup in some dusty parking lot.

There were times that felt straight out of a fairytale—picnics in sun-drenched fields, soft, sleepy sex in his childhood bedroom followed by breakfast in bed with the morning light streaming in.

But as the summer drew to a close, reality set in. Javier decided to stay in Texas to help his pops with the ranch, while you had to move to New York for work.

It made sense, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Saying goodbye was like tearing a piece of your heart out. Your relationship, still so fresh, was suddenly thrust into the challenges of long-distance, and that brought its own set of struggles.

The lows were devastatingly low.

At first, it was really hard, and you feared that the thrill of your kinky and dramatic beginnings had worn off, exposing you both to the harsh realities of dating.

You started seeing sides of each other that had remained hidden until they weren’t.

Javier’s hot-headedness and tendency to react without thinking, your own habit of micromanaging and being passive aggressive— these flaws clashed in ways that neither of you had anticipated.

Javier, who had never been good at relationships to begin with, struggled to navigate this terrain all over again, while you, having not been in a serious relationship since your freshman year of undergrad, found yourself unsure of how to handle the rough patches.

These were challenges you hadn’t faced since you didn’t really have the time to. 

He was preoccupied with taking down dangerous drug traffickers and you were caught up in the whirlwind of keeping up with him.

It made you wonder if the idea of you two only ever really existed in Colombia.

The distance didn’t help matters. Seeing each other so rarely made the relationship feel strained, like you were constantly trying to hold onto something that was constantly slipping through your fingers.

You tried to convince him to move to the city with you, but every time the topic came up, it ended the same way— with you in tears and him abruptly hanging up.

“I can’t just leave him here to run this place by himself. He’s not getting any younger.” “He has other ranch hands, Javi. You said you’d try this with me.” “This is me trying. Why are you being so selfish?”

The conversations would spiral into bickering, pointless arguments that left you both emotionally and physically drained.

There was even a time when it all fell apart— a breakup that lasted an entire month, neither of you speaking, the silence as heavy as the miles between you.

It wasn’t until Javier finally came to his senses, flying out to New York to win you back, that things started to feel right again.

The reunion was explosive, leading to the most fervid, passionate makeup sex that left the both of you out of commission for the rest of that weekend.

After that rough patch, everything began to fall into place, and it was pretty much smooth sailing from there.

The two of you had weathered the storms of long distance, misunderstandings, and inevitable growing pains of a serious relationship, and you had come out stronger on the other side.

Javier eventually made the decision to move into your apartment, a choice that felt like a natural progression rather than the point of contention it had once been.

You found yourself building a life together, and the city became the backdrop for your blossoming relationship.

He found work at a private security company nearby, a job that kept him engaged but wasn’t nearly as all-consuming as his previous work with the DEA. 

Your own career was thriving as well, your time in South America propelling you forward, and Javier was your biggest supporter. He admired your passion and dedication, often marveling at the way you captured the world through your lens.

Gone were the days of petty arguments and the anxiety of being so far apart. 

Javier’s fiery temperament mellowed in the warmth of your affection, and your once-passive tendencies faded as you grew more confident and assured in his unwavering support.

You learned to communicate more openly, and trust replaced the insecurities that had once threatened to pull you apart.

Now, your life together is a beautiful blend of routine and spontaneity. Whether it’s quiet mornings spent sipping coffee and reading the news together, or weekends exploring the city and its surroundings, everything is finally okay.

It’s much better than anything you could have ever thought up of those late nights in Bogotá, where all you did was dream of being his.

The gallery is abuzz with the energy of admiration and praise, the walls lined with your photographs— snapshots of life that tell stories far beyond the frames they’re bound by.

It’s your night, a celebration of your burgeoning career, and as you move through the room, mingling with friends, colleagues, and mutual acquaintances, your confidence shines brightly.

The alcohol is flowing, the murmur of conversation blending with the soft music that plays throughout the space.

Javier stands near the edge of the room, keeping to the periphery and staying out of the way, but his eyes never leave you and how you glow in the spotlight.

Tonight you’re the center of attention, and rightfully so. You’ve worked your ass off trying to make this exhibit happen and you managed to pull it off seamlessly. But, there’s something else on his mind— something that has him a bit shaken.

The small velvet box tucked securely in his pocket feels heavier with every passing moment.

He plans to propose to you here, a decision he’s been turning over in his mind for well over a year now. Despite the certainty in his heart— that he loves you more than he ever thought possible— there’s a ghost from his past that won’t let him be.

The memory of Lorraine, his ex-fiancée, looms like a shadow, stirring anxieties he thought he’d left behind.

He never imagined himself getting engaged again after that failed relationship, and the fears that haunted him then seem to be creeping back now, whispering doubts even though he knows that what he has with you is completely different.

He takes another careful sip of his drink. Your friends have reassured him that everything will be fine, that you’ll say yes without hesitation.

But still, he can’t shake the apprehension that has him locked in place, keeping him rooted to this spot, while everything moves like a blur around him.

To make himself feel better, Javier allows himself to imagine what it will be like— to see the surprise and joy in your eyes when he gets down on one knee, to feel your arms wrap around him as you say yes, to know that you’re his, officially and forever.

You look so radiant, your cheeks flushed with excitement and champagne, and the sight fills him with a warmth that momentarily drowns out the worry gnawing at his insides.

And that cocktail dress you have on— Christ, it makes you look so sexy. Fitting your silhouette like a glove, accentuating all the curves that make him delirious. He’s half tempted to pull you somewhere more private, fall to his knees, and bury his tongue inside you.

You wouldn’t mind it one bit.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you spot him—your rock, your steady presence, the man who has stood by you through every twist and turn. Even amidst the buzz of the crowd, you can sense his wary disposition, the tension in his stance.

You excuse yourself politely from the conversation you’re in, your steps slightly swaying from all the alcohol you’ve had, and make your way over to where he’s standing.

“Found the life of the party right here,” you tease as you step up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. It’s soft, affectionate, and you taste the liquor on his breath; a reminder that no matter where you are or who’s around, he’s the one you’re always drawn to.

Javier’s heart skips a beat as your lips meet his, and he can’t help but smile down at you, even as the nerves twist in his gut.  “You’re the star tonight, mi amor. I’m just here to admire.” He murmurs, his voice low and warm, his free hand instinctively finding your waist.

“And I’m so glad you are,” you giggle softly, “But something’s on your mind. You okay?” You know him too well, and even through the vignette of champagne, you sense the unease beneath his calm exterior. 

“Yeah, just… taking it all in. Letting you do you,” he replies, his thumb rubbing small circles against your waist which has you exhaling shakily. He tries to sound casual, but there’s a tightness in his chest that won’t go away.

You see right through it, of course. After two years together, you’ve learned to read him like one of your photographs— capturing every subtle shift, every unspoken word. You tilt your head slightly, studying him with that sharp intuition of yours. “You sure?”

He hesitates, his thoughts racing.

He could drop to one knee right now, right here. But the weight of the past holds him back, just for a second longer.

“Just proud of you,” he finally answers, deflecting, but his brown eyes give him away. There’s more he wants to say, the words just catch in his throat.

Your smile softens, and you reach up to stroke his cheek. “Thank you, baby.” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him again, slower this time, as if to reassure him that whatever’s on his mind, it’ll be alright. 

A soft throat clearing from behind you interrupts the intimate bubble you’ve momentarily retreated into.

You roll your eyes playfully, earning a knowing smirk from him before you reluctantly turn on your heel.

Standing there with an expectant look is your best friend, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in mock impatience.

“Sorry to break up the PDA,” she teases, tone laced with humor, “but you’re needed elsewhere.”

You shoot her a faux-glare, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward into a smile.

“Duty calls,” Javier murmurs in your ear. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your hair, the simple gesture making you feel tingly all over. You close your eyes briefly, savoring the moment before letting out a soft sigh.

With a resigned smile, you reach for his almost-empty glass, still held loosely in his hand. Without breaking eye contact, you tilt it back and drain the remaining contents in one swift motion, the smoky burn a small, satisfying feeling that warms up your blood.

Your friend snorts at your display, a grin tugging at her lips. “Cute. You’ve got her shooting whiskey now.”

You hand the empty glass back to Javier, who’s watching you with a specific glint in his eyes that you can’t quite put your finger on, and you wonder what it is that’s got him behaving like this.

“Go do what you have to do,” he tells you softly, fingers brushing against yours as he takes the glass. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

You nod, giving him one last peck before turning to follow her to where you’re needed. As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, so you sway your hips exaggeratedly. 

She nudges you playfully as you weave through the crowd. “You two are disgustingly cute, you know that?”

You can’t help but snicker, “I really lucked out with him,” you reply and she nods, understanding how much he means to you and vice versa. “He’s been acting really weird all night. Don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

She pokes her tongue against her cheek, trying her damndest not to spoil the big surprise even though she’s so excited for your reaction. “He’s so used to having you all to himself that he can’t stand sharing you with the rest of the world.” 

Now you nudge her, catching the sarcasm in her voice.

There’s a flutter in your chest telling you it’s more than that. There isn’t much you can do at the moment so you just drop it all together, a large grin on your face as you get pulled back into the social whirl.

You’re standing on the far side of the room, engaged in a lively conversation with the professor who had suggested you for the position in Bogotá. The conversation is light and familiar, filled with nostalgic anecdotes and her telling you she knew that you were perfect for the job.

Then, you hear someone softly call your name from behind.

You turn to face a man who appears slightly older than you, with sharp, handsome features and an air of pretentiousness that’s impossible to ignore. His perfectly tailored suit and calculated smile speak volumes before he even opens his mouth.

You bid farewell with your professor and shift your attention to the man before you.

“Peter Andrews,” he introduces himself smoothly, extending a hand which you shake. “Fellow reporter, currently working on a piece about the rising individuals in the field. I was hoping I could steal a few moments of your time for a quick interview.”

His eyes rake over you shamelessly, tongue wetting his lips, and then he adds, “I have to say, you’re even more beautiful in person.”

And there it is— the not-so-subtle flirtation, wrapped in a thin veneer of professionalism. You catch it instantly but choose to brush it off with a sweet, practiced smile, hand returning to your side. “Thank you,” you reply politely, already calculating how to keep the conversation on track.

You walk a little further down and he gestures toward the collection of pictures displayed on the wall opposite you, the ones capturing your time in Colombia. “Impressive work,” he remarks, eyes lingering on the images. “I’m particularly surprised you managed to get Javier Peña to talk.”

You recall that weekend spent in the Hamptons with Javier, where the goal had been to wrap up the project. Instead, it had been repeatedly delayed, thanks to his inability to keep his hands off you. The memory makes you smile inwardly, but you keep your expression neutral, curiosity piqued by his comment.

Your brows knit together as you question him, “Why do you say that?”

He exhales heavily, as if what he’s about to say is common knowledge. “I’ve just heard the guy is kind of an asshole.”

You suppress a laugh, realizing he has no idea that the so-called “asshole” he’s referring to is actually your boyfriend. Deciding to keep that detail to yourself for now, you feign interest, wanting to hear more of what’s being said about the former agent.

“Really?”

He hums, shifting his weight on his feet, eyes moving between you and the framed photos, “Yup. It’s a bit astounding that he wasn’t thrown in jail for, well, you know.” He motions vaguely and your eyes narrow, “Bringing him back was definitely… a move. A criminal going after criminals. Guess it’s the only way to catch ‘em, right? Takes one to know one type of situation.”

You bite down on your tongue harshly, hating the way he’s talking about Javier. He doesn’t know the half of it and if he did, he wouldn’t be so fucking judgemental.

“Criminals going after criminals,” you echo his words back to him with an edge, “Sounds like every other government man,” you add and he lets out a haughty laugh, the sound grating on your nerves. 

His arrogance makes your stomach twist, but you hide your distaste, bowing your head slightly as if to smooth out your dress, masking the grimace that threatens to surface.

The conversation with Peter continues with a few more back-and-forth questions. Nothing particularly groundbreaking. You answer with ease, maintaining the courteous smile you’ve perfected over the years.

Meanwhile, Javier has been searching for you, his brows drawn together in a deep scowl. He stops your friend and asks where you might be. She points him toward the more deserted side of the room, where he spots you engaged in conversation with another man.

Javier knows he has nothing to worry about— he’s secure in himself and in your relationship. But still, a sharp surge of jealousy courses through him as he takes in the scene.

The man, with his taller frame towering over yours, is standing just a little too close for Javier’s liking. His hand twitches at his side, as if he’s holding himself back from reaching out to touch you, and that’s enough to set your boyfriend on edge.

Before his brain can fully process it, his feet are already moving, carrying him across the room at a faster pace than he intended. He stops when he’s close enough to overhear your conversation but not to let himself be seen, keeping a watchful eye while trying to gauge the situation.

Neither you nor Peter notice his presence, too absorbed in your exchange to sense him nearby.

Not that it matters much— Javier can tell from your body language that you’re wrapping things up, and that small observation helps ease the tension in his chest. Still, he remains alert, listening intently while his gaze never wavers from you.

“So, where’s the after party?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you respond, “No after party. I’m looking forward to going home with my boyfriend.”

Javier, still watching from a distance, feels a swell of pride in his chest. Hell yeah, gatita, let that fucker know you’re taken.

Peter’s eyebrows lift slightly in surprise. “You’re in a relationship?”

“Yes,” you confirm, your voice steady. A server passes by with a tray of champagne, and you take a flute, thanking him before sipping from it to maintain your composure, though your thoughts are far less polite than your demeanor.

“Happily?” Peter presses, his boldness catching you off guard. You raise your brows in amusement, nearly choking on your drink at the audacity of his question.

Javier’s jaw tightens, and he’s on the verge of stepping in, ready to make his presence known to the man who’s clearly trying to make a move on you.

“Very,” you reply firmly, tone leaving no room for doubt.

“So I shouldn’t invite you back to my hotel room for a nightcap,” Peter murmurs, his tone dripping with suggestion.

You suddenly realize just how close he’s gotten, his breath warm against your ear. His hand has somehow found its way to your waist, fingers grazing your hip in a way that makes your skin crawl.

That’s the last straw for Javier. Without hesitation, he steps out from his spot, his voice cutting through the tension. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The way Peter jumps back from you is almost comical, his eyes wide with surprise as he scrambles to put some distance between you both. It’s like that self-assured, cocky attitude was completely dissipated by Javier’s presence. 

Relief floods through you as your boyfriend steps closer, putting you at ease. An arm snakes around your waist, pulling you firmly against his side, and the warmth of his touch melts away any lingering discomfort.

“Sorry,” you say, definitely feeling the drinks in your system. “Peter here pulled me aside for an interview. He was shocked to find out that you actually sat down to talk to me about your time in Colombia. Apparently, you’ve got a reputation for being kind of an asshole.”

Javier chuckles dryly, his grip on your waist tightening protectively as he looks the other man dead in the eye. “Is that so?” he drawls, his tone calm but with an unmistakable edge. “Well, I guess everyone’s entitled to their opinion.”

Peter, clearly flustered, forces a laugh, his previous confidence now shaken. “Oh, you know how rumors are,” he stammers, taking a step back. “It’s just what I’ve heard.”

“Good thing I don’t put much stock in rumors,” Javier replies, leaving no doubt that he’s marking his territory.

You nestle closer into Javier’s embrace, smelling his cologne, feeling a sense of satisfaction as Peter fumbles for words. The dynamic has shifted, and it’s clear who holds the power in this situation.

“Besides,” he adds with a pointed look, “I am an asshole.”

You grin and bite down on your lip as he presses a kiss to your temple. Peter finally decides to retreat, mumbling something about taking a ‘very important phone call’. As he scurries off, you can’t help but feel a surge of pride for the man by your side—strong, vigilant, and completely yours.

Once he is out of sight, you turn to Javier, a twinkle in your stare. “You really do know how to make an entrance,” you tease, leaning up to kiss him softly.

“Just making sure no one forgets who you belong to,” he murmurs against your lips, the possessiveness in his tone unmistakable. It’s so hot.

“As if I could ever forget.”

Somehow, you’ve found yourselves in a secluded enough corner for Javier to let his hand slide down from your waist to cup your ass, his fingers squeezing firmly over the fabric of your dress. The touch draws a soft gasp from your lips as you lean into him.

“Me estás volviendo loco con este vestido, amor,” he mutters in a low growl, indicating his growing need for you. “Wanna take you home and rip it right off you.”

You bite down on your lip, the idea swirling in your mind with a dangerous allure.

The thought of leaving this event—your event—early, just to be alone with him, is tempting, more than you’d like to admit.

But even as the desire flares between you, you know it’s not the most graceful move to make, disappearing from your own celebration just to satisfy your hunger for each other.

“Soon, Javi,” you whisper, trying to be the voice of reason in the building suspense, even as you try to maintain some semblance of composure.

But Javier’s hands have a mind of their own, growing bolder as they firmly grip your ass, pulling your hips to his.

The heat between you is tangible, and the restraint slowly slips away as his touch becomes more insistent.

Sensing that things are about to get dangerously out of hand, you quickly reach down to grip his wrists, gently but firmly stopping him before the moment escalates beyond your control, or worse, you’re caught.

“C’mon, sneak off to the bathroom with me. I’ll be quick,” Javier whispers, his voice thick as he leans in to nip at your earlobe. It sends a jolt of heat straight to the apex of your thighs, and you have to bite back a moan.

You tilt your head slightly, eyes scanning the room to make sure no one’s paying attention.

That no one’s searching for you.

When you’re sure it’s safe, you grab his large hand, heart pounding with excitement as you begin to pull him toward the back area of the building.

He’s sporting a triumph smirk that tempts you into kissing it right off his annoyingly handsome face.

Skipping the public restrooms, you guide him to the more secluded one for employees, knowing it’s the only place where you’re least likely to be interrupted.

The door barely clicks shut before he’s spinning you around, pressing your back firmly against it. His lips crash onto yours with an urgency that feels almost desperate, like kissing you is the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

His hands roam over your body, fingers digging into your hips as he pins you against the door, his mouth moving hungrily against yours. It’s unrestrained, filled with a need that borders on primal.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tugging him closer as your tongues tangle. The confined space only heightens the anticipation, the thrill of being caught shouldn’t feel this exhilarating. 

But amidst the whirlwind of passion, you manage to break the kiss, pulling back just enough to gasp for air. “I need to go back out there soon,” you whisper, your voice shaky, lips swollen and glistening.

Javier groans in protest, a deep, throaty sound that reverberates through your very core. In one swift motion, he maneuvers you over to the countertop by the sink, lifting you effortlessly to perch on top of the cool marble surface.

His hands are already working, sneaky fingers rucking your dress up until it’s bunched around your waist, revealing the silky barrier of your underwear. His gaze drops, taking in the sight of your exposed thighs, the delicate fabric already damp with anticipation.

A wicked smirk plays on his lips as he lowers to his knees before you, hooking a finger around your panties, tugging them aside to unveil your glistening folds.

The cool air brushes against your scorching skin, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. Javier’s eyes dart up, meeting yours, the smoldering intensity making your breath hitch.

He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. The first touch of his tongue is agonizingly gentle, a teasing glide along your slit that has your hips bucking forward, seeking more.

He obliges, flattening his tongue to deliver a languid, thorough lick from your entrance up to your clit, collecting your arousal with a groan of appreciation.

A tremor runs through you, your fingers instinctively weaving into his hair, anchoring him closer. He chuckles softly against your pussy, igniting sparks in your veins.

His hands grip your thighs, thumbs stroking soothing patterns as he delves deeper, his tongue exploring every ridge and contour with meticulous attention.

When he finally wraps his lips around your swollen clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, a strangled moan escapes you.

Your thighs clamp around his head, the feeling so overwhelming, but Javier seems unfazed, his focus solely on drawing out every ounce of bliss he can from you. His tongue flicks and circles, alternating between gentle laps and fervent suckles, each movement pushing you closer to the precipice.

Your back arches involuntarily, head falling back against the mirror with a gentle thud but you’re too overwhelmed with how good he’s making you feel to notice the dull ache.

The room fades away, party outside muted, leaving only the slick sounds of Javier’s ministrations and your ragged breaths.

“Javi,” you pant, your voice barely above a whisper, laden with need. He grumbles, the sound sending a fresh surge of wetness to leak from your cunt.

His pace quickens, tongue and lips working in tandem to push you over the edge, his mustache scratching against you so delightfully.

The coil in your belly tightens, every nerve ending alight, and with a final, expertly placed suck, you shatter, pleasure washing over you in relentless waves.

Your vision blurs, stars dancing behind your closed eyelids as you ride out your climax, Javier’s tongue continuing its gentle caresses, guiding you back down.

As the aftershocks subside, you release your grip on his hair, fingers numb and trembling.

Javier pries your legs apart, placing a few more wet kisses on your pussy before nipping your thighs and standing to tower over you, kissing you roughly.

You can taste yourself on him, the heady flavor with the spicy liquor he’s been sipping on all night is an inebriating combination.

Pulling back, he rests his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily, faces heated. “Okay, we can go back now.” he teases, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You laugh softly, still reeling from how quickly he got you off.

This man has a fucking mouth on him.

“You’re insatiable,” you murmur, affection lacing your tone as you bring your thumb up to smooth down his mustache, collecting some of your cum and feeding it between his lips.

He bites down on it gently after licking it clean. “Have you seen yourself? Hard not to be.” He responds, stealing another quick kiss before helping you straighten your dress, fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary which has you reprimanding him playfully.

You both compose yourselves, cleaning up and ready to return to the world outside, but he hangs back.

“You go first. I’ll be out there in a minute.” You nod with a small smile, leaning in to kiss him one last time before leaving him alone.

As the door closes behind you, Javier checks the silver watch on his wrist, noting the time. He exhales a heavy breath, the moment settling on his shoulders. “Okay,” he mutters to his reflection, the image of himself staring back with a mixture of anticipation and nerves. “This is it.”

He talks some confidence into himself, squaring his shoulders as the weight of the small box in his pocket becomes palpable.

It feels impossibly heavy, but it’s a weight he knows he’s ready to carry. This is what he wants— he wants you in every sense imaginable, and he’s ready to make that commitment.

With a deep breath, he adjusts his clothes, smoothing out any wrinkles and straightening his tie. His hands move to his hair, fixing the tousled strands left by your eager fingers, a small smile playing at his lips as he thinks of you.

A quick once-over in the mirror confirms he’s presentable, and with one final, steadying breath, he steps out to follow you, the decision already made and the path ahead clearer than ever.

You stare at Javier quizzically as he silences the room with a simple gesture, the murmur of conversations fading away as all eyes turn toward the two of you. He steps closer, his expression serious but softened by the warmth in his eyes.

You hadn’t expected him to make a speech— he’s not usually one for public displays— but the idea of him surprising you with one fills your chest with a rush of affection. A happy, almost nervous smile tugs at your lips as you gaze up at him.

Javier clears his throat, his gaze never leaving yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. “I’m proud of you,” he begins steadily, “Proud of the woman you are, the things you’ve accomplished, how you handle everything life throws at you with grace and determination.”

Your heart swells with adoration. Even though he tells you these things all the time when it’s just the two of you, having him declare it out loud to the rest of the world really pulls at your heartstrings.

“You’ve made me a better man,” he admits as he reaches out to take your hand. “You’ve shown me what it truly means to love someone unconditionally, to stand by their side even at their worst. I know I’ve given you plenty of reasons to walk away, and God knows I haven’t made it easy. But you’ve stayed, through all my shit, and that’s something I’ll never take for granted.”

His words hang in the air, the room is utterly silent now, every person captivated by the honesty in his voice. You can feel the love radiating from him, the deep, unwavering affection that has only grown stronger with time.

“From the moment we met, nothing about our relationship has ever been conventional,” Javier continues, his voice steady despite the nerves you can sense in the clamminess of his palm. You give his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze, hoping to ease some of his tension.

