#was describing this guy to N and i had to be like ‘yeah his hairline is kind of receding and he’s only 21. whiiiiich also is a problem.

[fingertipsmp3]

Genuinely nothing will cure you of having feelings for someone quite like describing them to your friend & having your friend almost crash their car in shock

[mitsuristoleme]

He Got That Boyish Look That I Like in a Man

written for @satoruoo as part of the Jjk Secret Santa (i hope you like it)

cw: aged up!yuuji. and by extension other characters. suggestive. fluff. mention of my poly!stsg x reader throuple. gojo and geto’s spouse referred to as [t/n] because technically they’re also a reader character and i’m to lazy to give them a name. megumi is a