“We’ve faced challenges and obstacles in the strangest sequence. And that’s why I love what we’ve built together so damn much— it’s real, it’s raw, and it’s ours. Two stubborn, complicated people who somehow found a way to make it work.”

You’re hit with a wave of emotion, and you feel your eyes begin to glisten as you hold his stare. He carries a sincerity that touches something deep within you, a reminder of just how far you’ve come together.

Javier takes a deep breath, brown eyes never leaving yours. He releases your hand to reach into his pocket, pulling out the small velvet box that has been weighing on his mind all night.

The room collectively holds its breath, and you can hear a few gasps as he drops to one knee, eyes still on yours, nervousness and absolute certainty in his expression.

Your stomach bottoms out and you’re half tempted to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming. You look around to find your best friend, who just flashes you an encouraging smile, in tears herself.

“Gatita,” he begins, the pet name bringing you back to him, “I never thought I’d find someone like you. You’ve changed my life in ways I never imagined, and I can’t picture my future without you in it.”

He opens the box, revealing a beautiful, sparkling ring that catches the light and seems to shine just as brightly as the love in his eyes.

You gasp, recognizing the large diamond that sits at the center of it. 

Javier had Frankenstein’d his mother’s ring and the one you purchased in that antique shop back in Colombia. With Chucho’s permission, of course, he replaced the diamond on his mother’s ring and put yours in its place, just slightly altering the original band to fit your finger.

It’s truly the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen, and okay sure— maybe you’re biased because it’s being offered to you by the man of your dreams.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Javier declares as steadily as he can, despite the emotion thickening his words. “Will you marry me?”

Tears blur your vision, the reality of the moment sinking in. You look down at the man you love, the man who has been your partner in every sense of the word.

Your agent.

You nod, unable to find the words but knowing he can see the answer in your eyes.

“Yes, Javi,” you manage to choke out, voice trembling. “Yes, a thousand times yes, I’ll marry you.”

The room erupts in applause and cheers, but all you can focus on is the radiant smile on Javier’s face as he slips the ring onto your finger. The kiss you share is filled with all the love, passion, and promise of the future you’ll continue to build together, a future that’s just as unconventional, just as perfect as the journey that brought you together.

The rest of the evening is a whirlwind of joy and excitement, your engagement ring sparking endless conversations as you gush about it to everyone who crosses your path. Javier stays close by your side, his earlier nerves replaced with a relaxed and happy demeanor.

The gratification in his eyes is unmistakable as he watches you share your happiness with those around you.

The night winds down on a perfect note, and with your apartment just a short walk from the gallery, the two of you stumble through the city streets, your laughter and drunken smiles lighting up the night.

In the elevator of your building, you make out like horny teenagers. This time, it’s you who takes control, pressing Javier up against the railing that lines the small space. Your hand trails down to rub his erection over his pants. He groans against your mouth, the sound full of want.

When the elevator dings open, you grab his tie and pull him down the hallway, both of you struggling to keep your hands off each other as you fumble with the keys. After a few failed attempts at unlocking the door, you finally manage to get inside the apartment.

You break away from him, your breath coming in quick, excited bursts as you tug the loosened tie from around his neck. “Wait for me in the living room.”

He stares down at you, dark eyes revealing the hunger he has for you and yours reflect the same sentiment tenth fold. 

He nods, relinquishing his hold, but not before delivering a sharp smack to your ass as you walk away toward the bedroom. “Don’t take too long. I’m trying to fuck my fiancée.”

You shoot him a playful, heated look over your shoulder before closing the door behind you. Leaning against it for a moment, you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

So many good things have happened tonight, and adrenaline surges through your veins, leaving you in a euphoric high.

You walk over to your closet, rummaging through it, until you find what you’re looking for. The familiar mask comes into view, and a slow smile spreads across your lips as you trace the pointed ears with fondness.

You don’t wear it as often as you used to, reserving it for special occasions or when Javier has had an especially rough day at work— nights when you know he needs to let go.

Tonight seems like an appropriate time to bring out again.

In the bathroom, you strip out of your dress, letting the fabric pool at your feet. After freshening up, you slip the mask over your face, feeling a thrill as it settles into place.

Now, you’re completely naked except for your heels, the engagement ring sparkling on your finger, and the expensive necklace Javier gifted you on your two year anniversary. 

Grabbing his tie, you stumble slightly as you make your way back to him, pausing in the hallway to flick the lights off. You hang back, just before crossing the threshold into the living room, your heart pounding in your ears.

“You in there?” you call out playfully.

“Yes, ma’am,” comes his reply, followed by the soft clink of ice in a glass.

Peeking around the corner, you spot him sitting on the couch, his broad back facing you. Quietly, you slip into the room, your movements light as you come up behind him.

“Hello, agent,” you purr, words dripping with seduction as you place your hands over his eyes.

His body tenses briefly, a deep, carnal rumble vibrating in his chest as he catches on to your game. A half smile tugs at his lips, one that makes your heart skip a beat. “Hola, gatita.”

You giggle mischievously, the sound light as you lean in to lick the back of his ear, savoring the way he shivers at your touch. Then, with deliberate care, you bring the silk tie over his eyes, tying it securely behind his head.

“Just so you don’t get tempted to look.”

You round the couch slowly, each purposeful click of your heels against the flooring teasing him. His ears seem to twitch at the sound, and he brings the glass to his lips, sipping lazily.

“You won’t believe what happened tonight,” you come to a stop in front of him, right between his spread legs.

“Yeah? What’s that?” he asks, his tone casual but tinged with the same eagerness that pulses throughout you.

“I got engaged.”

Javier’s tongue slowly rolls over his lips, an arrogant smirk replacing his lopsided smile.

The sight of him, shirt half undone, his strong chest peeking through, a prominent tent in his pants where his hard cock strains against the fabric, has your core throbbing. The way he looks, blinded by the tie, relaxed but clearly aroused, is nothing short of irresistible.

He lets out a low whistle. “Lucky man. Think he can handle you?”

You lean forward, pressing your hands onto his thighs, your grip firm as you let the hard tip of your kitten mask just barely graze his nose, teasing him with your closeness. “Oh, I’m positive he can.”

Javier licks across his teeth, the simper deepening as he suavely finishes off his drink. He hands the glass to you without a word, and you take it, placing it on the table next to the couch then turning your attention back to him.

“I should be the one playing with you, preciosa. Tonight’s all about you,” Javier murmurs as he reaches for you. But before his hands can make contact, you pull back, leaving him grasping at the air. He frowns.

“And what I want,” you counter, your voice dropping to a sexy whisper, “is to mount my man and ride the daylights out of him.”

The words hit him like a punch, his hands balling into fists as he curses under his breath. The sight of his restraint, of how much he wants you, brings a satisfied grin to your lips.

You’ve got him exactly where you want him.

You step back to him slowly, your fingers deftly undoing his belt and popping open his pants. His breathing quickens as you slip your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around his velvety length, stroking him with gentle, baiting movements. “Already so hard,” you coo, tightening your grip on his dick ever so slightly, “You want this gatita so bad, don’t you, agent?”

He nods, muttering expletives as his head falls back against the edge of the couch. The sensation of your hand working him over is pure bliss, each stroke sending a lustful charge up his spine.

You lean in closer, your lips trailing kisses and nips along the thick column of his neck, your teeth grazing his throat in a way that makes him tremble. When you reach the birthmark on his neck, you plant a sweet, lingering kiss there, knowing exactly how sensitive he is in that spot.

Javier’s senses are heightened, the alcohol and adrenaline from the proposal amplifying every touch. The tie covering his eyes only sharpens his awareness of you, of the way your hand moves expertly over his cock, coaxing it to twitch.

The combination of your softness, your scent, and your whispered words has him on the edge, his body stiff, every nerve alive and burning for you.

“All the time,” he grunts, “Let me touch you, baby, please.”

There’s that slight whine in his tone, the one only you know he’s capable of making. He doesn’t even realize you’re naked yet and you know that’s going to set him off.

“Not yet,” you whisper in a tantalizing promise. You swipe your thumb over the slit of his cock, smearing the slick precum along his shaft, making him shudder. After a few more languid strokes, you pull your hand away, ignoring the low groan of protest that escapes him.

You tug his bottoms down just enough to free his swollen cock and heavy balls, it’s always a delight to see him hard and ready for you.

“Tan guapo,” you murmur appreciatively, your nails lightly scratching at his thighs, leaving a trail of tingling heat in their wake as you move up his beautifully tanned torso. His skin ripples with goosebumps at the light touches, aching for more.

You undo the remaining buttons of his shirt, sliding the fabric off his broad shoulders, exposing more of his skin to your eager hands. As you straddle his lap, he inhales sharply, the realization hitting him all at once— you’re completely bare and dripping wet for him.

It has the need to touch you growing unbearable.

Your hands glide to his shoulders, massaging the tight muscles there, and he sighs contentedly, tension slowly easing from his body under your soothing fingers.

He’s so close to losing control, and you revel in it, knowing that you’re the one who can drive him to the edge and pull him back just as easily.

“Wanna know a secret?” you whisper, leaning in closer, your soft tits pressing against his heated chest, mouth hovering just over his ear.

Javier tilts his chin up in response, a silent invitation for you to continue. As you lower yourself on his lap, his cock slides between your slick, sticky folds, and your hips begin to move in a slow, deliberate grind, coating him with your wetness.

“I’d been in your apartment back in Colombia before that night I blew you,” you confess in a sultry murmur, the words slipping from your lips so sinfully.

His head tilts slightly, curiosity piqued, and when he speaks, his voice drops to that smooth, dangerously seductive tone that sends shivers down your spine— he’d make a killing as a sex phone operator. “What do you mean?”

You’ve never told him about your little Goldilocks moment, that sneaky visit to his apartment when he wasn’t home. But tonight, with your bodies entwined and his cock teasing your entrance, it feels like a good time to reveal it.

“You went to Cali to catch Gilberto Rodríguez, leaving your place empty for me to explore. It was so exhilarating, all the little things I learned about you by snooping around.” A needy whine escapes your lips as the thick head of his cock brushes against your clit. Your pussy clenches around nothing, begging for more, desperate for him to finally slip inside you.

His brows furrow, intrigue and lust clouding his expression, and you can feel the strain tightening his body as you pick up the pace, grinding down harder against him.

“I couldn’t help myself,” you continue, slurring your words, “I was so turned on by the smell of your cologne lingering on the pillows… and my mind… well, se puso un poco imaginativa al pensar en que rico te sentirías jodiéndome.”

His fists clench at his sides, knuckles white as they twitch with the urge to touch you. “¿Qué hiciste, gatita?” 

You let the heavy pause linger between you, suspense hanging, before finally biting your lip and confessing, “I fucked myself on your pillow.”

Javier’s reaction is immediate, a growl rumbling deep in his throat as the image of you humping against his pillow while he was away seizes his thoughts. His teeth bare into a snarl, the thought of you pleasuring yourself in his space while he was gone intensifies his arousal.

“It felt amazing,” you purr, “I screamed your name when I came. Best solo orgasm I’ve ever had. All thanks to you, agent.”

The guttural sound he lets out has your thighs tensing as he bucks his hips up, adding more friction to the slick heat of your pussy. “Jesus Christ, you’re a naughty fucking thing, aren’t you?”

“Only for you,” you whisper, your tongue darting out to lick along his jawline, your breath hitching as the pressure builds within you, your movements against his now drenched cock growing more frantic.

“Show me,” he pants out, rough and demanding. “Show me how you did it.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Gripping his broad shoulders for support, you adjust your angle as you begin to replicate the way you rode his pillow that night. You lose yourself in it entirely, going absolutely feral on his cock. 

The coarse hairs at the base of him brush against your sensitive cunt, adding a delicious juxtaposition that makes your toes curl.

You rut against him with purpose, your slick folds gliding over his length, hips rolling in a rhythm that has him cursing under his breath. His cock twitches with each movement, a symphony of your shared, ragged breaths and the wet, erotic friction between you filling the space.

As you move, you can feel the traction in your core winding tighter and tighter, his body responding to every little thing you do.

You sigh his name out, your voice wavering with the approach of your orgasm. You’re so close, teetering on the edge, and he can sense it. His husky voice cuts through the haze of pleasure, a dark, encouraging sneer that prickles at your skin.

“That’s right, gatita, come all over this cock, my perverted little bitch.”

That delicious line of degradation is the final push you need. You lock up, figure glistening with sweat as you shatter around him, your juices soaking him as your hips stutter out of control. Pathetic, broken moans escape your lips, your mind absolutely lost.

Javier’s had enough of not being able to touch you. As you ride out the last waves of your orgasm, he wraps his strong arms around you, effortlessly repositioning you so that he’s on top while keeping you nestled in his lap.

With a swift motion, he rips the blindfold from his eyes and takes your heels off, drinking in the sight of your figure beneath him. The darkened room only heightens his need, your sexy silhouette and the kitten mask driving him up the fucking wall.

He moves quickly, grabbing his thick shaft at the base and slapping it against your sensitive clit a few times, watching with satisfaction as you quiver from the sharp, teasing sensation.

His palm spreads at your lower back, steadying you, then with a grunt, he sheathes himself inside your pussy.

“Fuck,” he drawls the curse word out, clenching his jaw. The sweet burn of him stretching you out has your skin buzzing, your nerves on fire, and he’s lost in the way your tight, wet pussy grips him perfectly, just as it always does.

“You’re so big, Javi. Feels so good,” you whimper breathlessly as you tighten your arms around him, pulling him closer.

The praise spurs him on, and with a rough groan, he sucks a nipple into his mouth, biting down just enough to make you gasp.

Your reaction drives him wild, and he snaps his hips sharply against yours, filling you to the hilt in one powerful thrust.

Your yelp of satisfaction echoes in the room as he starts to fuck you hard and fast, the pace relentless, designed to push you both toward that blissful release.

Your hand reaches back to steady yourself further against the couch, fingers digging into the cushions as he drives into you with urgency.

The rhythm he sets is maddening, your hips meeting his with equal fervor. Your lips find his in a messy, desperate kiss, neither of you caring that your mask is in the way. It’s something you’ve gotten used to by now.

“Taking it so good, gatita,” your pussy clenches around him, “Soy el unico que te lo puede dar asi, don’t you fucking forget it.”

The memory of that other man, his wandering eyes and bold advances, has all but faded.

Jealousy has awakened something so primal and attractive in Javier, a fierceness that makes your pulse race. You love it when he’s like this— unyielding, dominant, marking you as his own.

Each ragged breath he takes fuels the rough rhythm of his body against yours, leaving you aching in the best way, a deep satisfaction blossoming alongside the lingering soreness.

“R-Remind me, then,” you whisper, barely audible, caught between a plea and a challenge.

He responds with a brutal thrust, stilling once he’s buried balls deep inside, his thick cock filling your needy cunt.

Javier’s hands are unrelenting as he pushes you flat against the couch, his broad figure hovering over you. One hand snakes down to your throat, his fingers pressing into your soft skin, cutting off just enough air to make you gasp and your vision to blur.

“You need a reminder?” His voice is dangerously low, the mocking tone has your clit throbbing almost painfully as his grip tightens, pulling you closer. “That fucking ring on your finger not enough?”

You move your hips against him, desperate for more, but his hand flies down to your waist, fingers digging in roughly to halt your movements. A pitiful whimper escapes you, your need for his cock all consuming.

His hold around your neck loosens just enough for you to draw in a shuddering breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “P-Please, Javi.”

He answers with a cruel smirk, slamming you back down, his hips pulling away until only the swollen head remains inside you. Then, without warning, he plunges back in, forcing a scream of his name from your lips as he begins to fuck you, each stroke filling you completely as he gives you exactly what you’ve been pleading for.

The air is thick with the sounds of your desperate, mingled moans, your bodies slick with sweat as you move together like wild animals in heat. 

His hand remains firm on your throat, keeping you pinned beneath his weight as he shifts your legs higher on his waist, opening you up even more. The other hand moves to your breasts, his palm cracking against one and then the other, sending them bouncing with each slap.

Your acrylics scratch at the wrist of the hand that’s around your neck, the engagement ring glinting in the moonlight that floods the space, casting a silver sheen over the heated scene.

His eyes hone in on the jewelry, the grip on you unbending. “You’re mine,” he growls, each word punctuated by a harsh thrust that makes your eyes roll back, your body helpless against his claim. “Say it.”

“I—” Your voice falters, the words choked off by the sudden, electrifying pinch of his fingers on your clit. You find yourself chasing more of that feeling.

“Fucking say it,” he demands again, this time more gruffly, as if not hearing you declare yourself to him is painful. His fingers slap your bundle of nerves, and you jerk, back arching taut off the couch.

“I’m yours, Javi, fuck, I’m yours,” you cry out, the confession spilling from your lips as you writh beneath him. “I only want you— your cock, your mouth, your touch— everything. Oh,” you moan, your voice breaking as his relentless pounding has your cunt pulsating around his length.

“So close, baby, I’m about to come, please don’t stop.” The overwhelming pleasure builds to a fever pitch, leaving you quivering and completely at his mercy. 

Your desperate words satisfy him, a dark hunger finally sated as he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. 

Your fleshy walls tighten around his cock as you shatter completely, coming undone. You pant and moan into his mouth, and he drinks in every tremor of your climax.

After a moment, he pulls back just enough to let you catch your breath. “On your knees, gatita.”

His voice is all hoarse and authoritative, leaving no room for hesitation. 

Although your body is still shaking, you obey, sluggishly slipping to your knees with a slow, dazed blink.

He towers above you, all dominating and manly, as he reaches down, pinching your chin between his fingers. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes making you whimper.

His cock hovers before you, and you can’t help but admire the mess you’ve made on him. Without a word, he guides it between your swollen lips, and you eagerly accept him, your tongue swirling around the tip before you wrap your lips around him. Sucking your cheeks tight as you move, he groans, his large hand at the back of your neck.

The taste of yourself mixed with his musk is addicting as you slide him deeper into your hot mouth, inch by inch, until he’s buried completely down your throat, a wet gag sounding out as you struggle to take all of him. Your hands grip his thighs for support while you work to clean him off.

“Shit,” he grunts, pulling you off his throbbing cock and jerking himself furiously over your open mouth. You stick your tongue out, pretty eyes locking onto his, heavy-lidded and filled with lust. “Gonna look so pretty with my cum all over you,” he rasps. It’s all the warning you get before he groans low in his throat, his hips jerking as spurts of his hot, milky load shoot from his swollen slit.

The warm fluid lands everywhere— on your tongue, splattering across your kitten mask, dripping down your chin. Some of it trickles onto the diamonds that gleam around your neck, and the sight of you like this is so fucking perfect, it sends a surge of possessive pride straight to his heart.

With the little energy he has left, he mumbles, “Stay just like that,” before quickly walking over to the entertainment center. He grabs the Polaroid camera, turning to you as he snaps a photo, capturing the erotic moment.

There you are— naked with your face covered in his seed, a sultry glint in your eyes, the kitten mask perched prettily on your face.

“Hermosa,” he breathes, admiring his work, his gaze worshipful as he lowers the camera.

Once he’s got your photo, you curl your tongue back into your mouth, the saltiness making you hum at how yummy he tastes.

Your fingers delicately collect the remnants from your chin, your neck, and even your mask, before slipping them into your mouth to savor every last drop. The way you devour it makes his breath hitch all over again.

Javier smiles down at you, his gaze softening as he gently helps you up from your knees. He reaches for the edge of your mask and slowly lifts it from your face and tosses it aside, wanting nothing between you as he leans in for a kiss.

His lips meet yours with a gentleness that makes your heart flutter, the exhiliration of your fucking melting into something far sweeter.

“I love you,” he murmurs, those three little words filled with a depth of emotion that makes you feel like you’re floating. The tenderness in his voice, the way he holds you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world, makes your heart swell, your body and soul wrapped up in the love you have for him.

“I love you more,” you whisper back warmly, giving him a final, sweet peck. The avidity of the night begins to ebb, leaving the two of you in a serene, exhausted state.

Javier gathers you into his strong arms, holding you close as he carries you to the bathroom. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest is comforting, and you nuzzle into his neck, feeling completely at peace.

Once inside, he sets you down carefully, his hands never straying far from you as he begins to run a hot shower. The sound of the water cascading down is soothing, steam filling the room. He steps behind you, unclasping your necklace and setting it on the counter.

He steps into the shower with you, standing together under the droplets. His hands move over your figure lovingly, lathering you up in that soap of yours that he loves the scent of.

He’s playful in his affection, cheekily cupping your breasts before sliding his hands down to your ass, giving it a gentle squeeze, making you laugh softly as he finishes rinsing you off. 

You return the favor, your fingers tracing the contours of his toned figure, memorizing every inch of the man you’re about to marry. It still doesn’t even feel real.

After you finish your respective night routines, Javier tugs you toward the bed, and you follow willingly. The cool sheets feel like a welcome embrace as you slip under them, and he immediately pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

You look up at him, a surge of pure love and endearment welling up inside you.

“You make me so happy, Javi,” you murmur, your fingers caressing the damp curls at his forehead. The sincerity in your voice is unmistakable, and you see the way it touches him deeply. “I can’t wait to be your wife. Just saying it makes me all giddy.” You giggle, and his mouth quirks up into that familiar half-smile you adore so much, tilting his head to place a kiss against the diamond of your ring.

“I can’t wait either,” he replies, his thumb lazily stroking your cheek as he gazes down into your eyes. “You’ve given me everything I never knew I needed. You have no idea how happy you make me, corazón. I’m the luckiest fucker in the world.”

You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s a kiss that conveys everything words can’t— the depth of your love, the excitement for your future, the joy of knowing you’ve found your forever.

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 15

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: we have officially hit "vaguely suggestive" (spice incoming ... eventually... still), but mostly we're dealing with trauma and boundaries

wc: 2.2k

Chapter Selection

Jason insisted I shouldn't be alone overnight after everything, and I didn't want to be anyway. After losing him in the dark, even just for a few minutes, I wanted to know exactly where he was for a while. He kept a hand on my knee the whole ride to his place, lazily running his thumb over my skirt.

As I predicted, the panic did start to settle in eventually, though much later than I thought it would. As we made our way to his door, I realized my hands and knees were trembling and I was struggling to regulate my breathing. Jason looked over to me and gently pulled me against him, kissing my forehead.

“You’re finally coming down from all that adrenaline, huh?” I nodded, shakily clinging to him. “Just breathe for me, ok? In through your nose … out through your mouth… good, good girl~ I got you, ok?”

I squeaked softly, blushing bright red. Jason tilted his head, clearly confused, and mimed the deep, slow breathes he wanted me to take. I eventually matched my breathing to his, clinging to his arm. Once I was breathing regularly, he unlocked the door and scooped me up with an arm under my knees and one on my back. I gasped sharply, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“W-woah! … How'd you do that?” I blinked a bit, feeling my cheeks warm up. I knew he was strong, but he was carrying me into the apartment with the same effort I used to carry a bag of potatoes!

He chuckled, kicking the door shut behind us. “Did you think the muscles were for aesthetics?”

I blushed bright red, blinking. “... N- no, I didn't, just … no one's picked me up like this before.”

He smirked a bit, locking the door. “I would carry you like this all day if it would make you happy~”

I giggled softly, cupping his cheek. My other hand hovered near the scarred side of his face; “Can I..?” 

He nodded, and I cupped that cheek as well, kissing him deeply. He groaned softly, and his lips pressed firmly against mine. He carried me through the living room and sat on the couch, holding me across his lap. His arms were so strong and steady around me, and I slowly melted against his chest. After a moment, he gently nibbled on my lower lip, letting out a happy sigh when my lips parted to let him in.

Jason stroked my back more, and one hand wrapped around my cheek so his fingers tangled into my hair as he slowly deepened the kiss, keeping me pressed firmly against him. When I pulled back to gasp for breath, he nuzzled my neck with the tip of his nose, kissing the soft flesh of my pulse point. 

“Mhhh~ J- Jay?~”

He moaned softly, purring; “Mh~ … Mh-hm?~”

“N-not that I'm complaining -I'm definitely not- but … what … what are you doing?”

“... Not really sure. Just … need you … Need to feel you, all soft, and warm, and safe in my arms~” he nuzzled me more, holding me close. “... I- is that ok?”

“Yeah, that’s ok~ that's definitely ok, baby~” I let my fingers thread through his hair, tilting my head back for him. He continued to nuzzle and kiss my throat, gripping me a bit tighter, like he was afraid I'd disappear.

“Mhh~ … want you all to myself~ you're mine, right?~” his teeth grazed against my neck, drawing out an eager gasp.

“Ah~ yes~ all yours, my love~ I'm here, anything you want~”

“Want you so bad, baby~” he groaned, pulling me into a deep kiss.

“Mhh~ I want you too, Jason~” I gently tugged on his hair, biting his lower lip a bit. I shifted so my legs were on either side of his, and he wrapped his arms around my back and thighs, pressing my body flush against his chest. His lips trailed down my neck, panting softly as his hand gently kneaded into my plush thighs. 

My hands slipped out of his hair and down his neck, marveling at how the anxiety from earlier just melted away under his touch. I was safe in Jason's arms, and I never wanted to leave. My fingertips slid under his collar and he shivered a bit, stiffening. His breaths came out in short, shallow gasps, and his chest and arms were suddenly trembling against me. I slowly pulled back, sliding my hands away from his neck. He blinked repeatedly, still holding me tightly, but not focused on me anymore.

“... Jason? … Honey?” There was a far away look in his eyes as he slowly looked up at me. “... Jace, can you hear me?”

He nodded, taking a deep, slow breath. After a moment his eyes came back into focus and he sighed softly. “... S- sorry, I …”

“... You were in the past, weren't ya?” He nodded again, looking off to the side. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. … Do you know what triggered it?”

“... I … I think it was … the adrenaline spike, and then … th- this got really intense, really fast. …”

I gently stroked his hair, nodding. “Do you wanna let go of me so I can give you a bit of space?”

His hands flexed a bit on my thighs as he considered; “... I … no … I want this, my god, I want this, I … I want you, I just …” he sighed softly, resting his forehead against my chest, mumbling into my tummy; “... I … don't think I can have your hands under my clothes yet. … I'm sorry.”

I softly hushed him, stroking his hair more and kissed the top of his head; “you don't have to apologize for having boundaries. And I'm glad you know you can tell me when they come up, that's how this is supposed to work.”

“... Ok.” He nodded, sighing softly as he looked up at me. “... I don't want to stop, but I don't know how to continue either …”

I nodded, stroking his hair gently. “Hmm … well, … why don't we start by getting changed into some more comfortable clothes?”

He nodded, nuzzling into my chest. “Yeah, I … I can do that.”

I stroked his hair more, smiling gently. “Ok. … Since you don't want my hands under your clothes yet, why don't you pick out something that covers anywhere you don't want me to touch? And then, after we're changed and had a moment to calm down, we can see about continuing this in a way that feels safe and comfortable?”

He nodded again, sliding his arms up to hug my waist. “Yeah, that … that sounds nice. … It's really ok?”

“It's really ok. Thank you for telling me what went wrong so we could fix it together.” he slowly released me, and I slid off his thighs, turning around. “Can you help me unzip this?”

He stood, resting a hand on my back, and slowly slid the zipper down. “... You look incredible tonight~”

I giggled softly, looking over my shoulder; “thank you~ you do too~”

I went into the bathroom to change into my pj shorts and an oversized shirt, took my makeup off, and finally met Jason in his room. He was sitting on his bed in the dark when I came in. “Do you want the light to stay off?”

He cleared his throat; “Um … yeah, I … I think it would help. Is that weird?”

“No, it's not weird, baby. And even if it were, it would be ok.” I carefully made my way toward the bed, stopping when my knees hit the side. “Can I come up?”

“Yeah, come sit next to me.” He leaned forward, his hand finding mine and gently pulling me onto the bed with him. I grinned, letting him pull me into a hug. I was surprised to realize his arms were bare; he had opted for a tank top, the first time I'd known him to wear one, and sweatpants.

“You’re ok with me touching your arms?” I looked up at his face, barely making out his eyes in the dark room.

“Yeah, I … I think it'll be ok. I want to try at least.” He nodded, gently cupping my cheek. “Can I do something?”

I nodded, kissing his thumb as it slid across my lower lip. He shifted, laying down, and pulled me to lay on my side in front of him. Face to face, he carefully rested his hand on my waist, stroking my side gently. I sighed happily, blinking slowly. “Mh~ this is nice~ … you make me feel so safe~”

“... I wish I could have done something to actually make you safe tonight … Fucking Nightwing …” he growled softly, sounding a bit … bitter?

I frowned, gently cupping his cheek; “You did make me safe; you kept me close, stayed between me and the guys with the guns, and then you pulled me into the cellar. My big, strong, handsome protector~”

He squirmed a bit, sighing softly; “... If you say so…”

I chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. “I do say so~ I'm your girl, remember? I choose you, always.”

He pulled me closer, kissing back. “... You could have better…”

“Even if there was better out there, I wouldn't want it. I want you.”

“... I want you too. … God, I want you so much~” he cupped my cheeks, kissing me gently.

I moaned softly, kissing back, and gently gripped his wrists. My fingers trailed across his muscular arms, eventually finding a long thin scar. I delicately traced it, feeling him shiver a bit.

“Ah … wh- what are you doing?”

“Sorry, should I stop?” I whispered.

“... No, it's just … what is it?”

I shrugged a bit, nuzzling against him; “... I like the scars.”

“... You … like them?”

“Well, to be clear - I don't like that you got hurt. But yeah, I like the scars.”

“... Why?” He pulled back slightly.

I could feel myself blushing a bit as I continued to trace a long, hooked scar near his elbow. “... Probably because of what they represent.”

His voice came out a choked, incredulous whisper; “... They represent times I've failed. Or almost failed. … Times I wasn't fast enough, or strong enough, or smart enough…” 

“What? … Jay, no! No, no, no, baby!” I guided his hand to my lips, kissing the scar by his wrist. My lips trailed from one scar to the next as I whispered; “Your scars are from times you were brave, and strong, and kind. … When I see your scars, I see a man who doesn't let bullies win just because it's easier to walk away. I see a man who'd stand in the blade's path rather than let someone else get hurt. … You've been through so much, suffered so much, and yet you still don't turn your back and let someone else take the hit. … Some people let pain make them cruel, but not you. My man is so kind; so brave, and gentle, and determined, and loving. … These scars mean that I am safe; you would probably see and dispense with any danger long before I even got that prickly ‘being watched' feeling on the back of my neck.”

I kissed every scar I found from his hand to his inner elbow, caressing and tracing them reverently. Soon enough, he was squirming and panting softly under my touch, and moving his arm on his own to give me access to the next one. “... Y- yes … yes, of course! … W- wouldn't let anyone hurt you, baby. Promise!”

I kissed further up his arm, whispering; “I know~ you're so protective of me~ I love you so much, Jason~”

“I love you too~ God, I love you so much~ … I …” he cut himself off, shaking.

I looked up at him, nuzzling and kissing a large round scar on his bicep; “... What is it, baby?”

“I just … I don't understand … you say these things, but … I haven't even been able to tell you … how do you know?”

“... You don't have to tell me how they got here; scars born from violence are very different from scars born from clumsiness or accidents. These are the kinds of scars you expect to see on boxers and soldiers, not the remnants of that one time you cut yourself while chopping onions.”

“... You're really not mad that I haven't told you yet?”

“... Are you mad that it took me six months to tell you I was attacked the night before our first date?”

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. “Of course not!”

“Then why would I be mad you're having trouble talking about these?”

He stroked my back gently, holding me against his chest. “... I'll figure out how to do it soon. I promise…”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing his shoulder. “Whenever you're ready, I'll listen.”

“... I just … I don't want anything to change, when I do …”

“Sweetheart, of course things will change. But I think they'll change for the better, when I have more context. … We're stumbling in the dark, but if we know the light switch is to the left, we can search for it more efficiently.”

“ … What if it's worse? …”

“... Then we'll navigate it together. … If there's no light switch, we'll make candles.”

Next ->

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Taglist (open):

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa

[seiya-starsniper]

I mean, I can't NOT prompt 3."Can you just look at me? Please?" with Dreamling. Because I'm predictable like that.

🤘five-and-dimes

Hey @five-and-dimes, remember when you sent me this BACK IN MARCH? 😅 I finally got around to it, for Sandmannivery and also for Dreamling Bingo!

This was originally supposed to be a shortfic and then it ballooned to 4k, whoopsies! But I don't think you'll mind all that much ahahahaha.

@mr-sadman prompt: Amnesia @dreamlingbingo prompt: Square C1 - Rescue

Rating: General

Warnings: None

Tags: Memory Loss, Dream of the Endless Saves Hob Gadling, Time Loop, Angst with a Happy Ending

Read the whole fic below or on AO3: a half-remembered dream

— — — — — — — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting. It was the type of day best spent laying out on the grass in a bed of flowers, with no thought or care to any sort of responsibilities for that day. It was a weekend after all.

Wasn’t it? 

Now that he thinks about it—what day is it anyways? Wasn’t there something he needed to do? Why did it feel like there was something he was forgetting?

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting. It was the type of day best spent laying out on the grass in a bed of flowers…

…Where were all the flowers?

When the man sits up all he sees is an endless sea of grass. Where was he? What time was it? How long had he been here? Why was he—who was he?

Why can’t he remember?

What was going on?

How—

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun—

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. Again. The sun was shining. Again. The birds were singing. Always the same song, the same length, the same tune. The same, the same, the same. The sun was shining, but now it felt cold and hollow, not warm and inviting. There was something very wrong about where he was, and now that he was paying attention, he fits the pieces together to form a very simple conclusion.

Hob Gadling was dreaming. 

He’d been dreaming for the entire time he’d been here. And he still had no idea where here was. Sometimes he’s laying in a field of flowers. Other times there’s nothing else but grass and rolling hills for miles. Sometimes he hears the babbling of a brook nearby. Sometimes he remembers the vague outline of a cottage that reminds him of his childhood home. The one from 1359.

Hob doesn’t know how long he’s been here. Every time he gets somewhat close to maybe remembering something, his mind just—floats away. He wouldn’t quite call it blacking out, his vision doesn’t go suddenly dark and he doesn’t lose consciousness then suddenly wake up. Could a person even wake up from a dream into another dream? Hob has no idea.

Sometimes though, if he concentrates enough, Hob can feel a deep ache in his muscles and bones. He knows it’s his real body that feels the pain because in this dream world, Hob can run and skip and jump for miles and miles and miles. Wherever his body, his real body was, Hob knows that it hadn’t moved or been moved in a very long time. 

Too long, his mind supplies. 

Wake up, he tells himself. He’d always been able to get himself to wake up if he knew he was dreaming. But it doesn’t seem to be working this time. Hasn’t worked on any of his other previous attempts really, but Hob still feels like he has to at least try to do it again.

Wake! Up! he tells himself over and over to no avail. Wake up, wake up, wake up! 

Nothing. 

Hob growls in frustration and desperately looks around the dreamscape, hoping for some sort of sign, some sort of clue for how to get out of here. Was he in a coma? Was that why he couldn’t wake up? Was his body safe? Was he—?

Hob startles suddenly as his eyes catch sight of a shadow. The movement is so swift, so sudden, that Hob’s not entirely sure he didn’t just blink and imagine it all. He whips his head around desperately, concentrating all his focus to the spot where he thinks the shadow may have gone.

And then he sees it. A small wisp in the dark. Hob runs, desperate to catch up to it. He wants to see what it is, who it is, because he’s almost certain the shadow is a person, and maybe they know a way out of this place, a trick to wake Hob up, something, anything to help. 

But then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the shadow vanishes into the air, as if it had never been there at all.

But Hob knows that he’s seen it. He knows it’s there.

He knows he’s not alone here. Not anymore. 

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting.

“Why can’t I wake up?” Hob asks the shadow, ignoring everything else around him. The shadow stands out in the bright landscape of the dream, though Hob is certain it did not mean for Hob to perceive its presence at all.

The shadow does not answer him. It never does. Hob sees the shadow all the time now, out of the corner of his eye, always just beyond reach. He doesn’t know what the shadow is, but he is certain that he knows the shadow itself. He’s forgotten the hows and the whys and the whens, but he knows the shadow is a friend. That it won’t hurt him.

The problem is, the shadow won’t help him either. 

“Can you just look at me please?” Hob begs. If he were stuck here, if even they were both stuck here, wherever this weird limbo between dreaming and waking was, wouldn’t it be better if they worked together? Anything was better than this crushing loneliness Hob was feeling right now. He would do anything to have a conversation with someone right now. He doesn’t know when the last time was that he’d heard the voice of a friend. 

“Answer me!” Hob demands, his anger rising now as the shadow continues to ignore him. “Why can’t I wake up from this dream?!”

Silence. Then—

“It is not safe,” the shadow says, and then, once again, it is gone.

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. No. It was an awful day, and Hob screams to the sky and demands the stranger—his Stranger—because something about that rings true in his mind—stop hiding from Hob and face him like a man. That too, rings true in his mind, that the Stranger at the very least, wore the shape of a human man whenever Hob saw him.

As always though, Hob’s questions are met with nothing but indifferent silence.

Hob will not give up. He knows now that something is very wrong, something that is keeping Hob from waking up, from living, and he is determined to find out exactly what.

Ever since Hob encountered the Stranger, his mind has stopped floating away, but now Hob is all too aware that he’s repeating the same day, in this same goddamned endless landscape, over and over again. And he doesn’t know why.

The Stranger knows why. He doesn’t always show up when the day resets, but when he does, he doesn’t speak, nor does he meet Hob’s eye, no matter how much he begs and pleads. If Hob tries to run to him, the Stranger somehow ends up further away, without having taken a single step. It’s infuriating. 

Today, Hob can’t see him anywhere, but somehow, he knows the Stranger is here. And still, he ignores Hob’s requests to talk. Hob tries insults next, hurling whatever cruel and uncaring words come to the forefront of his mind. No response. He tries threats. Nothing. He goes back to begging, crying even, for any sort of acknowledgement from this cruel and uncaring god. 

No response.

So Hob screams.

He screams and screams and screams and—

— — — — —

It was raining. 

Finally, something was different. Hob had grown sick of nothing but sunny days and perfect weather. It was all so fake. The sunny weather was fake, the beautiful landscapes were fake, the trees, the flowers, the singing birds, all of it was fake and Hob hated it here.

Thunder booms in the distance suddenly, followed by the unmistakable crack of lightning, as if the weather had worsened to reflect Hob’s feelings on the matter. Maybe Hob was affecting this tiny little dream world he found himself suddenly trapped in. Maybe he had more power here than he originally thought. 

Not that it really mattered anyways. Hob was still trapped, and his only hope for escape refused to talk to him. For all Hob knew, the Stranger he’s been trying so hard to communicate with is the reason he’s trapped here. Maybe he’s keeping Hob here because Hob did something to offend him. 

Even as the thought crosses his mind, he knows immediately that it’s not true. The Stranger, whoever he was, was Hob’s friend, and Hob knew, deep in his bones, his weary, achy, exhausted bones, that the Stranger wouldn’t keep him here against his will. There was something else going on, and for whatever reason, Hob wasn’t allowed to know. 

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Hob says to the falling drops outside his cottage window. “You said it wasn’t safe, but what if I’m not safe out there? Where is my body? Why am I asleep? What happened to me?”

Lightning crackles and sparks in the distant horizon in response, but Hob receives no other indicator that the Stranger, the shadow, had been listening to his pleas at all. 

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Hob thinks he has never heard anything more perfect and wonderful in his entire life.

Because today, Hob finally remembers. 

He remembers the meeting with his Stranger in 1389. Then 1489. And 1589. And on and on they went, secret meetings in the same tavern once every hundred years. A friendship borne on shaky beginnings, but still steadfast and true. He remembers the name of his friend. His patron. His—

“Dream!” Hob calls out to the sky. It vibrates and shakes and Hob can feel the atmosphere of the dreamscape tremble at the utterance of its maker’s name. Hob learned that Dream’s name is a closely guarded secret, that it is sacred, because to hold Dream’s name in one’s mind is to hold power over the Endless himself. 

Even knowing this, Hob still calls for him. Even knowing the pull of Hob’s will, Dream still does not come.

Which means that something incredibly bad has happened. Dream would not lock Hob away like this without cause.  

“Why am I here, Dream?!” Hob yells. “What’s going on?!”

— — — — —

It was…a day. 

Hob does not know how long he’s been here, trapped, scared, alone. The dreamscape has grown dull with each passing, unchanging day, and Hob’s will to continue on with this charade of a life grows thinner and thinner as well.

He does not want to die. Hob will never ask for Death’s hand, of that much he’s certain. He will stay here for as long as it takes, confident that one day, he will once again taste what it feels like to be awake. To be alive.

But Hob is also tired, and, perhaps more importantly, he is bored. As peaceful as his little cottage is, as safe as it appears, there is nothing left for Hob to do but wait. And he does not know what he is waiting for, other than for Dream to finally speak to him and tell him that everything’s all right again.

So Hob decides to sleep.

He realized, some time back, that though his physical body is asleep, his dreaming body is wide awake. But this manifestation too, needs rest, and cannot sustain itself forever, even in the realm of dreams. His dreaming mind, too, needs rest from time to time, which Hob belatedly realizes is the reason why sometimes he has a dreamless sleep.

Dream, Hob is certain, will wake both his subconscious and conscious minds, when everything is safe in the Waking World again. 

The cottage in this landscape of Hob’s mind contains a bed big enough for Hob to sprawl in. Hob wouldn’t have had this bed back in the 1300s, it’s more reflective of the one he shared with Eleanor in the 1500s, back when he was a lord and could afford all the finest silks and sheets. It’s far too large of a bed to sleep in alone, and Hob almost wishes he could craft himself a companion of some sort to cuddle up to, to at least pretend he’s not stuck in his own mind alone. And well, it was probably for the better anyways. Hob is pretty sure that even if he could make himself a companion, it wouldn’t be Eleanor he would create in his mind’s eye to cuddle up to. And well, that would be rather embarrassing to explain. 

So Hob settles in his large bed, alone, and lets himself drift off, hoping that he won’t wake too soon.

— — — — —

It was a beautiful…night?

Hob spins and spins and spins, and still, he cannot fathom how it is he’s surrounded on all sides by nothing but darkness stars. He thinks he should be falling, for there is nothing but infinity below his feet when he looks down.  And yet, the ground beneath his feet is solid as anything Hob has ever stood on, even if staring at it too long makes his eyes a little dizzy.

Everything Hob has come to know about his dream world is gone. The cottage is gone, the bed he’d been sleeping in for eons and eons and eons is gone, the grass, the flowers, the rolling hills, all of it is gone, gone, gone. Like it had never existed in the first place. 

Hob tries running in one direction, then another. Yet for all his efforts, he never seems to truly move anywhere. He wonders what it all means. 

Then, Hob sees him. A shadow in the dark. A wisp of power. A spark of hope and light and friend.

Dream of the Endless rushes towards Hob in the blink of an eye and collapses in a broken heap at his feet. Hob startles and then falls to his knees, clutching his oldest friend in his arms. Has Dream always been so small? So frail? 

“My friend, what’s happened?” Hob asks, trying to not jostle the other too much. Dream doesn’t respond, only groans when Hob tries to take a closer look at him. “Dream, please, are you all right?” Hob pleads, hoping and praying to whatever entity out there that the Endless was all right. That this wasn’t the end of the line for the two of them.

Even if it was though, Hob is certain he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

“Hob,” Dream gasps after a moment, his head suddenly shooting up as he meets Hob’s eyes. Hob realizes with horror that his friend’s face is covered entirely in blood, and his eyes are sunken, endless pits of black. Dream looks like someone had beaten him for hours, then thrown him out to fend for himself. Hob feels helpless, not knowing what he can possibly do to help. 

“My friend,” Hob wails, tears filling his eyes, and gripping Dream tightly. “What happened to you?”

“It’s over,” Dream wheezes, then coughs out a darkened ball of sludge. “You’re free.”

“What? Dream!” Hob yells, and then—

— — — — —

Hob gasps and coughs loudly as air, real air, fills his lungs. To finally breathe with his waking body is both the most glorious and agonizing thing. He feels as though he had been dead and brought back to life, only this time around, he’d spent a particularly long time being dead. Everything hurt, his head, his eyes, his bones.  

“Oh fucking hell,” someone curses from next to him. Hob’s head snaps harshly to his left, trying to locate the source of the voice. 

It is a mistake to move so suddenly.

Hot, fiery pain shoots up Hob’s spine and all the way up to the tip of his ears and he groans. The voice curses again, calling Hob a bloody idiot and it’s only when Hob sees a flash of a bright white trench coat that he finally recognizes who it is that’s at his bedside.  

“Constantine?” Hob tries to say, but his voice cracks on the syllables. He coughs again. He’s thirsty. Parched even. His tongue feels like lead, and every time he tries to say something else, the words come out as a cough and a wheeze instead. 

“The one and only Hobsie,” Johanna replies, still seeming to understand Hob’s intelligible noises anyways. “I’m sure you’re wondering what the flying fuck has happened then,” she adds, gesturing between the two of them. “Let’s get you some water first though, you look and sound like shit.”

— — — — —

Hours later, Hob’s mind is spinning as Johanna explains to him what’s happened to Hob over the past eight months. Eight. Months.

Apparently, someone had figured out that Hob was immortal, and, unsurprisingly, had tried to see if they could steal his immortality for themselves. There was a battle, a negotiation with a demon that Johanna was all too happy to smite, a failed spell, a cult, and—a coma.

A coma induced by Dream. To save Hob’s mind. The demon that the cult had summoned had wriggled its way into Hob’s head, eager for a vessel that would not die so easily. One that could easily wreak infinite destruction and chaos upon the mortal realm. 

Dream would not let that happen. He’d followed the path of the demon into Hob’s mind, had fought tirelessly with it, while keeping Hob’s own consciousness locked away in a small pocket of the Dreaming, where not even Lucifer themself could reach. He’d left the guard of Hob's physical body to Johanna, who then stuck Hob in one of her safehouses just outside London, checking on him every other day to see if his condition had changed. She had been just about to leave for the evening when Hob awoke and, in her words, “scared her fucking soul into next Thursday, you git.”

Johanna, unfortunately, has no idea what’s happened to Dream, but she’s not nearly as terrified as Hob feels she should be when he describes to her the last he’d seen of the Endless before he’d woken up.

“That bastard’s too stupid to let a demon off him like that,” Johanna says, shrugging. “I’ll see if I can get a hold of him, but you need to fucking rest, or he’ll kill me himself.”

Hob thinks he should be afraid to go back to sleep, after being asleep for so long already. But shortly after Johanna leaves, Hob finds himself growing sleepy once more, and for the first time, he falls into an entirely peaceful, dreamless slumber. 

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting.

Hob takes a deep breath, and smells fresh air for the first time in eight months.

He is awake. He is alive.

It had taken him almost an entire week to recover his strength after he’d woken up. An entire week of trying to make sense of his life, how he’d lost eight months of it, the cult of wannabe wizards who had tried to take his immortality from him, the lies Johanna had spun on his behalf so no one would look too closely into why Hob was suddenly missing. It had been overwhelming those first few days, but Hob’s always been quick to adapt to things, so today he is taking the time to relax and enjoy his hard won freedom. 

Hob feels his presence before he sees him. He’s gotten good, over the centuries, at being able to sense when Dream was nearby. There was always just the subtlest change in the air, a sudden smell of morning rain where previously there had been none.

Dream sits next down to Hob on the bench, a loaf of bread in hand, which he starts to break apart to feed the pigeons that have gathered at their feet. He looks much improved from when Hob had last seen him. Still fragile, but whole and unhurt. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up,” Hob says, turning to face Dream and smiling to show that he’s not angry.

“I am aware,” Dream replies, his own lips quirking up just so. “I apologize for the delay. I had some additional matters to deal with.”

“Banishing demons and the like?” Hob asks with a small chuckle. Dream huffs. 

“How are you, my friend?” Dream asks instead of answering Hob’s question. Hob stretches and then cracks his neck in response.

“Still a bit stiff, honestly, but doing loads better,” Hob answers. “Thanks for…everything. Even if I wasn’t always the most grateful at times,” he adds a bit sheepishly. He still remembers how angry and frustrated he’d felt. How lonely he’d felt. 

Hob knows, logically, that he’d mostly reacted out of fear and ignorance, much of which was brought on by his amnesia in the Dreaming. But he still feels guilty about all the unkind things he’d thought about Dream, when Dream had been out on the front lines desperately trying to save his life. Things he knows that Dream was able to perceive while Hob was locked away in the Dreaming. He wonders if that’s why Dream hadn’t come to see him right away. If his friend was angry at him, though he didn’t look like it at present. 

Hob is shaken out of his morose thoughts by a solid hand on his shoulder. Dream’s hand. God, he really must look like a wreck if Dream is this concerned. 

“I am sorry,” Dream says solemnly, “that I took so long to rescue you. You suffered unnecessarily because of my shortcomings.”

“Dream,” Hob says, swallowing a lump in his throat, and trying to ignore the heat creeping up his face at where his friend is touching him. “You saved me. That’s not nothing.” 

He’s touched at how much Dream cares, but it really wasn’t the Endless’s fault that Hob found himself in danger. If anything, it was Hob’s fault entirely for not being careful enough, despite centuries of living, and learning that hard way that he needed to be careful.

“But it was my fault you were compromised in the first place,” Dream says, then suddenly goes silent, his face pinched.

Hob furrows his brow, confused. “How’s that?” he asks. “It wasn’t your fault that someone figured out I was immortal.” Dream sighs, then shakes his head.

“Those that captured you were not well versed in the ways of the occult,” Dream answers.“They mistakenly summoned a demon far more powerful than they intended, and it was only because the demon knew of your association with me that they were spared their lives, and allowed to strike a bargain.”

“So the demon only helped because he knew you and I were friends?” Hob asks. “That’s hardly your fault still.”

“That is—not all of it,” Dream says, looking wretched and like he’s marching to his own execution.

“Then what else?” Hob asks, placing his hand over Dream’s own. It’s surprisingly warm beneath his touch, but Hob may just be projecting. Dream tries to remove his hand from Hob’s shoulder, and Hob lets him, but doesn’t release his own grip on the Endless’s hand, letting their hands slide down to the bench between them instead. 

“It’s okay, Dream,” Hob says, squeezing his friend’s hand in reassurance. “You can tell me.”

Dream stares at the point where their hands meet, face still pinched with discomfort. Hob lets the silence between them drag out, not wanting to rush his friend. Whatever it was Dream wanted to tell him, it clearly was something that weighed heavily on his mind, and Hob didn’t want to put his friend under any more duress than they both had been through recently. 

“The demon knew,” Dream finally says, so quietly that Hob can barely hear him, “that I felt more for you than just friendship.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Dream—” Hob starts to say, his heart suddenly lurching,  but Dream holds up his free hand to silence him.

“That is not the only confession I wish to make,” Dream admits, before he takes a deep breath Hob knows damn well he does not need.

“Okay…” Hob replies, bracing himself, but still feeling hopeful, despite Dream’s somber tone.

“After our reunion at The New Inn,” Dream says, his face now tinted the slightest shade of pink. “You dreamed of me.”

Ah. 

“I…see,” Hob says, processing all this new information while trying to calm the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart. “So you’ve known for a while then,” he continues, his question confirmed when Dream nods his head silently at him, still looking somber. 

“Why then—” Hob coughs and then clears his throat. “Why all the secrecy then?” 

Dream’s brow seems to be in a permanent state of pinched, and Hob wants to smooth it out with his thumb, but he holds himself back as the Endless considers his words. 

“My love has been a burden to mortals before,” Dream replies, looking stricken as some painful memory seems to overcome him. “It is, in fact, forbidden for the Endless to consort with mortals, barring certain circumstances,” he continues. “I withheld my knowledge of your feelings, as well as my own, for your own safety. For all the good that it did in the end.”

“Hey,” Hob says, squeezing down on Dream’s hand as understanding dawns on him. “I’m still here thanks to you. And still plan to be for the long haul. Too much to live for, remember?”

“I still put you in danger,” Dream starts to argue, but Hob shushes him gently.

“That sort of danger comes with what I signed up for,” Hob reassures him. “And I’d go through it again, just so you know,” he adds sincerely. “Too much to live for still includes you.”

Dream's eyes widen, shock and hope and awe clearly painted across his features. “You would still—?”

“I would,” Hob replies immediately, leaning in just close enough for them to almost kiss. “You're worth the risk, any day, any century, Dream.”

“You are a fool,” Dream replies, but there’s no reproach in his tone. Only a heat that makes desire curl in Hob’s belly.

“Maybe,” Hob grins, staring pointedly down at Dream’s mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

“You can do more than just that,” Dream purrs, and then suddenly the two of them are enveloped in a whirl of sand that instantly moves them from the park bench to Hob’s bedroom. Hob laughs as he finds himself pinned beneath the King of Dreams.

“C’mere you,” Hob says, tugging his oldest friend down into a kiss. 

It was a perfect day.

[delphi-shield]

a lover's guide to defusing time bombs // leon s. kennedy

Leon x afab!Reader Smut wc: 5,661 mdni - 18+

i'm having technical difficulties help why is this fic such a problem child. bout to give up and send it to the dumpster. shout out to tumblr support for fixing this yay my stupid smut is in the tags now. loosely proofread and edited. merry christmas xoxo

summary: Leon doesn’t love crowds. He hates them, actually, but he’s braving the annual Christmas parade for you. Ever vigilant, he scans for threats, ensures the giant clydesdales aren’t secretly agents of chaos, narrows his eyes to be absolutely positive that Santa isn’t concealing a weapon. You have got to find a way to make him relax.

content: afab!reader, mindless fluff, leon’s pov, vague depiction of an anxiety attack, discussions of leon’s mental health, established relationship, secular celebration of christmas, chestnuts roasting on an open fire (literally), leon’s dissociating through a lot of this, fingering (reader receiving), piv (reader receiving), doggy, a singular spank (reader receiving), use of toys (reader receiving), creampie, switchy leon & reader. the smut starts about halfway through if that’s what you’re here for.

Life with Leon can be divided up neatly into ‘Can't’ and ‘Won’t’.

He had crawled home to you at five in the afternoon, fresh off an assignment in Manhattan. He can’t tell you the details, all wrapped up in red tape, and he won’t let you get acquainted with the new ghosts that will haunt the darkened corners of your apartment. You're dozing so soundly in the living room. Prettiest thing he’s ever come home to, curled up under a blanket, colorful lights of the Christmas tree warming your skin. His hands are cold and battered when they brush against your forehead, smirch your warm skin with the grime that never washes off his skin.

He’s torn between waking you and letting you rest. He needs the rest himself, and it would be so easy to pick up your sleeping form and lay you back down against his chest, to drift off into a nap in the glow of the Christmas tree.

But he won’t break a promise to you, not if he doesn’t have to. He promised to take you to see the Christmas parade - and for once, he’s actually back in time to make good on his word.

Leon checks his watch. Back in time, but not by much. The parade starts in an hour. He rouses you, a strong hand gentle on your shoulder. It’s almost meditative, watching the way you wake. The way you take your time, curling into yourself like a cat before you finally unfurl, the slow blink of your eyes struggling to focus. You’re here. You’re safe. You don’t jolt awake the way that he does. You don’t jerk at his touch. You’re safe from the monsters that stalk him. For once, he’s kept something safe.

Leon came back from Spain a little different, but he can’t- and won’t - tell you jack about shit, as usual. He’s not sure if he’s changed for the better or the worse. There’s moments where the light is back in his eye, where all his jagged edges seem to soften. It’s the first time he’s ever come back from a ‘business trip’, as he likes to call them, and been able to say he’d done something good. Something worthwhile, beyond the nebulous concept of his servitude - something tangible. A life saved, not a country served.

The light’s dim today, but it shines when your eyes lock onto him. You light up, every ounce of weariness fleeing your body at the sight of him. You rocket forward. Your arms are tight and warm around his neck, and he rocks backward at the force of your affection. A laugh passes his lips, pressed into the top of your head along with a kiss.

“I could get used to that greeting,” he says when you part. Not all the way, of course. Your hand rests on his wrist, desperate for the contact. Like you think he might float away if you don’t keep him grounded.

“You better not,” you warn him, the seriousness in your tone as convincing as it is menacing - not at all.

He urges you to get up and get ready. You’re going to miss the parade. Probably missed most of the craft fair already, but he’s privately glad that you hadn’t gone without him. An ache opens up in his chest to think of you going alone.

“We don't have to go,” you assure him. It must be the fifth time you’ve tried to give him an out. You’re hopping on one foot, trying to stuff your feet into your warm boots, but he still recognizes the guilt in your eyes. He’s felt it many times himself, and he’s tired of seeing that part of himself reflected in your eyes. He won't make you feel like you’re stealing time away from him ever again.

“I promised.” He adjusts your scarf for you once you’ve stopped hopping. There was nothing wrong with the way you had it done. It’s just another excuse to touch you. He needs those. He needs reasons, real or invented. Touch has never been easy for him the way it has been for you.

Ushering you into the car is easy. You don’t put up any real resistance, other than babbling about how you don’t mind driving, honest, because he must be so tired. What he feels goes so far past tired that it wraps back around into restlessness, but he won’t tell you that. It seems like the sort of thing that would make you worry more, not less. Besides - he wants to watch you from the corner of his eye while he drives. He wants to see your head sway gently to the Christmas carols on the radio. He wants you to point out overdecorated houses and coo over Christmas decorations.

Leon needed this. He missed it, the peaceful quiet between the two of you. It doesn’t last terribly long. When you see how awful the parking situation is downtown, you burst into complaints. He doesn’t mind those either, the ghost of a smile glued to his lips while he drives circles around every parking lot in a four block radius.

He has to parallel park - something that makes you so nervous that you grip his arm while he wedges into the parking spot. Sure, he turns a three-point turn into something closer to a 36-point turn, but the important part is, he didn’t hit anyone. Besides - he kinda likes it when you cling to him like that.

He likes it more than the way you’re watching him, that’s for sure. You look like you’re waiting for him to fall apart. In fact, he’s not sure you’re even trying to hide your worry this time, got your heart bleeding on your sleeve for everyone to see. You take his hand clumsily, your movements big and ungainly in your mittens, and guide him through downtown.

It gets worse when you actually arrive at the parade route. The whole damn city must be out tonight. Families with gaggles of children, some sat on their father’s shoulders, carolers struggling to be heard over the noise of the crowd. Your hand squeezes his. He fights down his irritation. He knows it’s irrational. He doesn’t want to take it out on you.

It’s just a lot.

Leon likes to walk around with his head held high, pretending that he has no long-lasting quirks from his career. He can handle it. That’s the kind of man he is. He doesn't think less of you for how little you can carry in return. His shoulders are broad, he reminds you. He can carry what you can’t - hell, he feels useless when you don’t let him.

You can see it in the way his eyes never stop roving, the way his fingers curl near his hip – he knows you can. You’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for. Might wear your heart out for everyone to see, but you’re observant as all hell. He keeps a hand glued to the curve of your waist, keeps his head on a swivel for all threats, real and imagined.

He’s just being cautious, he tells himself. There’s nothing wrong with being aware of your surroundings. Especially not in a big crowd like this. His trained mind whirls. It throws him off-kilter. He’s not on the clock, but he’s acting like it. Big celebrations like this are perfect targets for terrorists looking to make a statement.

There’s a rolodex in his head filled to the brim with the kinds of intel that would make you never want to step outside again. He can’t tell you that - not just for the sake of national security, but for the sake of your peace of mind.

You say something - something about a vendor, your hand pointing across the street. His head moves first, humming acknowledgement he doesn’t mean, his eyes following slow to see what you’re looking at. No clue. You’re looking at him expectantly, arm tucked in the crook of his, so he just nods, agrees aimlessly.

Leon’s all wrapped up in his head, standing shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the crowd, staring down at himself from above. Float after float goes by - horses, a flock of sheep decked out in festive trimmings, shepherded by a gaggle of men and boys dressed in anachronist robes - and he’s pretty sure he saw an actual, honest-to-god reindeer, but the static spreading from his mind to his limbs turns everything around him into a nauseating blur.

“Hey.” You nudge him with an elbow, tucking your scarf below your chin. “C’mon.”

Your words seem so muffled. He’s starting to wonder if that action hero lifestyle is already catching up to him. He’s got to get his damned ears checked. You curl your hand around his bicep and urge him away from the crowd.

He’s too slow to think to protest. You had wanted to see the parade. He can’t take this away from you, not when you had been so excited. The guilt claws at his heart. He tugs your hand to pull you back toward the crowd, but you dig your heels in and give him this stern look that all but forces him to yield. You drag him down a quieter street, where vendors are packing their things up, the crowds having fled to watch the parade. 

If he could know your thoughts, he’d know you wished to press your thumb gently against the well of his eye and swipe away the darkness that hangs there, press a kiss to his bruised skin and watch his blush paint over the hurt. You press a hot chocolate into his hands instead. The warmth spreads through his gloves.

For a long moment, Leon just holds the drink in his hands. He rolls the paper cup back and forth, back and forth, walks with you as you pace the street. You pause to speak with a woman standing over an open grill.

The scent pulls him back to earth. He lifts the cup of hot chocolate to his face and inhales deeply. Sweet and chocolatey, Leon knows it’s probably Swiss Miss bought in bulk for the sole purpose of being handed out to parade-goers. He takes a sip, lets the cheap, watered down hot chocolate warm him. The noise of the parade is far away now, not just in his mind but in reality. The bells and the carols, the clop of hooves on cobblestone, it stays muted, but it doesn’t threaten to overwhelm him anymore.

His hand squeezes yours. You don’t stop speaking with the woman, but your eyes cut towards him, and your smile bright - a beacon that says welcome back.

For the first time, he realizes how cold his hands are. He slips the hand not holding the hot chocolate into the pocket of your jacket. He knows you’ve got a handwarmer in there. Lo and behold, he’s right. Your pocket may as well be heated.

Another scent stands out to him. His eyes focus on the dying embers still glowing faintly in the belly of the grill. An earthy, nutty smell drifts up to him. You’ve got something in your hands, he realizes - round little balls, their dark brown shells split and cracked, light golden interior peeking through.

You wave, say goodbye to the vendor, and tug him down the street - in the vague direction of the car, he realizes. Another stab of guilt. You’d wanted to see this parade so badly. He knows why you’re leaving.

“Try it,” you chirp, cheeks darkened by the cold air. You tip your hand towards his, drop one of the little nuts you're carrying into his hand. You smile so brightly, like you don’t realize that he’s ruined this for you. “It should be cool enough now.”

“What is it?” He asks, rolling it in his palm.

“A roasted chestnut. S’really good!” He looks over at you, fighting the urge to laugh. You’re already chewing the damn thing. He watches you slip the shell off of another chestnut.

“What are you, five? Close your mouth when you eat.” He bumps your shoulder with his, no heat behind his words.

He slips the shell off the chestnut, the way he had watched you do moments before. He pops it into his mouth and makes a noise of surprise. He’d expected it to be hard and crunchy, but it’s soft - buttery, almost. Sweet, in the same way as a sweet potato. He holds his hand out for another, and you drop it into his palm, chuckling triumphantly to yourself.

The walk back to his car is near silent, trading chestnuts and jabs back and forth. The restlessness that had filled his limbs earlier has melted into a sleepy, dull-edged tiredness that wears at his bones. He opens your door for you, guides you inside with a hand at the small of your back.

He wants to apologize. It’s all Leon can think about while he’s trying to get out of this goddamn parking spot. It takes him long enough. He’s crafting a script in his head. He knows exactly what he has to say.

But when you’re finally back on the road, he’s speechless. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, laden with the sweetness of the chestnuts and oily against his teeth. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips again, the road melting away as he guides you home by muscle memory alone.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

God, you’re an angel, breaking the silence like that. He glances over at you, the pounding of his heart quieting in his ears at the sight of your smile, your eyes soft and your hair messed. Your hat lays in your lap, your mittens peeled off and tossed to god-knows-where for him to find later on.

Leon nods. He feels like kicking himself. How the hell did he ever pull you? 

After a too-long silence, he says, “No problem. Sorry. For, uh –”

For making us leave. For ruining this. For not having my shit together.

You’re too nice to think any of those things about him. He knows that. That doesn’t mean Leon doesn’t think it about himself.

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun. Besides, I kinda wanted to spend time with you, anyway. Just you.”

He looks to you at a stoplight, tries to gauge if there’s any irritation hidden under your expression. You settle your hand on his knee. You smile blithely out the window, your eyes catching his in the reflection, crinkling at the corners when you smile wider. His heart pounds again - not panic, but a warm, comfortable squeeze.

He can’t believe he’s this lucky.

“We could watch a Christmas movie,” he offers. A small balm for the hurt he feels he’s caused.

You hum. Indifferent. You turn your head back to him as the light turns green, your hand sliding up to his thigh and squeezing. It sends a thrill through his gut, his breath catching. He wasn’t away that long, but it felt like forever without your touch.

“I was kinda thinking we could just hang out,” you say, your voice deceptively innocent. “I missed you.”

The car behind him honks. He wrests his thoughts out of the gutter, forces himself to actually drive. Your hand stays on his thigh, drifts even higher, your little laugh flushing all the blood out of his head.

“That’s, uh – yeah. Fantastic.”

The drive home is a blur. He tries to make conversation, honest to God, he does, but you’re so damn distracting. You know it, too. He can see that sadistic little twinkle in your eye. He’s lucky you’ve got enough mercy in you not to tease him while he drives. You’ve already got him wrapped around your finger, you have to know that by now.

Leon practically jumps out of the car. He should be embarrassed by the way you have him hopping around like some horny virgin. You slip out of the car with much more grace and press yourself to his side. His arm wraps around your waist, finds a way to tug you even closer while he fumbles with his keys.

The door is barely open, and you’re on him. He doesn't even have time to strip his jacket off before you press yourself against him. You urge his back against the door, shutting it with a thud. Your hands roam all over him, shucking his jacket off and letting it pool on the floor. Your lips press to his, trading the taste of hot chocolate and chestnuts. You move to his neck. His gasps are barely restrained. His pulse races under your touch. His head rocks back, smacks against the door and he groans. You chuckle, take his hand and pull him further into the apartment.

The backs of your knees hit the couch and he takes the invitation to tip you over the edge, his body covering yours without a moment of hesitation. Your lips are back on his skin, tongue laving a hot path wherever you can reach. Greedy. He shudders against the hands that grip his sides. 

"Not too tired?" You ask between kisses. Your teeth nip at the thin skin of his neck and his breath damn near stops. He should tell you to quit. It's not professional. He's gonna show up to his next briefing covered in hickeys and then everyone will know how good Kennedy is getting it at home. He's not sure he minds. He thinks he wants everyone to know just how fucking good he's got it.

"No way," he says, his voice lighter than he meant. He wanted to sound gravely, masculine - instead he sounds like he's about to cum his pants. Goddamn, the things you do to him.

"How do you want it?"

Oh, so it's up to him now? He wishes you'd take the choice from him. You press your hips up against him and, fuck, he wishes you'd take everything from him.

You pull back, your lips leaving his skin, and the chill settles over him again, the distance between you too much for him to handle. His hands grip your hips, slide under you and tug you into him so you can feel the way his cock fills out his jeans. It's hot and tight and goddammit, he wants to be in you - in a better kind of hot and tight rather than this denim prison that's fucking killing him.

You press your hand to his shoulder, force the distance. You level him with a look, like a school teacher discipling a naughty student. (Hot. Gonna have to keep that one in mind, if he ever works the nerve up to ask you to try some roleplay. He’ll bet you could really wreak havoc with a ruler, rap it across his knuckles -- better yet, his ass, let the sting spike over his skin. Make him indignant or obedient - he won't know what sort of mood he's in until he's there.)

You're waiting for an answer. That much is clear. No more love bites until he speaks up. You're a dead weight in his arms and he knows how to make you come to life again.

He sits back on his thighs, hands turning you. "Face in the cushions."

"You got the energy for that?"

You don't even mean to be a brat, he’s sure. It's not an honest challenge. You just sound genuinely surprised. He nods. He's got all the energy for the world if it means being with you.

That gets you moving at least. You squirm under him, limbs awkward and trapped between his thighs. He peels you out of your jeans and rolls his eyes when he sees you've got a second pair of pants underneath.

"It was cold out!" You protest, raising your hips to help him get the layers off.

"It's not that cold out. You got long johns on under these, too?"

"Keep this up and you won't find out."

That shuts him up.

His stomach lurches, arousal hot and tight from the way you're swinging your hips at him. He fumbles with his belt, unwraps himself and tosses the packaging off to the side, where it lands under the tree with the rest of the presents. His fingers tease along your slit, nudging the wet patch you've left along your panties. He wants to bury his nose in you, surround himself with your scent and your taste, shake his head and burrow as deep as he can get.

But when his fingers curl under the elastic of your waistband, you click your tongue. He stills, frozen by your directive.

"Can you ask nicely?"

He wants to scoff. Impatience and irritation are bubbling in his gut, but your demand makes his cock twitch and he could have sworn he felt his fucking balls draw up.

"Please." He drones, fingers tugging at your panties.

"You can do better than that."

"I could just leave you here."

He's not going to do that. You both know that’s an empty threat. Leon grips the fullness of your ass, squeezes it under his palm. His hand draws back quick, a sharp smack filling the room. He hears you muffle your squeal into the cushions. He sees your fingers clench, sees you drag the nearest pillow closer, hugging it to your chest. So easy.

"Ask." That's not a request. It's a demand. You're doing your best to sound tough, your face buried in the pillow, ass still wagging at him like a bitch in heat. He hums, weighs his options.

"Can I fuck your pussy?" He presses his chest to your back, lets you feel the weight of him. You've told him so many times how you like that- you like the feeling of him surrounding you. You like being trapped under his weight, the way he pins you down. His cock strains against your clothed pussy. He wraps an arm around your waist, skims his hand up your chest, in the valley between your tits. His thumb strokes over a peaked nipple, plucks it to a point, and pinches. "Please. I'll make you cum first."

If the way your back arches is any indication, that may just have been the selling point.

"Gonna cum inside?"

"We'll see."

That must be your final straw. He's pushed you too far. You turn your head, cheek cushioned cutely against the couch.

"You cum inside or not at all." Your voice is firm, dark. He wishes he hadn't been so adamant on pressing against you, because he knows you felt the way his cock kicked. He sees your lips twist into a smirk.

Leon's in no mood to wipe it off your face. His baby wanted him to stuff that pretty pussy, who was he to argue? Give him five minutes to recharge, he'll paint your back, too. Maybe your chest.

His lips press to the back of your shoulder. The fingers pinching your nipple relent. He strokes your breasts reverently instead.

"Okay," he agrees, breathless. "Inside."

Your eyes linger on him, watching to see how serious he is. He does his best to look honest. His fingers smooth over his harsh touches, the devotion pouring from his fingertips. You grab his wrist, bring his hand to your mouth and wet his fingers for him, drink it down.

He leans back just enough to squirm his hand underneath the soaked fabric of your panties, slick fingers parting your folds again and again, pressing deeper each pass.

The way you sigh makes his gut tighten and squirm. He dips his fingers in you, the first sliding in so smooth that he adds the second after the first pump. His mouth lathers the nape of your neck with kisses, his breath hot and terse against your skin. Try as you might to seem unaffected, he sees the way that your skin pricks. 

Leon sets a steady pace, works you up to three fingers. Gotta get you ready for him – though the way you moan and rock, you clearly needed this more than you let on.

"Vibrator's in the drawer." He knows a command when he hears one. Doesn't have to be told twice. His superiors always liked that about him, and you appreciate it too. He commits the way your voice quivers to memory, banks that one for his nights away. He leans back, opening the drawer of the side table. He doesn't even question it until it's on and humming in his hand.

"The side table, huh..?"

Leon’s voice wobbles with laughter. That's not where this little guy usually lived. His fingers resume their pace, pumping into you steadily. He presses the head of the vibrator just above your clit, watches the way that you squirm. He can't take much more of this, not when he sees your pretty, kiss swollen lips part and hears you moan like that.

“Got lonely without you,” you admit. Your voice drives him insane, heat pulsing through him with every pump of his heart. Got that airy, whiny quality to it, your thighs quivering like you aren't sure whether to squirm away or chase after all the sensation.

He crooks his fingers inside you, feels you squeeze him and pulse. His cock aches. You bury your face into the pillows to smother the way you moan his name. He needs another hand. He needs fist his hand in your hair and drag you up so he can hear you cry his name over and over.

Not now. Later. Focus, Leon. Your pussy's got him high, lost in the pull of your body. He keeps the vibrator firm to your body, doesn't let you run from the way he’s making you feel. Your back bows, chest pressing to the couch, and he chases you down, lips smattering you neck with sloppy kisses, nipping at your skin, encouraging you with sighed praises – “There you go, baby, just like that, let go, I got you, just let go, cum for me –” and the pride he feels when you shake under him, squeeze his fingers to hard he’s surprised he still has circulation, has him panting.

Goddamn. You’re dripping down his arm, pussy squelching so obscenely around his fingers. He lifts the vibrator away from your clit to give you a break, turns it down just enough to keep you wound up. Doesn’t want it to hurt - not this time.

"I have to be inside you," he groans. You whine, legs spreading wider. Your knee slips off the couch, and rather than put it back up, you brace your foot against the floor to stay spread for him.

"Yeah," you breathe out. Poor baby. That's all you can manage, isn't it?

He shoves his boxers down mid-thigh, fingers drawing out of you. He sits back and lifts his hand to his face, makes a show of licking your mess from his wrist and fingers. That little whine you let out drives him fucking crazy. His fingers curl, sticky with remnants of your juices and his spit, against your hip, leave a tacky wet splotch against your skin. He draws the head of his cock through the wetness of your pussy, slow and torturous. The glide is effortless. He hasn’t prayed in years, but thank god for your cunt.

His hips nudge, head teasing your messy hole, and – Jesus Christ – he just meant to tease you, but your pussy pulls him in, warm and wet around the tip of his cock.

He pulls out, his body and his brain screaming at him – traitor – for pulling away from you. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Blow his load then and there? Hell no. You’d never let him live it down.

You whine again, needy and insistent. The noise is  muffled and frustrated in the press of the pillow. He needs more hands. Wants to pull your hair, force your head up from that pillow so he can hear you properly - but he's got to keep hold of your hips. He presses the vibrator back to your clit, and it’s got you squirming away from him. Leon was trying to buy himself some time to calm down, but this isn’t helping. He’s got to be inside of you right now, or he’s going to explode - and he promised he’d do that inside of you.

He positions himself at your entrance again, almost frantic. The first rock of his hips is clumsy, has him sliding up through the cleft of your ass. He tries again, slides through your folds again, the weeping head of his cock nudging at your clit. The vibrations ripple through his cock, and the whimper he lets out is humiliating. He swears under his breath. He doesn't have the control to pretend that was on purpose. 

His hand drags from your hip to guide himself into you in a series of quick, jerky thrusts. Leon sighs, stairstepping, relief flooding his veins, when your walls finally take him. His pace evens out into something slow and steady. It's a struggle to remember to keep the vibrator where you like it, the way his brain is so fogged with the way you squeeze him. He leans back, hand on the globe of your ass, spreading you apart to watch the way you take him. So wet and messy, sloppy noises driving him crazy. This is the kind of shit that keeps him up at night, that has him fucking his fist and cumming on his stomach in some remote corner of the world, painfully far from you.

He tosses the vibrator aside, the way it skips and jitters against the floor lost to him in the chorus of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass. Leon feels what little hold he has over himself slipping from his grasp. He can't control the way that his hips rut against you, the push of his cock against the velvet walls of your cunt. He could lose himself in you, spend all his days buried to the hilt in you, balls slapping, teeth wearing at your shoulder, burning memories of this moment into your skin.

His breath comes quick and hard, his forehead buried in the crook of your neck, his moans a litany of your name. He wants you, needs you, can't stop the way his pace has quickened to a frantic beat. His teeth find your earlobe, tugging insistently just to hear your moans sharpen into a keen.

You tighten and pulse around him, a gush of fluid slicking his cock, and he's not certain that he's still on this earth. Your voice breaks on his name and his vision blurs. His fingers find your clit in the haze of pleasure that clouds his mind. It’s a clumsy replacement for the vibrator, but they're his, warm, rough pads that press against you, send your head spinnin. Leon doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. He wants you panting, breathless, boneless, wants you limp in the cushions below him while he pounds into you gooey cunt.

It doesn't take him long. You're whimpering and soft below him, trying fruitlessly to match his thrusts, your fingers clenching and unclenching against the pillow. He's lost in the haze of your body, and his orgasm almost takes him by surprise. He slows to a grind, rolling his hips deep into you again and again, the head of his cock pressing deep, his load spurting against your walls. His moan is broken, high-pitched - a whimper that will burn into your memory, your name sweet on his tongue.

Leon collapses against your back, his chest heaving. He tries to keep his weight off of you, but his limbs are too heavy. His hands slip down your sides, grasp your hips, and turn you, press your back to the couch.

"Good boy," you murmur. He huffs a laugh, kisses that teasing smile on your lips. You pat his shoulder limply.

Good, he thinks, still catching his breath. Got you all fucked out.

His hands slip back up your sides, craddling your ribs. His thumbs trace gentle arches across the curve of your ribs, his head nestled in the valley between your breasts. Your hand returns to his hair, much softer, petting him gently.

It feels like home. He's made it back. He won't leave, not for a while. He's not sure that he can. His eyes slip shut, the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights and the warm pull of your body lulling him into security. Dully, he remembers grab the vibrator from the floor and click it off. The silence that floods the apartment blankets over the both of you.

He doesn’t want to break the serenity of this moment. Your hair pet his hair, nearly lull him to sleep then and there. All his grand plans of round two, of making a mess of you, are slipping through his fingers in the warm glow of your apartment.

“You wanna open your presents now?” You ask him, voice heavy. Another swell of pride. It sounds like he’s worn you out. Maybe he could go for another round.

“It’s not Christmas yet.”

“I know,” you whine, “but I’m too excited.”

“I haven’t even wrapped yours yet.”

“Don’t care. Just open yours.”

He feels you squirm under him, trying to shuffle off of the couch. No doubt you want to fetch his gifts, force him to open them. Leon presses his full weight down onto you, pinning you under him.

“Nope.”

Your protests fall on deaf ears. He’s won’t give in, not this time. He already messed up the parade, he’s not messing up the gifts. He wiggles his fingers against your ribs, trying to silence your bargaining by making you squirm.

Your laugh fills the apartment. Leon smiles against your skin. That’s the sound that makes this place home.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi mods! I'm new to the fandom so I was shocked seeing the AO3 tag for the first time. Largest fandom I've joined by far (difference in fic count is in the tens of thousands), so thank you so much for your hard work!! After finishing S2 I've read great fics where Aziraphale apologizes/decides he made the wrong choice, but I've had difficulty finding fics with a POV that A + C were both asking the impossible of one another. I was wondering if you have any s2 recs where that's explored? TY again!

Hello and welcome! Here are some fics in which they talk and both of them acknowledge mistakes...

undercover by Lilian (T)

Aziraphale seeks a broken Crowley out to talk to him again. This time they do slightly better. Story picks up right from where the show left us.

Three Kisses…and then Rabbits. by impatient14 (M)

The thing is, Crowley didn’t know. Not entirely, at least. Not in the same way he knew the measure of every nebula, the heartbeat of every star. He wasn’t given the tools–wasn’t afforded the right–to know. He’d thought around it, of course. He’d spent many a moment (or century) daydreaming impossible things. He’d read enough books and seen enough movies to feel pretty confident about the mechanics, at least. He’d even written a little scene or two himself–carefully vague, of course, and never to the extent of his mind’s vivid imagination. Given an Effort, his body responded the same way theirs do; it was all pleasant ache, shivering heat, and dazzling hope. And yet. When the moment came, it wasn’t what he was promised. *** Or, three kisses between and an angel and a demon.

the human custom of wrong love by pinklemonades (T)

He supposes he should’ve seen it coming from the moment they met in the garden when their lives became inextricably intertwined to the point of mutually assured destruction if either of them tried to leave. (or in which Aziraphale realizes that Heaven will never care for him the way he wanted them to, Crowley can’t figure out why he can’t let go and leave as easily as Aziraphale did, and the two lovers realize they need to learn how to love without hurting)

You must remember this by HolRose (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley have their extremely alcoholic breakfast at The Ritz at the angel’s invitation. Important conversations are had, harking back to their shared experience of one night in 1942. A canon-compliant fix-it fic.

only then i am human by Angelofsmalldeath69 (G)

When his phone rang he let out a squeak, heart stuttering. He stood up so fast his chair almost fell over, and paced for a moment before grabbing the phone. “Hello?” “Hello, Archangel. The demon has arrived! I’ve been asked to let you know.” Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut, holding the phone to his ear with both hands so it wouldn’t fall from his trembling grasp. He managed a thank you, set the phone down, and grabbed the edge of his desk to keep him upright. He could do this. So what if he was the worlds worst liar? Who cared about his awful case of stage fright? None of that mattered, not when it came to him. If he had to put on a show to keep his beloved safe then Goddamnit- this would be the greatest performance of his life.

- Mod D

[esteljune]

Jhonny "Soap" MacTavish x surgeon f!reader

Synopsis: It's Christmas Eve, Johnny is on temporary leave at his family home. He didn't have the courage to ask you to go with him because you've only been dating for a few months and you have to work anyway. As soon as you tell him on the phone that you'll be working the night shift, he feels like an idiot for not asking you to come with him so he jumps in his 4runner (thanks @brewed-pangolin for introducing me to this mindblowing headcanon) and drives for over three hours straight to come to you.

____________________________________________

As you watch him walk out the door, you've never once protested, never hesitated, always showing your best side. Your best, which is equivalent to sincere love, the most tender dedication, the broadest understanding.

Every time that blue-eyed giant leaves you behind, a piece of you inevitably goes with him, a piece of that heart that now beats wildly in front of his tender and apprehensive gaze.

It's hard not to get carried away knowing that this ridiculously and scandalously attractive guy drove like a maniac on a holiday just to see you again.

He had drawn you to him by grabbing the stethoscope intertwined around your neck, a satisfied and cheeky grin painted on that face so painfully close to your heart that it made your stomach churn.

Whatever you had wanted to object to his madness had been silenced by a kiss. One of his. So deep and all-consuming that it clouded your brain, keeping you anchored to his hot skin, to that rapid breath with a vague scent of tobacco and coffee.

"As much as the prospect of kissing you for the fifteen minutes of break I have left is definitely tempting, Sergeant. Can you tell me why you're here? Like, for real." you murmured on his soft lips, in the pause needed to catch your breath, the stubble on his scarred chin tickling your face.

"Steamin' Jesus. Because I wanted tae ask ye tae come to Glasgow with me when I came back, but I didn't. Instead, ye'll spend the night with your hands inside someone's chest." he cursed in that thick Scottish accent that was capable of making you lose your head on its own. His forehead pressed against yours, desperately.

"Johnny, stop worrying about me. I'm fine. And I'll be fine tomorrow. Knowing you're happy and safe is all I need right now." you breathed a smile, and you meant it, you meant it with every fiber of your being.

And yet, that pain, that insecurity so deeply rooted inside you had not escaped those brilliant ice blue eyes.

If he had known words strong enough to tell you how Soap felt, he would have done it, but he was not like you, his world was all action, adrenaline, discipline, control, instinct. There had never been much room for that oppressive and nameless feeling that had crushed his chest since the day he met you.

For Johnny, actions were worth much more than his limited arsenal of words.

"Here, take these. I want ye to keep them. For when I'm gone." he grunted with a breath caught in his broad chest, as his big, calloused hands nervously fumbled around his neck.

He almost awkwardly pulled off the dog tags, now dulled by the time spent resting against that familiar body, and dropped them into your hands. For a moment you could have sworn you felt him trembling. Your heart skipped a beat.

"I can't accept them, you stubborn Scot. Your blood type is written on them." you muttered, trying to camouflage your burning cheeks, the words dying in your throat.

"It's also on my combat gear." Johnny grinned in response, with that childish and mischievous smile that had often almost made you slap him.

"You always have a quick answer, don't you?"

You looked at them, more intensely and for longer than you would have liked. The truth was, you were afraid.

"I can't, Johnny. Keeping them... It would almost feel like you're never coming back to me." you confessed in a barely audible whisper, your heart sinking a little in your chest.

His rough fingers on your chin had the effect of an electric shock, forcing you to lock eyes with his prodigious blue ones.

"It's just a wee loan, aye? You decide if and when to give them back tae me. I'll always be here." he smiled and you felt like you could breathe again.

"If I could tear me heart out of my chest and leave it with ye, I would, lass. Ye'll have to settle for these."

That promise seemed to imprint itself so deeply inside you that you thought it would leave a scar.

"You can't say these things to me, Johnny. I'll end up believing them." you replied softly, praying with all your heart that it was true, that his absence would not one day destroy you.

Seeing in his eyes that he had caught the doubt that had slowly crept into you broke your heart.

"Hen..." he began in a hoarse whisper, again searching for words he didn't know.

The sound of your pager interrupted him and the moment was already gone.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” you smiled, brushing your fingers against his achingly beautiful face, his icy eyes melting into yours and turning your blood to lava.

“Go. Save the world, bonnie.” he was so proud of you that he felt his chest might burst. Whatever he had wanted to tell you, he was sure you knew it already, you knew everything, even before he confessed his love to you. You had understood it before he did.

He loved you, and he let you go.

______________________________________________

Please bear with me and my poor imitation of Johnny's accent T_T unfortunately english is not my first language

[fluffle-writes]

Yuu: So what kind of eye flavor do you have?

Malleus: That is, so wrong. Yet I’m intrigued by what you asked little friend.

Would the others outside Heartslabyul have eye flavors?

Also where is their mouth how do they eat? Is the flame that is inside the lamp in malleus head like a mouth? Incinerating everything he puts in?

Does the eye of the Heartslabyul residents double as one?

Weirdcore AU Masterlist Here!

Ooh, cool questions! I'm probably gonna get rambly as I answer them - worldbuilding is fun! Now, let's see...

I don't think many of the guys have features that stand out as being edible for Yuu - I feel like the eye flavours work best for Heartslabyul since it's like how flowers have nectar... Perhaps they can catch prey like that... Yuu is not beating the prey allegations (Leona would probably call them 'prey' instead of Herbivore lmao)

Epel has his apples as I talked about here, and the eye goop was elaborated on in this post, but until something stands out to me, I can't really pin anything down.

I suppose, if I give Azul tentacles, I could say that he can regrow them if they're cut off! These tentacles, when cooked, have a somewhat rich, meaty flavour with an underlying taste of ink. Depending on his emotional state when the tentacles are removed, they can either taste juicy and succulent (good emotional state) or somewhat acrid with the inky flavour overwhelming the taste of the dish (bad emotional state)

Now, as for how these guys eat, I feel like it's not so much 'eating' as it is 'absorbing energy' - and there's many different methods that they can use to sap their food (or their prey) of life-energy. I'll elaborate on a few here!

Quick CW Since this got pretty dark!

The following text contains: Mentions of hunting, Mentions of death (specified as slow + painful), potential vaguely implied cannibalism - please ask me to tag anything else that you believe I may have missed!

Oral Consumption

Utilised by anyone with a mouth! So, Ruggie (who has tail mouths like Mawile, and a head that opens up like a Demogorgon), Lilia, Rook, and Grim would all be able to use this method! They just sorta chow down - those with stronger jaws may even snack on things typically perceived as inedible to absorb some latent energy to keep themselves running if they're hungry enough.

Root Growth

This is often used by beings like the Heartslabyul guys and perhaps even Epel - who all have plant-like features. They can hold their food in their hands and grow roots into the food to sap it of nutrients! There is a particularly gruesome hunting strategy that some may use, where they grow these roots into the body of their prey without killing it - leading to a slow and painful death for the poor thing.

Burning

Malleus and Lilia can use this method! As you guessed, Malleus can burn through food to release its energy to be consumed! The flames they have are maintained by their life energy - which is why Malleus has so many - and cannot be put out by normal means. (This means that they're safe in water and strong winds!)

Technology

This method isn't often used - but Idia has sensory problems with his teeth and opts to use his more technological features to make eating more palatable for himself. He uses various machines to transform food into code and energy and loads it into his body using ports on his head - he may even consume the memories of prey that he's bought or captured for a more filling meal, using a headset he designed himself.

[cloudninetonine]

A Player's Aid: Chapter 11

Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Linked Universe

A/N:....I'm just sorry OUYDBUDHD but also my tag list got lost, if you could please say if you'd like to be tagged in the comments! (I know I can look at previous chapters but I lost some new names and it would be easier to build from scratch so I have it HDOCDHJ)

Warnings: Foul language, descriptions of gore, violence and mentions of injuries

Enjoy!

The effect was immediate. 

The sound of many boots against concrete was deafening and your vision blurred as Hyrule tugged you along, his grip still tight as you stumbled after the men in the direction of the castle. 

The Hero's instinct is what you deduced, it’s what powered these boys. To jump so readily into action, unafraid of what was to come- these men had a mission to protect the people of Hyrule and you admired everything they did for them. Not even Wind flinched at the scream, didn't hesitate like the others as they raced away from the Sacred Ground, you tumbling along almost unable to keep up with Hyrule's speed (Jesus christ these fuckers were fast-) 

You finally broke through the treeline to see the scene before you- horrid and bone-chilling as it played out. 

A lone adventurer had seemed to be downed, blood running down a deep gash on their arm in rivers as they tried desperately to claw away from the behemoth of a creature, hissing and spitting towards them as it stalked closer, the giant skull on its back just as intimidating as its many eyes and snapping fangs. 

Skulltula were always intimidating enemies in theory. Spiders were already scary, making them the size of a horse with a withering skull on their back, legs similar to knives and pincers dripping with what you could only guess to be venom only made them even more terrifying- you didn’t want to shame the Zelda graphics, but there was no way, from the deepest and darkest depths of hell they could even begin to bring justice to the creature that stood before you all.

"Not a fucking Skulltula…" You whispered in a blood-freezing horror, ducking behind Hyrule when it turned towards your group, seemingly hearing your words. "Christ on the cross, set it alight." 

With another hiss, it dashed in your direction, your whole body locking up only for it to cry out in pain as an arrow landed right in one of its many eyes, the group dashing forward with Hyrule removing something from his pocket and pressing it into your hands: a dagger. 

"Stay here." He held your cheek softly. "I'll be right back." 

He turned towards Wild, situated in front. 

"I've got them." The blonde reassured, sending him a knowing look. "Don't worry." 

With a firm nod, Hyrule ran to the group sword at the ready with a pat on Wild’s shoulder, your eyes wide in awe as you watched him hurl a phantom red projection of his sword right at the gigantic monster, its shrill calls making you cringe.

As its wails pierced the air, you could vaguely see Sky raise the Master Sword with a calculating look on his face, an almost holy light climbing up the length of the sharpened blade until a familiar sound reached your ears and the hero slashed across the air, the sight of a skyward strike cutting through the lengths of grass and slicing one of its many legs clean off its body, the appendage flailing before disintegrating into dust as the monstrous bug got even louder.

Sickening to see this close.

"Stay behind me." It was a soft order but you weren't about to defy him, slightly ducking behind him as he continued to aim at the Skulltula, the men fighting valiantly. "I promise to keep you safe."

You dug your fingers gently into his tunic. "I know you will, no need for promises."

His ears fluttered subtly at the words.

Watching the guys fight up close was much better than watching from afar, you could have only imagined just how amazing the fight from the riverside bokoblin must have been- breathtaking would have been too small a word to use, there wasn't any word the dictionary that could begin to perfectly describe how the boys fought. Calling it a movie scene would have been underrated, no, it was an art piece even with something as pathetic as a Skulltula, these men looked as if they had just been plucked from the Renaissance itself and you almost went breathless as you continued to bear spectacle to the scene.

Their footwork, their swings, the looks on their faces- they were heroes alright, not a doubt in your mind would refute that. Wild's steeled gaze and the way he handled the bow were just so amazing to you, he was a professional of course but there was an energy about him, not the goofy wild man but the hero that bore the Triforce of Courage.

You were in the presence of some of the strongest men in the current world…

Twilight and Warriors had rushed over to the fallen victim while the others had continued with the battle, arm over each shoulder as they had hauled them further away with reassurances of safety, appearing close to your side as they fished into their bags for a potion to deal with their wounds. The gash on their arm was horrible but the apparent one on their side was worse, bleeding profusely and long, your stomach churning at the mere thought while Warriors called for their attention, deeming this “no place to die.”

…You weren’t about to see someone die, were you?

The idea sickened you to the core.

A cry echoed out as Hyrule used a nearby boulder to leap onto the back of the great beast, the shrill shrieks of the horse-sized spider bloodcurdling as the Hero raised his bejewelled sword and thrust it into its head, tainted blood gushing onto the grass below leaving a bloody mess.

Your heartbeat pounded in your own ears as the monster screamed.

A horrid sound, disgusting and gut-wrenching, you felt even more nauseous as you were able to hear the faint sound of a popping squelch as your hero dug the sword deeper and deeper, blood spurting onto his forest green tunic and catching some of the other boys also. 

From your vantage point on that cliff, the destruction of these creatures wasn't something that had gotten to you but seeing this was way worse than your own imagination, no matter how majestic the men looked as they fought, this was still disturbing when the valiant filter was pushed aside. This wasn’t the pg-rated game any more, the one you would play for hours when you were younger, not a care in the world as you gathered the convenient drops- this was real life, these were real living things-

And this was real gore.

You gagged, hiding your face into Wild’s shoulder to force away the morbid curiosity as the other heroes continued to beat down the monster, its shrills engraining into your mind as one of the boys dealt the finishing blow.

(It had been Legend, watching Hyrule flail about as the Skulltula tried to rid him of its back, the man sliding down beneath the monster while digging his weapon into its stomach as he skidded against the grass, opening a mortal wound that had entrails spilling from its underbelly)

The familiar sound of a monster’s corpse poofing away was what brought you back, shyly peaking over Wild’s shoulder as you watched Legend stand, the stains of his tunic a gruesome eyesore that dusted away in the wind along with the smoke of dark magic that was once the Skulltula, Hyrule’s own caked clothes cleaning in a similar fashion until both were free of the thick, murky substance that was monster blood and huffing from the fight. The two looked at one another, conflicting feelings dancing on their faces until they nodded at one another, a sign of acknowledgement in their tense times.

You felt embarrassed at the shaky sigh you released, Wild looking back at you worriedly as you took a step back to compose yourself.

Why were you even scared? It’s not like you contributed to the fight in any way.

“Are you well?”

“Y-Yeah- yeah I’m good.”

His brows furrowed, his hand coming to hold yours. “You can talk to me.”

Your thumb gently danced over his knuckles. “It’s just…scary seeing them up so close.”

Cringing at his soft expression, your free hand moved to rub at the back of your neck. 

“Monsters are a disturbing sight to many, you don’t need to be embarrassed for your reaction.” 

“I know I just don’t like being some sort of damsel- I can’t fight but I’ve got enough sense to know how to protect myself and it just feels ridiculous and sad hiding behind you like some scared kid.”

It wasn’t a fault of yours, of course, especially in the presence of such skilled fighters it made sense but you couldn’t help it- you felt inferior, you felt weak, you hated having to hide behind your friend and you wished that you could at least stand beside him, a partner more of a cowering fool.

Wild hesitated, his mouth pursing in thought when both your attention drew to coughing close by, the presumed random traveller spluttering as the ranch hand and Captain pulled them into a seated position, the group circling her.

“Are you alright?” Twilight asked, a supporting hand on the person’s back. “Are you able to speak?”

“Yes.” The young woman coughed, covering her mouth with her arm, “Yes, thank you, I thought those moments would be my last.”

A shiver run down your back at the thought of something as hideous as a Skulltula being the last thing you saw before your body grew cold and stiff- would it eat you in that state? Could Skulltulas even eat?

“Do you know of what became of the people here?” Straight to the chase, Time leaned down to the level of the woman, face gentle similar to your shared first interaction, a show of support from such a traumatizing moment. “It was filled with many but now it lays barren.”

Her face curled in confusion. “You mean…you’re not here to help us?”

Your stomach dropped.

Help with what?

She continued. “The head of the people sent a bird not two days ago- we were attacked, by these things-”

“The Skulltula?” 

“Yes- they came in every direction, there were so many, we couldn’t run so we held up in the castle-” Warriors rested his hand gently against their shoulder, a soft mutter of ‘breathe’ leaving his mouth as the person panted, her shaky breaths slowing in an effort to calm her racing heart. “There was an opening and I took it when no one had responded then I got caught by that monster- I- I thought you were responding to our call-”

Time’s face had hardened with each word, his scowl like his sharpened sword. His anger was evident, the lingering tension in his shoulders shown even under that heavy chest plate; you knew why, everyone did, it was very much obvious this was the work of the Shadow, predictable and vile, coming for the public like the coward he was to draw out the many heroes for his own gain and entertainment.

This was a trap.

And a very obvious trap.

And he dragged innocent civilians into this mess.

“Can you stand?”

The woman stumbled over herself before nodding, pushing to her full height with the help of the other elders.

“Good- leave to the nearest Inn, we will clear the castle.” 

Your mouth dropped at the words, looking towards the towering Hyrule Castle in horror.

The whole thing!?

“T-The entire castle?! But that’s not possible!”

Not possible for most, but then again these were the Links you were talking about, heroes of the times- if they had fought against Ganon, Demon King and bringer of Darkness, of course, they could fight off a few Skulltula.

A few dozen sounded a bit of a stretch though.

“We’ll be fine.” There was a cocksure attitude to Warrior’s words, his smile confident and eyes sparkling with his fighting pride. “A few giant insects won’t be getting the best of us.”

Oh yes, he did sound very cocky indeed- you wondered if the woman was judging him silently from his tone, god knows you would have had you not known he was a great hero.

She tried to argue more, stumbling over her words and trying to reason however it reached deaf ears her stance slowly falling as the group began to discuss their next plans- Wild was the focal point of this, after all this was his home and he knew it like the back of his hand, planning a rescue mission was going to fall to him. 

You studied her for a moment now that you could- pale skin, black hair and dark eyes, just a regular-looking adventurer who seemed to be caught on the wrong side of things.

Something felt…off though. Maybe it was just your skewered sense, or your simple wary nature after being thrown through a magic portal by a magic shadow.

It felt like one of those scenes in movies: discovering the wounded adventurer, aiding them in their time of need and watching as the hero lets them accompany them on their quest, after all, it’s not a hindrance right? Betrayal would usually follow, disguised by that weak damsel now shown to be their deceitful enemy this whole time, tearing apart the group by the seams and leaving them all to rot with nothing but a prideful cackle.

Yet, that was the work of fiction, this was real life (such a strange thought now that you pondered it) and so nothing like that would happen, right?

“Please, let me at least join you!”

…right?

Your eyes narrowed, watching the expression on her face then shifted to study the rest of the men, sharing uncertain glances with each other.

Did they feel a similar unease or did they simply want to keep this woman safe?

“I don’t think that’s for the best-”

“My family is in there! My friends too! I’m not just gonna sit by while they’re suffering!”

Any persuasion was met with refusal, the woman becoming only angrier with every second until Time let out a sigh, steeling his gaze as he looked down at the woman.

“Your name?”

She stood taller, “Maggie.”

“Do you even know how to handle a weapon that hangs off your hip?” This was a test, you could tell, the complete shift in his personality was a warning of sorts for what was to come- you would reasonably back down from such a hard look and you were positive that was what Time was trying to do. “Fought any monsters? Been in any battles?”

It didn’t work, as shown when Maggie glared right back. “I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

“Seems you can’t.” Legend quipped and Time sent him a scolding look, the pink-streaked blonde throwing his hands with a look of surrender. “I’m just saying we saved you.”

She flushed a deep red “I was by myself but if I’m with you guys I should have a chance- strength in numbers.”

Your eyes stayed trained on Time as he listened intently, the others sharing different glances with one another as they waited for their chosen leader to finalise his decision, your shoulders dropping when he sighed in defeat, dragging a hand down his tired face.

“....Maggie, I will be responsible for you if you venture back into this castle with us- so, you must stay close and not stray far, no matter what you see, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, we move now.”

“Old-” Twilight’s mouth snapped shut, eyes averting from the flaming ones of the eldest. “...”

With a sigh, the man backed off, whistling for Epona who perked up happily, trotting back over to the forest. "I'm not taking her in there."

And you couldn't blame him, not with the threat of something like Skulltulas lurking around the castle halls, Epona could be jumped without a second thought- but leaving her alone wasn't an option, someone had to watch her just in case, right? So taking Gilda gently from your hair, you gestured her over.

"It'll be safer for you with her."

She crossed her arms. "(Name), I've been in more fights than you."

"...Gilda please-"

"I'm just teasing! I'll keep an eye on her, you've already got your fairy by your side~"

Had Hyrule been in hearing range you knew he would have swiped at her, so you spared her a chuckle and watched her whizz off after the ranch hand with a shake of the head.

"Should have guessed these fairies were just as cheeky as the fae."

Time glanced back over to Maggie, gesturing her forward once Twilight had returned, adorned with weapon and shield. “I want you to lead us, if you were able to escape then there may be a good chance that it was a blindspot to the monsters.”

You didn’t trust this, not a single bit. Your radar was going haywire, your body pumping the adrenaline into every little crevice within your body, hands shaking as you watched Maggie take the lead, the others slowly but surely following behind her until you were trailing right at the back with your fingers tightly secured around the dagger Hyrule had only given you moments ago.

The traveller had rejoined your side in haste, eyes ahead as his hand came to grab your own protectively, Wild marching on your opposite with a similar protective sense hanging over him.

“He’s got a plan…”

Hyrule muttered more to himself than anyone but Wild wasn’t far behind with his scepticism.

“A dangerous one- thought that was supposed to be my job?” The comedic tilt in his voice did not aid you at all, Wild’s face pinching in worry at your expression. “We’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

You knew they would, they were your heroes and you knew they would do anything to keep you safe.

Yet something told you that it wasn’t going to be that simple.

~~~~~~~~~~

You wouldn’t say you suffered from arachnophobia. Sure, you weren’t a fan of the things, but not in a way to say you had a fear of them. They were certainly freaky looking, eight eyes, eight legs, could produce cobwebs and drunk the blood of flies and other such small insects- but a true fear of them was not what you had, nowhere near. You had seen someone with the phobia, their dropping jaws and the way they raced to the opposite side of the room-

To avoid the tiny money spider that hadn’t even gotten close to them.

That was true fear- that fear would have had them dying right on the spot at the sight before you at this very moment.

The webbing was huge, like sheer curtains decorating the old stone walls of the castle, the few egg sacs a disgusting sight as the men cleared them out, the many Walltula shrieking and spitting fiercely only to die by the steel of the heroes’ blades, monster smoke almost thick enough to choke on.

It was terrifying how quickly the monsters had seemingly taken over, not a place in sight was free of the streams of natural mesh, over the carpets, over the paintings, over the windows and in the doorways- suffocating was the best way to describe it all, especially from the number of times you had walked into the cobwebs, spitting and waving your arms in a horrid frantic boogie to be rid of the texture.

Wind could only laugh so many times.

“Shut the fuck up, Wind.” You had whispered harshly, patting down your tunic once again. “You’re only laughing because you’re too fucking short to get hit by them.”

He waved off your insult with another hushed laugh. “You just look so fucking stupid when you do that.”

You flipped him off, pushing your finger into his face harshly and jerking back when he tried to nip at the skin, calling him another colourful nickname in which he elbowed you painfully in the side.

Fucking hell he was strong for a fourteen-year-old.

"Just around this corner here." Maggie's voice brought you back in, focusing on her head between the many others. 

The feeling still hadn’t gone away, not with you and certainly not with the others- you all knew you were walking right into a trap. The signs were evident to them all, a reason as to why Wind had been sent to the back with you three.

“The old man says as soon as anything sketchy happens he wants us to split!”

“Isn’t that dangerous? What if you guys get hurt?”

“Have some faith, (Name), we’re stronger than you make us out to be!”

You knew that- of course you did! Yet the threat still lay bare to the world. Skulltula were probably surrounding you at that very moment and it was clear that you could all be ambushed at any time, the further you walked into the castle, the deeper and darker it got only certainty grew in your brain that the upcoming fight would be inevitable if you were caught in a small corner.

That had to have crossed the old man’s mind, right? Under the blonde head of hair was a smart man, a calculating one so Time must have had a counteractive plan just up his armoured sleeve. He’d get everyone out of here, maybe with a few bumps and bruises, but you’d all come out of this ordeal alive and well with only a little major life-changing trauma- nothing you hadn’t gone through already.

The thought didn’t help though, not really without some partnering action, the weight on your shoulders only growing with each step you took, each room you passed, each corridor you turned into-

…You recognised this corridor.

Rebuilt and better than ever, with the help of the construction team and two years of passing, the winding path that lead to the Dining Hall was almost unrecognisable, the one you had trekked so many times when scouring the castle as you played. You wanted secrets, you wanted weapons and you wanted Korok seeds, if it meant having to lap the entire behemoth 100 times to get what you wanted you were ready to do it, you had practically memorised the route in game but it seemed the rebuilding of Hyrule Castle alongside the millions of cobwebs and the fact you were currently walking through its corridors had gotten in the way of your near photogenic memory of the place.

The archway to the armoury lay only a few feet ahead, along with the following path towards the library-

“The library’s this way, there should be some patrolling but we can easily get through them if we work together.”

The library….

There was a resounding click in your mind, footsteps stopping before they could meet the stone of the walkway, the dawn finally breaking in your mind.

It didn’t make sense- it didn’t make sense.

These hallways were always full, they were the main paths, why would she go through here when they were clearly the most dangerous routes?

Why did she take this way when she could have gone through-

“The secret passage.”

Pause.

You were staring, waiting, watching for that reaction.

And here it had finally come.

Time had been looking for an opportunity, and that had to be it, a broken piece within the glass that was her facade, once pristine and perfect, now so obviously cracked as Maggie finally paused just a few feet ahead of you all, the Chain having stopped when noticing your further figure.

You had given them all they needed.

“Pardon?”

It was cryptic in a way, horror and thriller running down your spine as your body shook with the adrenaline now running its course through your body as you readied yourself for what was bound to come.

“The secret passage, behind the bookcase.” There wasn’t a way they didn’t know about it, Wild had left it open for fuck’s sake, they had been rebuilding, it had to be common knowledge that Hyrule Castle had a secret passage. “In the library, why didn’t you just go through there?”

“I didn’t know there was one.”

Wild looked at you.

You looked at him.

He shook his head.

Liar- as expected.

“I really fucking doubt that.” The Chain had backed up to you quickly, quietly, aware that one false move would have broken the hypnotic spell your words had cast over them all. You licked your dry lips in an effort to stop the dryness from taking over your mouth. “How could you, as part of the restoration, not know about the secret passage in the library?”

“I’m not part of the team.”

Your voice was shaking. “S-So you just stayed ignorant about the place you were inhabiting for the past year or two? Not a single soul bothered to tell you about the cool secret passage in the library?”

“No.”

You grasped Wild’s hand frantically, terrified tears in your eyes.

“You’re a really bad fucking liar, Maggie.”

You could hear the grin in her voice. “I know.”

Weapons were pulled from sheaths, battle faces pulled sharp as you were quickly yanked once again behind them all, their stances deadly as they waited for something, anything that Maggie- whoever this was was about to bring down on you all.

“Are you with the Shadow?” Time called, a sneer on his face. “Or did you just crawl out from one of its portals like the rest of them?”

She laughed, still refusing to turn around as she did, her voice bouncing off the stones and echoing throughout the area- almost masking the rumbling footsteps that were quickly making their way to your direction, a quick glance back the way you had came showing a Skulltula quickly making its way towards you all- no, many were heading over and a quick glance in the opposite direction showed the same. 

Fuck you were being cornered.

"Link." 

One look and the circle drew tighter.

You were in real danger this time, weren’t you?

“I was just passing through,” Maggie’s voice was quick to change, sinister and cold, curling into this scratchy forced sound as if talking itself was a struggle. "Though I will say that Shadow of yours had an offer too tempting, so I thought why not?"

"And what offer did he give you?"

There was a snap, crack and following pop as Maggie finally turned, your stomach dropping at the body horror of her face expanding to form a snout, skin tearing away to reveal the blue fur beneath and murky gold tint taking over her face.

"The death of the Hero of Courage, of course."

Poof!

The cloud of magic saved you from the horrific scene of the monster’s full transfiguration, dark purple blocking your vision before the sound of flapping wings caught your attention, eyes widening in surprise as you watched the view return to you and replaced what was once Maggie, was a blue bat-like creature also similar to a keese.

"Ache?" You muttered in confusion, backing into Hyrule warily and feeling the man tense beneath you.

Not a common monster, not at all, the eyes of Ganon that hailed all the way from the traveller's timeline- they weren't impossibly hard to beat, well, depending on the Ache of course, a single hit usually was enough to have them out. But that's not what they were for, they weren't exactly fighting monsters, Ache's were pretty much spies for the other foul, grotesque beings, the ones watching for your hero closely so they could snatch him up and use him as a sacrifice for their master: Ganon.

The Ache was here for Hyrule, you knew that and so did Hyrule, so without another thought, you sidestepped to keep him out of its view.

It's the least you could have done.

Even if it was useless in this moment of time.

"I'm not really one for fighting." The creature cackled, hovering a little further away. "So I'll just let them deal with you- no need to worry though, I'll be back soon."

It swooped away into the armoury, just as another group of Skulltula came rounding the arch, their hisses and squeals like nails against a chalkboard.

Shields were up at the ready, swords poised and you, little old you, were in the middle with your dagger at the ready as if you knew the first thing about fighting.

"There's more than anticipated."

"Can we take this many black-blooded?"

"Who's to say they are black-blooded?"

"You think the Shadow wouldn't do that?"

"Enough- stand at the ready, do not break this circle."

The feeling had come back, but then again it hadn't gone away either, crawling up your back, poison seeping into your skin as you glanced around frantically for the feeling.

Something was watching you.

Not the heroes.

You.

Just, you.

And you knew that, because it was the exact same pair of eyes that had stared at you from atop that cliff the other day, menacing, cold and cruel, every dark intention you could think of rolling through your mind space. It wasn't the Chuchu back then, their googly eyes were never that evil, they could elicit a body-numbing reaction, but they could have never brought this kind of primal fear that laid deep into your stomach- not like that night after work had.

Dink was looking straight at you.

But from where? You couldn't see him through the bodies of monsters that the boys were fending off, nor in the Dining Hall, in the shadows of the dark corridor, hell, even the damn ceiling didn't have those red piercing eyes of his.

So where-

Fingers grasped your ankle firmly, nails practically piercing through the fabric and digging into the skin as a deep, breathy chuckle caught your ear through all the noise.

"Got you~"

You didn't have time to scream as you were dragged straight through the portal beneath your feet, catching a glimpse of the others turning in surprise, the feeling of a hand trying to grab yours, a possible scream- before your whole body had disappeared into the absolute black.

It took mere seconds to re-emerge from the inky abyss, spluttering and coughing for stolen breath where your body met the floor violently, cheek meeting the scratchy carpet beneath that tore at your poor, victim skin as you were dragged across the floor, a weird sound echoing through the room before you could take a small glance to see the portal vanish into nothing, leaving a stone wall in its place.

You looked at the area solemnly, wishing it would just open back up to you so you could jump back towards the boys, gut-churning with a violently sick feeling at the thought of looking back.

To make the situation real.

"Awh, are you scared, little guide?"

Yes.

Yes, you were.

[runnning-outof-time]

Tied to You | Modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - written for @peakyscillian ‘s 1.5K celebration

Pairing: Modern!Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: During a laid back Valentine's Day together, Tommy lets (Y/N) know how much she means to him and that he'll be by her side forever.

Warnings: language, implications of sexual situations, brief, vague description of a bad dream, mentions of scars

Word Count: 2957

A/N: congratulations on hitting 1.5K, Laura! I felt that it was fitting that I posted this on Valentine’s Day. I used the prompt: I'm running out of creative ways to surprise you, so this year it'll just be kisses and cuddles, if you don't mind for this and I had a bunch of fun writing it! I hope I did this lovely couple justice. They’ve been through it, so I wanted to give them some respite here. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: Disclaimer: the couple used in this is from the lovely series Family Ties that Laura’s currently writing - I highly suggest you go and check it out!!! This oneshot isn’t meant to continue their story, but rather is a stand alone using their backstory.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

(Y/N) felt like the walls were closing in around her, and she couldn't figure out which door to go through; which door would lead her to safety. She heard the footsteps echoing from down the hall. Sam was coming, he'd be in front of her in a matter of seconds and she wasn't sure which door would lead her to Tommy. And the hallway was dark; no one was around. She was really, truly alone this time. Again. "Where have you gone, (Y/N)?" Sam's voice echoed down the hallway, "(Y/N)?" The breath got caught in her throat. She didn't know what move to make next. "(Y/N)?"

She awoke with a start, her chest heaving as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. Everything was black, spare from the dim light from the moon that was peaking through the curtains. "Where am I?" she asked, wondering if she was awake or if it was just an extension of her dream.

"You're at home, love," the voice that came from behind her made her relax almost immediately. It wasn't Sam's voice; it was Tommy's. (Y/N) was able to feel his arms as they encircled her waist, making her aware of his body behind her. "You're safe. I've got you," he told her, allowing her to twist her fingers with his after she blindly searched for his hand.

"It was a bad dream, Tommy," she breathed, her voice shaky as she tried to settle down again.

"I know," he answered her, "I've got you though, you're safe. Go back to sleep," he finished his sentence by squeezing her hand, letting her know that she wasn't alone.

Feeling his hand squeezing hers grounded her and allowed her to take a deep breath and close her eyes. The fear that another nightmare was waiting for her seemed to fade as she held on tightly to Tommy's hand, and she was able to slip back into sleep for what she hoped to be the rest of the evening.

—

The sunlight was shining through the curtains when (Y/N) opened her eyes again. She blinked a few times, shaking the sleep from her mind before she became aware of the arm that was draped over her waist. She tried to move out from underneath it, but that only made its owner grip onto her tighter.

"You're awake?" Tommy's groggy voice came from behind her.

"I am," she answered him, her voice coming out just above a whisper as a smile formed on her face. She always relished hearing his morning voice. It was something she was not often blessed with since he always liked to wake up hours before her.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked before adding, "for the rest of the night?"

"Good," (Y/N) answered, not commenting on his addition. She rathered letting it go anyway. "It was better being in your arms," she added, her smile widening as she then tried to turn to face him. She was met with resistance in her attempts, and she couldn't help but giggle as Tommy practically clamped her against his chest. "I'm trying to turn and see you," she got out in between her laughter as she attempted to move again.

Tommy didn't relax his hold on her though, "mmm, I like feelin' you pressed up against me though," he gave her the reason behind his resistance, his lips pressing against the back of her neck once he was done speaking.

"But I wanna see you, Tommy," (Y/N) pouted, giving up all of her efforts when it became apparent that he wasn't letting her go.

"I wanna hold you a little longer," he persisted through her pouting. Feeling her still in front of him, his hand moved from her stomach to her hip, and he slowly began trailing it down her thigh. "I love you, (Y/N)," he whispered, his lips right next to her ear as his hand ghosted over the scars that were still evident on her inner thigh, "every inch of you," he added, his hand moving dangerously close to where she always needed him before it continued on its trail back up her hip. A sigh left her lips as she involuntarily pushed herself back against him, hearing him exhale a soft grunt in response to her actions. He held his breath for a moment then before he let out a sigh, "and I'm still so fucking sorry..." he began, his tone now sounding different than it did before.

(Y/N) stopped him before he could continue down that road again. She spun under his hold so that she could be facing him. "Tommy, don't. Don't go back there again. It's in the past," she said to him, looking into his eyes before she slotted her leg between his so that she could move as close to him as possible. She continued to stare into his eyes as a smile slowly formed on her face. "You'll have all day to hold me, Tommy," she said to him in a sweet voice, changing the subject back to something light, "we've got the entire day to ourselves, remember?"

(Y/N) was right. They'd made it a priority to clear both of their schedules for this special holiday, and now they had no plans...well, none that involved leaving the house that is. Valentine's Day had become a special holiday over the last four years. (Y/N) didn't quite know what it felt like to be shamelessly loved on by another person until she met Tommy. Even though he made it a point to show his love for her on a daily basis, his efforts always increased tenfold on this particular holiday.

With everything that had been going on, the couple wanted nothing more than to wrap themselves up in each other for the day, and they planned on doing just that.

"You did clear your schedule, didn't you?" she checked, her eyebrows raising when Tommy didn't immediately respond to her first statement. She held her breath, waiting intently for what he'd say in response.

"Maybe," he answered her, trying his best to stop the grin from forming on his face.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened at his answer and she was immediately propped up on her elbow so that she could look at him straight on instead of sideways, "don't you maybe me, Thomas Shelby. Did you or did you not clear your schedule for today, like you said you were going to?"

Tommy was laughing the second she finished her statement, "I've got my schedule cleared, love, don't worry," he told her, brushing off her minor freak out as he reached his arm out to her again, "now lay back down, won't you?"

She huffed upon hearing his response, shaking her head at his antics before she slid back down into his awaiting embrace, accepting the kiss that he pressed to her forehead as she nestled back into his warmth. "That was not cool, Tommy," she said, her act faltering when she looked at him once more. She was unable to stay 'angry' at him when he had that stupid smile on his face.

"You still love me," he teased her, seeing her act crumble as a smile formed on her face.

"I do," she didn't even try to deny it as she looked into his eyes. She searched them for a moment before she brought her hand up and ran it down his cheek, enjoying the feeling of the slightest stubble that he no doubt would shave off once they got out of bed. "Happy Valentine's Day, Tommy," she said to him then, her voice softer now than it was before.

"Happy Valentine's Day, (Y/N)," he repeated the sentiment, moving his head on the pillow so that he could press his lips to hers in a slow kiss.

(Y/N) kept her hand on his cheek as they savored the moment with each other, smiles on both of their faces. She then pulled back and ran her thumb against his lips as she smiled at him again.

Silence hung around them for a few moments before she broke it by speaking: "I spent the last few weeks trying to think of something to get for you for today," she started, shifting slightly in the bed so that she could prop herself up on her elbows and look at him properly. He turned onto his back as she did this and watched her with a raised eyebrow expression, interested in whatever it was that she would say next. "I quickly realized that I'm running out of creative ways to surprise you, so this year it'll just be kisses and cuddles, if you don't mind," she finished her statement with a bit of a sheepish smile on her face. They stared at each other for a few moments before the anticipation got to be too much for her to bear. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked him, her eyebrows now raised as she waited intently for his response.

"Not at all," he answered her, slightly shaking his head as he spoke. A grin formed on his face as he looked her over, wondering for a moment how he managed to get a woman like her to be his wife. "Your kisses and cuddles are all I need, love," he told her, managing to snake his arms around her so that he could pull her up on top of his chest. He hugged her close to him then, making sure that she wasn't going anywhere as their noses were practically touching now, "and I hope I'll be getting a full day's worth of them," he said, looking at her expectantly as a similar grin formed on her face.

"Oh you most certainly will be," she assured him, her lips finding his so that she could lock him into another kiss that made the fires in her stomach increase with every second their lips stayed connected. Today was going to be a good day.

—

It wasn't until midday that Tommy and (Y/N) finally left their bedroom so that they could find something to eat. (Y/N) was the first to walk into the living area, with Tommy trailing close behind, and what she walked out to made her stop in her tracks. In front of her were two, rather large, vases filled with pink roses that sat on either side of a bottle of wine and two, ornate flutes.

"Happy Valentine's Day, love," Tommy's voice came from behind her, making her remember that he was still standing there as she came back from her state of surprise.

"You didn't have to do all of this, Tommy," she said to him as she spun around to face him, "now my kisses and cuddles are looking like a whole bunch of nothing," she pouted.

A pout formed on Tommy's face as well as he brought his hands up to rest on her shoulders. "I'd take those over some material shit any day, and you should know that," he said to her, his eyes locked onto hers as he spoke to show his seriousness. He glanced over her shoulder at the gifts he'd laid out for her for a moment before his eyes matched hers again, "'sides...this is for a lot more than just Valentine's Day," he told her then. He didn't need to go into detail with what he meant by this; she clearly understood what he was getting at.

A smile formed on (Y/N)'s face as she tried to keep the tears from welling up in her waterline. "Thank you, Tommy," she said to him, reaching over to take hold of his cheeks so that she could press a loving kiss to his lips, showing him how much she appreciated his thoughtfulness.

"Now come with me...there's something I want you to open," he said to her once they pulled away from each other. He took her hand and led her over to the table where everything was set up. Once they got to it, he turned and saw that she had a 'what more do you have up your sleeve?' look on her face. He only sent her a grin in response before he grabbed the small gift bag that was sitting next to the bottle of wine.

"What's this, Tommy?" (Y/N) questioned, surprise clear on her face for the umpteenth time as she accepted the gift from him.

"It's just something that I thought you might like," he answered before nodding to the bag, "go on...open it," he prompted her, making her look down at the bag.

(Y/N) then went about pulling the small pieces of tissue paper out so that she could see the unmistakable Tiffany blue colored, square jewelry box at the bottom of it. She glanced up at Tommy, who was watching her expectantly, before she reached in and pulled the box out.

"Let me open it for you," he said to her, stopping her before she could go about doing it herself. She wordlessly handed the box to him. He smiled at her before he took a step back so that he could drop down onto one knee.

"Thomas Shelby," she gasped, shocked by the suddenness of everything. She had to admit that she was slightly confused by what was going on...they'd been married for four years now; why was he going down on his knee again? "Tommy, what are you doing?" she just had to ask him.

"Don't worry..." he brushed her off, clasping the box in his hands as he grinned up at her.

"I'm not worried," she assured him, a slight giddy laugh escaping her lips before she continued, "I'm just wondering if I should maybe be wearing something more appropriate than just your shirt for you to be doing this," she finished by tugging on the collar of the white, button down shirt of his that she'd decided to put on when they finally left the bedroom.

"Fuck being appropriate," he brushed her off again, his grin growing as he looked her up and down, "I love you, (Y/N)...whether you're dressed in a thousand pound gown or nothing at all. I love you, and that's why I wanted to give you this ring today..." he paused then as he opened the box to show her a thin ring that had diamonds wrapped around its entirety. (Y/N) gasped when she saw it. "It's called the Full Eternity ring, and I chose it to let you know that I will love you for eternity, and that I'm tied to you forever," he ended his speech by looking up at her with a smile similar to the one he wore when he proposed spread across his face.

"It's beautiful, Tommy," (Y/N) whispered, her heart just about ready to burst from the sentiment of his words. She held her left hand out then as he took the ring out of the box and slid it onto her ring finger so that it could rest on top of her engagement ring and wedding band. "I love it...I love you," she said then, smiling as he stood up and allowed her to take his cheeks into her hands so that she could kiss him.

His hands hooked around her waist as their lips stayed locked together, and (Y/N) only pulled away to shriek when he lifted her up and set her on the edge of the table they were standing next to. "You're going to make a mess out of all of this stuff," she pointed out, looking at him with wide eyes before she turned her head to check and see if anything had been knocked over. She kept her hands fastened to his cheeks, but that didn't stop him from leaning in and pressing kisses to her jaw while she surveyed the table behind her.

"I didn't make one though, did I?" he asked, his words holding a cheeky tone, "not yet at least," he added, and (Y/N) was able to feel him smirk against her skin.

"Why don't we have some of the wine?" she suggested, her hands dropping from his cheeks to his shoulders as she rested the side of her head against his. Tommy dropped his lips down to her neck and continued peppering kisses against her skin, unbothered by her movements.

"Maybe you should give me more of those kisses and cuddles you were gifting me, hmm?" he proposed his own idea, lifting his head as he spoke so that he could look at her again. His eyes were clearly hooded over now, and just the sight of that made something stir within (Y/N).

She couldn't stop the grin from forming on her face. "I guess I could make that happen," she responded coyly to his suggestion, and that was all he needed to fasten his hands to her hips again so that he could lift her off of the table and turn them both around. "Wait," she stopped him before he could take a step. He looked at her with a quirked eyebrow, waiting for whatever it was that she was going to say. "We should bring the wine," she told him, her words making him chuckle before she reached over his arm to grab the bottle and two flutes from the table. "Now we're ready," she grinned at him, hooking her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck. Tommy chuckled at her before he finally stepped away from the table and began making his way back to the bedroom. Today was a good day indeed.

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @lora21 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cilliansangel @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster

MASTERLIST

Here’s the ring Tommy gave (Y/N):

[taste-thewaste]

fic pride tag

thank you so much for the tags my lovely friends <3 @bigassbowlingballhead @eusuntgratie

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

this is going to be interesting because I have to be nice to myself and proud of my work lol let's goooo (all of these are firstprince because i'm vanilla)

1. Gorgeous. Another short little dude in my T Swift series, inspired by the song. This is the first line, and I've always loved it:

They are in a small bar in Paris, drunk on French 75s and the nearness of each other, staring at the Eiffel Tower when Alex starts making fun of him.

2. i wanna touch your body (so fucking electric). my beloved first smut fic!! so proud of how this one turned out actually. here's my favorite bit of the boys sexting each other

Later that night, when Henry is safely sequestered in his rooms and able to do what he likes, he opens his text thread with Alex and sends a barb of his own.  Thinking about the way your dick looks when it’s curved against your belly. You’re so fucking pretty.  Alex’s phone goes off, and he looks away from the skillet that he’s cooking chicken in to check. He reads Henry’s text and his cheeks flame, a bolt of lightning heads straight to his groin, and his dick stirs.  Pretty? Yes. You have a pretty cock, Alex. Sue me.   Alex moans, and he can’t think of what to say because his mind is flushed with want and need. Luckily, Henry seems to know this and follows up.  I want your pretty cock in my pretty mouth so I can hear you beg.  Alex’s dick is painfully hard, and he’s grateful for just a moment, in his haze of arousal, that he’d swapped his characteristically tight jeans for sweatpants when he’d gotten home. He manages to tap out a response before he starts taking care of himself. I’d be begging so loud that we’d rattle the ghosts of all those dead gay kings in that castle. I’d peel the wallpaper with my screams for you, baby.   Alex finishes coming as soon as the smoke alarm in the kitchen goes off. He’s burned the chicken.

3. i could've danced all night. henry tutu fic!! this fic is so filthy, and i love this bit

“You…your dick is, uh, ahhhh, cock, and…” is all Alex manages to spit out before throwing his head back and abandoning all pretense of sexy talk. He can’t focus on anything but the feeling of Henry’s giant hands on him ( seriously , is anything about this man tiny?) and how close he is to coming.  “My ‘dick is cock’, eh? That’s eloquent. Pure poetry, love,” Henry says with a low, throaty laugh, feeling himself going even harder than he already had been. Alex cock drunk is his favorite thing; the idea that he can fuck Alex stupid does something to him. He strokes even faster, shutting Alex up before he can even attempt some kind of comeback.

4. only bought this dress so you could take it off. alex in a little black dress and red bottoms! utter filth. here's my favorite part.

Alex knows what’s coming soon, who’s coming soon, and the thought brings a grin to his face. “Look at you, so out of your mind that you’re reduced to fucking a carpet because you just can’t get enough. It hurts, doesn’t it, you little slut? It hurts but it feels good, it feels so good , doesn’t it?” He punctuates each ‘good’ with a dig of the heels, and then Henry screams, fucking screams like his spirit is being wrenched from his body.  He waits until Henry’s finished—he can tell by the way he is just lying there, spent, his body heaving and out of breath—and then he steps off. The vague part of Alex that is still himself underneath the fog of arousal that’s clouded his head wants to pull Henry up, clean him off, make sure he’s okay. That part, however, is locked in the recesses of his brain, and he wants to keep going because it’s his turn now, and by the look Henry gives him when he sits up, he knows that, too.  “Come here.” Alex snaps his fingers again, and Henry starts to rise to his feet. “Did I say to stand up? I said to come here. ” Henry stops, looks up at Alex like he is confused, but he isn’t, and Alex knows it. He drops to his knees and crawls forward, his knees pushing through the mess he’s made without even thinking, moves forward until he is right in front of Alex.

5. turn the desert to glass (you would be the one). henry's tummy fic, the fic I am most proud of. i worked so hard on it!! here's two of my favorite parts bc i can't pick just one

After a few moments, Alex rests one hand on the lower part of Henry’s belly, where he’s the softest, and leans over to grab another spoonful of mousse. “You look like the most pampered, spoiled, overfed little prince right now,” he says in a low voice as the bite of rich dessert disappears down Henry’s pretty throat.

and

A tiny sound squeaks past Henry’s lips, a sound he can’t control but knows will drive Alex mad, a sound that means more . Alex slips a finger inside of him, and another, opens him up like he is a book he’s been dying to read, and Henry bares down shamelessly, his own hand twisted in the sheets at his side. 

6. Your Lipstick, His Collar. my multi chap emo early 2000s college au being co-written with my bestie! this fic is so. much. fun. and here's a bit I love from one of my chapters:

“Here, you dropped this.” Alex’s iPod, suddenly pinker than anything in the world had a real right to be, is being handed to him. Alex looks up finally and his stomach does a flip as Henry’s eyes, as blue as any ocean he’s ever seen, lock with his. Now that he’s up close, he can see the remnants of yesterday’s eyeliner still smudged around Henry’s eyes, and he wants to know why and how and when and where he’s worn it. He wants to sit next to him and watch him put it on. He wants to watch Henry squeeze into those jeans that are really too tight to be allowed, really too tight to be anything more than a major tease, and he wants to…oh, he has to stop thinking right fucking now because things are going to get even more awkward if he doesn’t. “Thanks,” Alex says quietly, trying to not think about the feeling of Henry’s fingers against his as he takes the iPod. They’re soft and gentle, and all he can imagine is the delicate way they must hold an eyeliner pencil. “I like that song,” Henry says, and Alex can’t handle the way the words come out of his mouth, the way they fall from his lips in the lightest, most dignified accent, like the gentle flapping of a bird’s wing. “What?” Alex blurts stupidly, the word falling from his lips with a thud and rolling down the sidewalk like a giant turd. Christ, he’s an idiot.

7. take me out, and take me home. my newest, my lil baby!

Alex tells him the things he’s never told anyone, and Henry places a hand on his knee while he talks. He is quiet and still and holds Alex’s words with so much reverence and care. In return, Henry tells him the things he’s most afraid of, the things that have hurt him the most. He stares Alex in the eyes and gives him pieces of himself that he has never given to anyone. 

tagging: @england-would-fall @henrysfox @agostobuwan @stratocumulusperlucidus @priincebutt

@piratefalls @doublecheekedkinard those are my 7 but please feel free to use this open tag and tag me if you want to do it!!

[theredofoctober]

PUMPKIN: A TRAP 2024 DARKFIC - Part One

Synopsis: Cooper encounters a woman deeply in love, and decides he must shatter her and the girl she cares for the most

Pairing: Cooper Abbott/Adams x Female OC x Female OC

Main TWs (all others tagged): Rape/Noncon, kidnapping, violence

Read under the cut

🎃 🎃 🎃

It was when he saw her in the homeware store that Cooper decided he’d have her. The young woman was not his usual type, either for killing or for sex. She was overly thin, flat under a faded Deftones hoodie, her dark hair worn in a ragged mullet like a thatch of fox tail down her neck. Shapeless jeans hung low over the spines of her hip bones, and her fingernails—clipped down to the quick—were bilious with nicotine.

She had a narrow diamond of a face, like an elf's, or an urchin’s, and she held herself with the slack, loose-shouldered stance of a boy’s awkward arrogance.

Her age Cooper was unsure of. Twenty-four, perhaps, her young skin marked all over in aimless line-work tattoos that put him in mind of insults etched on a roadhouse bathroom wall.

He’d noticed her in town a handful of times, sneaking joints behind a restaurant, with her arm around a puppyish blonde girl. Pacing with her cell phone held between chin and shoulder, grunting her way through a dispute with some unseen person apparently able to decipher the absence of language. Knocking on someone’s door with a guitar case slung over her back, jittering restlessly for another smoke.

The cracks in the young woman’s life were of no subtlety, Cooper had thought then; there would have been nothing brought to light in murdering her.

Yet as he looked at her now, slouched with one hand looped through her pocket, studying a garish arrangement of Hallowe’en candles on a nearby shelf he decided he wanted her.

The quiet process of sniffing each cylinder of scarlet wax, the tenderness that warmed the bland grey of her eyes into some finer colour as she typed out a rapid message on her phone— here there was an unmarred and simple happiness that tugged at Cooper like the first numb lick of cocaine.

Suddenly he ached for the bony star of her flailing body under his, her ragged fingertips like parcel string about the massiveness of his arousal. Afterwards he’d scrub himself with chemicals of the smell of her cheap cologne and the lush salt of her sex and go home to his wife, whom he’d make love to with a safe affection a realm apart from the ripping flame of the rape.

Blinking, Cooper shook himself of the fantasy and arranged his face into a look of affable entreaty.

"Excuse me,” he said—he took pleasure in the quick jerk of her head towards him, a nervy female hostility at the approach of man. “I was wondering if maybe you could help me with something."

He watched the young woman's eyes skirt away from his, her mouth upturned in a grimacing laugh.

"Uh, sorry, man. I don't work here."

"No, I know,” said Cooper, with a patient eagerness, “but I have a daughter who’s into all this stuff and I just don't know what to get for her. I mean, there're so many.”

He raised his eyebrows, affecting a baffled, paternal chuckle until he saw the woman's angular posture slacken.

“I don't want to disappoint her and pick one that isn't ‘pumpkin spice’ enough for her, or something,” he said. “I figured maybe you could advise me. You seem to know your stuff."

The young woman flashed him a mollified grin. Her teeth, like her nails, were vaguely yellow; the cigarettes would have to go, Cooper thought, ground out like the star of her joy.

"I'm shopping for my girlfriend,” the young woman said. “She's the expert. She's crazy about Fall and pretty much everything about it."

An idea came to Cooper of vicious brutality, and he smiled to keep it from reaching his eyes with the taint of its darkness.

"Gift hunting too, huh?” he said. “Then I guess we’re in this together."

"Yeah,” said the girl. “Guess we are.”

She lifted a candle in the shape of an iced coffee cup and shook it lightly for emphasis.

“Anyway, a good rule of thumb is to choose one that comes in a cute container, then your daughter can like, use it to store stuff in afterwards or whatever. And it's got to be really sweet. Like, the whole house is gonna smell like Hallowe'en for about a month."

"Gotcha,” said Cooper. “So, maybe this one?"

He picked at random, and the young woman tapped her chin in thought.

"Hmmm. I don't know. How's the scent?"

Putting his nose to the ceramic pumpkin holder Cooper shrugged, all playful despair.

"I don’t know. They all kind of smell the same to me, but anything for my little girl, am I right?"

"I hear that,” said the young woman, and the phone in her hand lit up with a saccharine confession of love ringed in a garland of emojis.

"That your girlfriend?” asked Cooper.

“Yep,” said the woman, slipping the device into her back pocket with a sheepish grin. “That’s her.”

There was that provoking self-assurance again, the concept that all life was made good by the presence of her lover.

“And how long have you two crazy kids been together?" asked Cooper.

At this the woman hesitated, and he sensed her cool towards him slightly as her former suspicion ebbed in again.

Still, through politeness she answered him.

"Just coming up to three years."

"Congratulations,” said Cooper, and he made a point of gesturing with his left hand so as to draw the girl’s attention to his ring. “My wife Rachel and I have been together for— well, a heck of a long time now. Two kids, a beautiful home, and it just gets better every year."

As directed the woman glanced at the band on Cooper’s finger, and a soppy expression of longing came over her.

“No way. Good for you, man. That’s the part I’m looking forward to, you know?”

"You'll get there,” said Cooper, and offered the woman the hand he’d sanitise compulsively afterwards of her touch. “I’m Cooper, by the way."

"Slim,” said the woman; she took his fingers with a limp shuffle, that of a young person unused to such formalities. “Well, it's Stevie, actually, but yeah. Everyone just calls me Slim."

"Slim,” Cooper echoed. “Wow. Pretty cool."

"Yeah? My girlfriend's name is Sunday Moon. Now that’s cool. Her parents are sort of New Age-y and all."

Only through practiced suppression did Cooper withhold a scathing remark. Being that he himself had bestowed his children with deliberately common names in order to further conceal his monstrous nature, Cooper held those who expressed their questionable individuality through their offspring in contempt.

Then there was Slim, or Stevie, itself a short form of Stephanie, rendering the former nickname redundant. Someone had given it to her, Cooper supposed, thinking it droll, and she had tucked it behind her ear like a cigarette to keep as her own.

He wondered why. The old name perhaps was like flypaper for memories she’d rather leave hung up to die. Then again, it might be so simple as ‘Slim’ being a suitably edgy pseudonym for the rock star she and her dishevelled bandmates aspired to become.

The banality of this mystery intrigued him. He would have it out of her at length, croaked through lips split on his butcher’s fists until the syllables were one with her blood.

Aloud, Cooper said, "Sunday Moon... she's gotta be a special girl to pull off a name like that."

Something of a swagger took hold of Slim then, her thumbs looping through the belt of her voluminous trousers.

"Yeah, she's pretty amazing. Just a total ray of sunshine."

"So do you guys live together, or—?"

"We have an apartment together, yeah. It's kind of shitty, but it's alright. Right now it's all that we can get. I'm a bartender, she's a freelance artist; we're not exactly rolling in dough, but we make it work, I guess."

Cooper imagined little blonde Sunday Moon waiting, half-dressed, on a second-hand sofa for her lover’s return, and saw with cinematic clarity how he would draw her out of that capsule warmth into the cold of what he was.

"Well, you kids keep at it,” said Cooper. “I'm rooting for you."

"Thanks, man,” said Slim, and looked down at her chosen candle. “Well, I better go pay for this."

Shaking his head, Cooper moved past her towards the counter, cash in hand.

"It’s on me."

Slim’s eyebrows vanished into the doggish fronds of hair over her forehead.

"You don't have to do that."

"No, no,” said Cooper, and he put his arm out gently to gate her from cutting ahead of him with her own card. “I insist. You've done me a real favour. I'll be Number One Dad when I come home with this baby."

He made cheery conversation with the cashier as the young woman hovered beside him. She smelled of men’s cologne, Dove soap, and Mitchum deodorant; her cheap attempt to make clean her person enticed him in the notion of how cruelly he’d pick it apart.

"Thanks again, dude,” said Slim, taking the packaged candle gingerly from the countertop. “See you around.”

She went away, the shopping bag clutched like a twist of gold in her thin hand.

*

As Slim leant against her truck to light a cigarette in the parking lot she thought of Cooper, and how in the days of mud before Sunday Moon she would have taken a guy like him home from a bar, ring or no, without pleasure or aim in the act.

She was attracted to men, but didn’t often like them; they seemed to her always a stumbling foot behind in their attempts to connect with her, even the nice ones, who were sometimes worse in their eager haste to prove themselves outliers of their class.

Cooper, with his oblong, hulking frame, the ageing pretty boy looks, and out of date hairstyle— he would have been a more generous lover than most, Slim thought, but he would have made flat little jokes hedging around the age gap, or her politics, or the tattoos until she turned him out, wincing and wanting to air the room of his presence.

It relieved her that she’d never feel herself compelled into that bland ritual of suffering again. Sunday Moon smelled always of sweet apples and cotton candy by the way of an endless array of pink products barely suppressed by the bathroom cabinet door. Her skin was like white ribbon wound soft around Slim in the night, her pale hair pastel at its ends like the fringe between dreams and waking— Slim breathed in the lovely filth of her cigarette and sighed, eyes squinting lazily at the rolling fruit of the sun.

Cooper had been kind, but Sunday Moon bore Slim’s ashtrays, and piles of rumpled clothes, and the many shed strands of brown hair about the apartment uncomplaining, and that was love. Slim would drive home to her through a red marsh of leaves, and she would light the new candle, and she would fuck her girl into a giggling orgasm until her mouth was ripe with the taste of her.

Glancing down at her cell, a message from Sunday Moon surfaced as though by psychic link she’d felt her presence at the fore of Slim’s thoughts.

Miss you 😘

Slim typed back, holding her cigarette between her teeth like a cowboy in an old sepia film.

miss you more... btw I got you a new candle baby

She opened the paper bag to snap a quick picture, grinning at the instant and rapturous response.

😍 I love it!!!!! ❤️ Can’t wait for you to come home!!! Love you sm 🌈

love u too. what movie do you want to watch later?

Practical Magic 🧙🏻‍♀️ 🧹 the best!!

you got it boss

A male voice piped up at Slim’s right.

“Hey again.”

Cooper stood loading his shopping into a black vehicle, the sheen of its paint so pristine as to resemble the polished marble of a tombstone. Slim wondered idly how he kept it so clean while presumably ferrying two children around.

“Hey,” she said.

“Heading home?”

“Yeah. It’s movie night.”

“Same here. Disney, if the kids have any say in it.”

Cooper shut the trunk and threw Slim a little salute.

“I'd better get on my way. Safe journey home.”

“Bye.”

Slim tossed her cigarette and trod on the stub, aware of Cooper watching her as he strapped himself into the driver’s seat of the car. Likely he was the clean type, one of those men that were turned off by the taste of nicotine in a kiss. Maybe he was even sober, or drank precisely two beers over the game and declared himself finished for the night.

Yet he’d been attracted to her, this man, she sensed, likely for no other reason than her youth.

Slim shook herself of her ruminations, uncertain what it was about Cooper that had spurred them to begin with. Perhaps it was that she wasn’t used to kindness for kindness’ sake except from Sunday Moon; the scent of it from another had her on bitter edge.

She got into the truck, aware of the car pulling out from beside her, and of Cooper’s jaunty wave through the windshield. Then with a twitch of her shoulders she took off from the lot, turning the stranger from her mind as she would have done from her bed, years ago.

*

It was on a quiet road struck at by a thousand staffs of rain that Slim realised there was something wrong with the truck, an unidentifiable sound in the gut of it like the snarl of some discontented animal.

Cursing, she parked up on the hard shoulder and got out to stare ineffectually at the vehicle. She knew little of mechanics, being accustomed to nudging one of the band members to take a look at it in exchange for weed or a round at the bar.

Zeke and Ennis were out of town, and the other three, being of lesser expertise, were unlikely to provide any service but a light ribbing over her misfortune.

Cursing, Slim fumbled for her cell phone, shielding the screen with one arm from the rain.

Another car pulled up behind her; a door opened, and as she turned, squinting against the downpour, something struck her in the temple, and with a clap of pain at once bleak and tremendous she felt herself dragged down into a moor of night.

*

Slim regained her hearing before her vision, a voice distorting against her eardrum like a sound made underwater.

“You awake yet?”

Slim attempted to open one eye, closing it at once against the sting of saffron light from above.

“What... what’s going on?” she rasped; her throat was raw with thirst. “Somebody hit me...”

“Yeah, sorry,” said the voice. “That was me. Had to get you down here somehow. Shouldn’t be any lasting damage, so thank me later. I know what I’m doing.”

Slim felt the carriage of a cheap plastic chair beneath her, package tape bangling her wrists and ankles. Smelled the sterile fug of isopropyl, and the stale underground tang of a room rarely used.

“What?” she said. “What’s happening right now?”

The voice—a man’s, pleasant, reasonable—chuckled lightly.

“Maybe I did hit you a little too hard. My bad.”

With effort Slim opened her eyes again. A large man crouched grinning before her like a clown visiting a hospice ward, his brows at a comic inch above the thumbprints of his eyes.

“Wait,” said Slim. “You’re that guy from the store. Cooper?”

“That’s right, Stevie,” said the man, leaning forward to give her knee an affectionate pat. “But I have another name you might have heard of. It’s been in the news a few times lately. All those dead people winding up in pieces? Yeah, that was me.”

With effort Slim fished through a stew of bleary memory for context, and when she came upon it she gave a kick against the chair leg, forcing herself back across the cement floor away from him.

“The Butcher,” she said. “No way.”

“Afraid so.”

From Cooper’s first appearance in the homeware store Slim had tasted the canker in his soul, and had merely thought it the venom of her own prejudice. Now as she stared into the cisterns of his eyes she saw his pleasure in the ease with which he’d taken her in and the thought of what may come after.

“So you’re going to kill me?” asked Slim. “You can’t. Please. My girlfriend, she’s waiting for me, she’s —”

“I know, I know,” said Cooper, feigning boredom. “I get it. She’s all you have. I saw it when you were getting all googly eyed over those stupid candles. Then I got a look at that picture on your phone, and that’s when I knew I had to have both of you.”

Slim glanced about in wild, helpless search of escape from him. No windows, a door up a set of steps with a complex key pad, minimal furniture— Cooper had designed this room with meticulous purpose to serve as his flawless trap.

“Look, man,” said Slim. “Do what you want to me but don’t hurt Sunday Moon. She’s such a good fucking person. She doesn’t deserve to die down here.”

“Woah, now,” said Cooper, raising his palms. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m not going to kill you girls. I want to keep you. Not my usual M.O. I’ll admit, but the thrill when I thought of keeping you both down here together until every spark of that perfect love disintegrates? I just couldn’t resist.”

Dread burned through Slim like a shot of iced vodka, and when she spoke again it was in loose, rattling fragments, phrases severed by her trembling jaw.

“So, what, you’re.... you’re gonna make us... do stuff with you? That’s, uh, it’s fucking twisted.”

Quite casually Cooper reached down to touch his pocket where the outline of a knife handle bulged against the fabric.

“Careful. I’m the guy that chops people up, remember? Would you rather I change my mind and do that instead?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Slim protested, but Cooper only smirked and bent down to untack the bonds around her ankles until they fell aside in gummy bows.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do. I have the urge, and when I get it the monster in me just takes over. I’ve got to get it out of my system so I can go home to my family with a clear head. So I guess we'd better get started.”

He popped the button of Slim’s jeans and towed them down her kicking limbs, pausing only to take off her shoes. The garment he folded into a tidy rectangle beside the chair, her footwear placed nearby, the tongues pulled out and straightened.

Slim found herself amazed by the care he took in these trivial motions, as though he were not about to split her on the axe of his cock for his own maniacal pleasure.

She was unable to look at Cooper as he groped her through the leg of her undershorts, finding a snowfield of bare wall upon which to unfocus her gaze and let the dulling yard of whiteness in. He rolled his thumb gently over the furl of her clitoris, his other hand clasping her thigh, the wedding band—a wicked lie—upon her.

“Pay attention, Slim,” said Cooper. “I want to see how I compare to pretty little Sunday Moon.”

“Don’t,” Slim whispered. “Don’t talk about her.”

“Why not? Does it feel like cheating?”

It wasn’t, Slim knew that, this offence of the flesh she had not chosen, but she almost wished the man had killed her rather than carve from her the response he sought as he ducked his head to drink at the creek of his making.

His tongue sanded a sensitive head of nerves, two digits opening her aperture like a fold of paper art; Slim couldn’t help but think of Sunday, of how her soul would sink like stones in a suicide’s pocket to witness this.

How she would against all evidence to the contrary believe the attack her fault for having allowed Slim to head out alone.

Cooper lifted his face from her cunt to take in her expression, the scattering of hair upon his chin almost black with the dye of her body’s terror.

“If I’m not mistaken you’re actually enjoying this.”

Slim sat in a sling of silence, her teeth sucking a garnet slit into her cheek.

Thick fingers dug four roads of bruising across her thigh in demand of her attention.

“Steeevie,” said Cooper, in a nasty singsong. “Talk to me.”

“I fucked other guys before you,” Slim blurted out, “and they were all better than you. And so’s Sunday.”

Cooper tilted his head at a scathing angle.

“I’m not sure I believe that. Hey, I’m married. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

Again he crushed his face to the forest fire that was her forced arousal, and Slim ground her jaw against it, conjuring upon the wall a reality in which that heat would have burnt him to the bone. She hated the twine of pleasure that unravelled at the touch of his ring hand on her thigh, the grunting pig of instinct that responded to his tongue within her.

She feared what he’d do when he tired of her, as men always did before she had of them.

In the end she yelped as Cooper’s touch consumed her, the emission of her agony a sweet, clear wine within his thirsting mouth.

“You’re pretty when you come,” said Cooper, rubbing himself down of her moisture with antiseptic wipes he’d produced from one of his pockets. “But that look in your eyes? Even better. Let me guess. Daddy issues, am I right? He isn’t in the picture. Mom isn’t either; that’s why Sunday Moon's all you have.”

“What do you care?” asked Slim, miserable with defeat.

Cooper shrugged his large shoulders airily.

“Just something I wanted to prove. You looked so happy when I saw you. Sure, you’re a little rough around the edges, but still, for a minute there you really looked like you had everything you needed. Turns out that’s not exactly true, is it?”

Slim stared at him, awed by how little humanity remained in so ordinary a face. Every micro expression seemed false, a reflex of repeated action, nothing more.

“Well, let’s get you off that chair,” said Cooper, and he took to Slim’s remaining bonds with his knife, humming an off-key melody under his breath.

Slim thought she recognised the song: Save Me by Lady Raven. Sunday Moon had often played it around the apartment, swaying barefoot in one of her flouncing miniskirts as she flipped pancakes or worked on a new painting commission.

With a sick start it occurred to Slim that Cooper hadn’t lied about having a daughter, that this animal was indeed a father; how well did he shield this self from his children and from his wife?

Slim stiffened as Cooper lifted her from the chair onto a nearby mattress, too wary of the blade to struggle against him. Something crackled under the top sheet: a coat of plastic put down to protect the under layer from errant stains of whose source Slim did not wish to ponder.

She sat with her arms around the bolts of her bare calves, observing Cooper from the shying corner of her eye as he fell to his haunches again.

Her cell phone was in his right hand, the keypad illuminating the lock screen.

“I really want to finish breaking you,” said Cooper, “but I need your girlfriend here to do it right. So you’re going to open your phone for me so I can contact her. What’s the passcode?”

Slim thought of the man going through her private galleries, the intimate clips she’d saved from heady nights in Sunday Moon’s arms.

“You don’t need my phone to find her,” she said.

“No,” said Cooper, with a strained patience, “but it’ll make it a lot easier. I could break into your apartment complex and kill everyone that sees me before I get to her, but I’d just hate to do that. Way too complicated. If I can get Sunday Moon to come to me it’ll save a whole lot of lives.”

Slim envisioned bodies scattered like roses of flesh, blood swimming the bland corridors in a sea of Revelation. Her lover oppressed by the Butcher's heaving body, blue and breathless.

“Please,” said Slim. “You can’t mess Sunday Moon up like this. You can fuck me all you want, any way you want. I don’t give a shit. Just don’t do this. Don’t do this. Not to her.”

Sighing, Cooper withdrew his knife again and tapped it against Slim’s cheek. The blade was warm from having been stored against him, and she shuddered as much from that quality as the threat of its edge.

“The passcode’s 31109,” she said. “Happy?”

“Absolutely,” said Cooper, and with a wink he slipped the weapon into his jeans again. “Now I’m going to arrange a date with your girl. But first—”

Slim heard the tone of her phone camera being set to record and blinked up into the doleful sphere of its eye.

“Smile,” said Cooper. “I want to commemorate this special day together.”

[necromeowncy]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

I've been tagged by @pewterkat ! Thank you for tagging me! :D

How many works do you have on Ao3? Currently at 23! 22 for Final Fantasy XIV and 1 original work.

What's your total Ao3 word count? 182,581 at the moment! But I have thousands upon thousands more in WIPs that I should probably post at some point. lol

What fandoms do you write for? Mostly Final Fantasy XIV for the WoL x G'raha ship, but I'd love to publish some Karlach/Tav fics at some point for Baldur's Gate 3. (I have a high elf wizard that's in love with her.)

What are your top 5 fics by Kudos? 1. Heat - a heat fic. Pure smut. Very horny. 2. Delights - a collection of short kink fics. Also very horny. 3. Fantasies - a visual novel about sexual fantasies. 4. Here at Memory's End - the first wolgraha fic I've ever written. Slowburn love story from ARR to the end of Endwalker. 5. Reflections - A collection of shorter fics that fit in with Aedric & G'raha's story, as well as other MSQ characters. (Some of my best prose is in here, in my opinion!)

Do you reply to comments? I do! Sometimes it takes me several days/weeks/months, but I always try to. Sometimes social batteries are low and it takes me a bit, but I read and appreciate every single one, and go back and read comments all the time to feel loved.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? My Lightwarden AU, Unrequited. It's a bad end to Shadowbringers in which Aedric turns into a Lightwarden. It's angsty, but also supreme monsterfucker. I went full-blast monsterfucker on this one. Still a favorite to this day.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Hm. Most of them? lol. I am a romance/fluff/erotica writer. They all have happy endings.

Do you get hate on fics? Not really on fics themselves, but on social media. I just block though. *shrugs*

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Oh honey. Yes. (That's an understatement.) I seem to specialize in "soft nerds who are into BDSM/kink". I love soft service dom/sub who learns to let go and enjoy. I love the desperately horny. I love the enthusiastic consent. I love soul mates who fuck each other as if every breath, every touch, every movement of body against body is proof that they are here. That they are together. That they are loved and safe. One of my favorite fics I've ever written is Verdancy, an introduction of sorts of Aedric & G'raha's dom/sub BDSM journey. Though the most on-brand quintessential Aedric & G'raha smut is definitely Bibliophilia, in which the two nerds fuck in a library.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've ever written? I do not write crossovers, but I wouldn't be opposed to it! I'm not sure which crossover though lol

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Not to my knowledge, but I'd be 100% okay with it if I'm asked first!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? In a way? I have a small WIP with my friend (he doesn't have an XIV Tumblr, but he's on AO3 as Indasha) in which our two WoLs and G'raha are bound together as the three Fates. So a bit of a poly ship. (Gee, Aedric, how come you get two catboys? lol) My friends and I had a vaguely Greek Gods AU. If people want, I can post snippets and screenshots from it? Just send me an ask if interested, I guess haha

What's your all-time favorite ship? Seeing as how this is my XIV/writing blog, it's very obviously WoL x G'raha Tia. 🥺 They mean so much to me.

What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? I intend to finish every single of my WIPs, and I never consider them abandoned. Ever. Instead, I'll give a preview of what I'm currently working on, when I have time to write lately: - Vampire AU (we all know this lol) - A fic about shibari/bondage called Vermilion. G'raha ties Aedric up. G'raha POV. - His Inflorescence, part 2. I'm over halfway done.

What are your writing strengths? I think my strengths are showing moments of intimacy and vulnerability. People have told me I'm good at combining the horny with the soft, too.

What are your writing weaknesses? Writing scenes with more than two characters lol Also, dialog. I always feel like I'm horrible at it.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I speak French, but don't know where that would ever come up in my fics? (Maybe Ishgardian curse words lol)

First fandom you wrote for? Oh boy. When I was 17 years old, I wrote two fanfics for Axis Powers Hetalia. I liked Sweden/Finland. I'm no longer in that fandom, but they're still a very cute ship to me, even after 13 years.

Favorite fic you've ever written? While I love most of my fics, Hunger, my Vampire AU, is my favorite of all time for many reasons. It's the first fic in which I wrote an original plot that's not influenced by canon events at all. It's going to be the length of a novel, when finished, most likely. Once it's done, I may stick it back into the writing soup and let it simmer and see if an original novel comes out of it. Who knows.

If you read this far, consider yourself tagged! :D Especially if we are mutuals.

[tiresias-the-prophet]

Wyvern angst

Tags: Rape, non-con, Sa, kidnapping, gang rape, trauma, torture

!THIS IS A DARK FIC READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS IF I MISSED ANY PLEASE TELL ME SO I CAN ADD THEM REMEMBER YOUR MENTAL HEALTH MATTERS MORE THAN A STUPID FiC ON TUMBLR!

Wyvern was vaguely aware of the feeling of Makorav slicing her skin again. The cool air of wherever he was on his exposed body. Fluids hers or his on them dried tears on her cheeks. "This'll show Graves what happens when he leaves me. I can't wait for him to come crying back to me when I frame his precious Price and Nikolai for your murder~." She hears Makorav muse slicing her thigh again.

She tried to speak but she couldn't. Her throat raw from screaming earlier. "What cat got your tongue~? Y'know you can't fight back and no one will find you maybe I should take advantage of this~" He says Wyvern's eyes widening in panic when they realized what he meant. She heard the distinct sound of pants unzipping before a pause before Makorav spoke again. "Maybe I should let some of my soldiers have a go at you to I'm sure they would be grateful" He said chuckling before radioing some of his soldiers to come. Wyvern was panicking now breathing heavily terrified.

"Look at this slut" she heard a soldier say after a few minutes hearing multiple soldiers walk In. Before she has any time to process anything she feels someone thrust into her roughly causing her to choke or was there a hand around her throat? She wasn't sure anymore. Her mouth opens in a silent scream as she feels someone grabbing her boobs and someone else shoving their dick in her mouth. People were biting her. Everywhere. But especially her boobs. "If you bite I will kill you" She hears Makorav say and she realizes the dick in her mouth is his.

It goes on for hours the rape, the torture she just wanted it to be over to die. But she wouldn't they wouldn't let her. Not yet anyway. Maybe it was days, she didn't know anymore. But finally she heard a familiar, comforting male voice. Graves he'd found her. "Oh darlin'…" she heard him say as he removed her blindfold they put on her and he untied the top and she almost cried at the sight of her battered body. Covered in cum and blood. rope burns all over her actual burns, cuts she felt like she should cry but she had no tears left.

Wyvern woke up in the infirmary and started panicking. "Hey hey it's ok your safe we saved You. Your home." She heard he friend Vance say and he went to touch her but stopped realizing she probably won't want anyone to touch her as much as possible after what she went through and he pulled his hand back. "M-m-mak" She tried to say Makorav's name to ask if he was still out there but she couldn't speak it hurt too much. "I'm not sure Graves left base shortly after bringing you here and hasn't been back in a week" Vance said figuring out what she wanted to say.

Imma end this here I'll write a pt 2 eventually but I hope you enjoyed it I've never written smut before so I'm sorry if the little bit I wrote sucked I've thankfully never had this happen to me so I don't really have a good idea on what it'd be like so yeah.

[finalgirlkateausten]

“I wanted to tell you in person” + the wwii au 💜

this is my first time writing rhodestead bc i'm certifiably insane. those two have Something Going On okay and now they have Something Going On in like. 1946. i have actually just now decided this is post-war and i may change the au tag or i may not. we'll see!

"Hey," Will says, sliding into the diner booth and running a hand through his hair, "I, uh... I kinda thought we would be meeting somewhere more... well, private." He picks up the mug of black coffee that's already in front of him, pouring a small amount of milk from the pitcher.

"I thought it wouldn't hurt to start here," Connor says, shrugging and giving his usual half-smile, like the other half is a secret hiding the real emotion in his expression. "It's, well. It's earlier than our more outrageous meetups, isn't it? And all you said was that you needed to talk."

"Yeah," Will agrees, his jaw working. "I wanted to sit down and talk with you. Not like a friendly business lunch between vague acquaintances. Haven't we been over this, Con? I don't wanna be following you around like a puppy somewhere I can't even hold your hand."

"Hey, I don't want that either," Connor agrees, his tone softening. "This isn't one of dad's public dinners. I just, I don't know. I thought it might be nice to go out somewhere for a bit. Not always have to hide."

"Yeah, well, you and me? We will always have to hide," Will snaps. "And it's about to get worse."

Connor looks down at his plate of pie, which matches the one he'd pushed over toward Will. "You know, I don't think I'm that hungry. Want to walk?"

"Yeah." Will takes a halfhearted swig of his coffee. "Let's."

"So." They make it a few blocks, and Connor holds out his hand for Will to take. Will squeezes hard. "What did you need to talk about."

"Connor..." Will stares at the ground, watching the concrete under their feet, trying to soak up the warmth from Connor's palm and from his body heat mostly hidden by expensive wool. "I... I wanted to tell you in person. I... I didn't really decide this so much as have it decided for me, but... things are about to change, love." The street they're walking down is empty, but his volume still drops on the endearment out of habit. "Look, I don't want you to be upset about this, but... I'm getting married."

Connor actually stops walking. "Wait, what?"

"I don't have a choice," Will says flatly. "Dad is-- and Jay-- I have to be helping them both, I have to make Dad proud. It'll just be a lot easier, not just for me but for us, if there's a woman in the house. And, uh. Well, Dad wants grandkids."

Connor's facial expression is twisted into something akin to disgust. "What's your wife going to think of you running off to meet with another man in secret? How could this possibly make things easier for us?"

"Because she's in the same boat," Will explains. "Connor, I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't absolutely sure it was the only way to stay afloat, and to stay with you."

Connor blinks in surprise, leaning against the brick wall of one of the buildings forming the alley. "Wait. You're saying you're marrying a woman who's... like us?"

"Just like us," Will murmurs, reaching for his hand again. "She was a nurse overseas, met another nurse... I think she's working as a midwife right now, but her family is upset. She's from rural fuckin' Indiana and now she's alone in the big city with only a strange woman for company? We both need each other. To stay safe."

"But I'm in the same boat," Connor protests.

"No." Will shakes his head. "You're not."

Connor scrubs a hand over his face. "Will..."

"Hey." Will reaches out to take both his hands. "I love you."

Connor looks withdrawn and upset, and Will can feel in his chest that it's going to be a week or two before he agrees to meet up again. Before he can stop himself, he leans forward and kisses Connor softly, stepping away after the chaste gesture and leaving a safe amount of space between them. He smiles wryly. "I'll invite you to the wedding."

"Goodbye, Will," Connor says, turning away but letting his hand brush Will's wrist. Will grabs on.

"No," he promises. "Not for too long."

[monstrouslyobsessed]

some super quick ask answering!! you know the drill.

tw: sex-ual implications, links to n'sfw works, and references to gore

Oh, may I give a few recs? Not exactly the yandere ones, but monster ones – Nemu is a treasure, really! I loved monster design in Lustful Kitty Cat and Tanuki's Lover is rlly sweet xD If talking about more yandere side, A Gently Sea Monster and a Lonely Girl r kinda nice, but I'm not a fan of artstyle.

Hope u didn't mind it, have a nice day!

(here's links on that recs, pls ignore if this is too much x"D)

Few of Nemu works: Lustful kitty cat--- bato.to/series/101308/lustful-little-kitty-cat Kissing is a no-no--- bato.to/series/101223/kissing-is-a-no-no Love Marking(sequel to kissing is a no no)--- bato.to/series/105109/love-marking Pure wet love--- bato.to/series/98787/pure-wet-love Tanuki's Lover--- bato.to/series/105054/tanuki-s-lover-official --- A Gently Sea Monster and a Lonely Girl --- https://comiko.net/chapter/2044214

Again, have a nice day! —anonymous

ive read all of those!! good taste, nonnie <3 especially since ive lost couple links and i couldn’t find them again. tysm!!

note to the curious: all of these are not safe for work!! and a couple may contain noncon. proceed on your own discrete.

Lol don’t apologize, I knew it was gonna be fucked when I read the tags I just didn’t realize ppl were making hentai into psychological warfare nowadays haha —anonymous

yeah (good written) horror pron (as in with legit pron) would do that to ya, theyre not that common though, which is unfortunate as it’s a niche thing i wouldve loved to see more of. pretty rare to find a good / decent story with both horror and pron, more so with the character leads surviving in the end. you’ll find more of these in animation, but in the live action ones (which…i don’t usually browse for, tbh), it’s a huge hit or miss with mostly on the miss since what ive seen is literally just pron on the horror setting and that is it. :\

i do try and contribute to that niche however i can tho lol

Any thoughts on the upcoming FF7 Rebirth game? —anonymous

im broke and i don’t have ps5 :c but also, gimme my vinny boi. where is he.

I think your re-interpretation of the Krasue was cool. I don't see why it would be offensive. But I wonder, when reader saw him without his scarf, he ripped his torso out of the rest of his body? I didn't really understand. —anonymous

sorry nonnie! i tried to keep the story short so ive left out some details (my bad) and ive sorta kept that vague for the readers personal interpretation. i actually kinda imagined several ways the darling couldve caught him changing

i also mentioned that the neighbor also wears long sleeves and gloves, ya? so he was probably all ‘gross’ under his neck thus why he had to wear a scarf. the reader walked in on him ‘naked’.

i also paralleled the scarf to another less commonly known story, The Woman With the Ribbon Around Her Neck, in which if the ribbon is removed, the woman basically falls apart. you can assume that the scarf could potentially do the same, getting it removed would have the neighbor ‘falling’ apart, so to say. the reader walked on him ‘falling’ apart the seconds after he’d discarded his scarf to let his ‘skin’ breathe or whatever.

another way is that, he was hiding the scars you'd have commonly seen with the dead who’d undergone the autopsy, but the stitches couldn’t keep him ‘together’ well enough so he’d have to wear a scarf and everything else to hide the fact that he was basically a walking corpse slash a monster possessing a human skin. the reader walked on him and caught the sight of his abnormal stitches and the neighbor probably started overreacting upon seeing his darling and tore himself out of his body or something. idk.

those are just several possibilities though (i…actually liked them all and i couldn’t decide on which to implement), but all revolving around the fact that the neighbor obviously never wanted to show any bit of naked skin but his face for good reasons + the reader being oblivious / a bit pushy about it.

i actually tried to have the story to sound a little like a common myth to teach a lesson about being too curious / too trusting but idk if that came cross that clearly.

hope that explained some??

and ig im being a bit of worrywart. i never wanted to offend anyone over their cultural values, as their culture is an important part of who they are.

slowly chipping away at my inktober thing. no promises though, since its giving me a bit of trouble and having debates if its too long or not lol

also, yep, im shadowbanned. i'll be posting a bit more about that tonight. gonna try and appeal. sighs.

as always, my inbox is always open for whatever~!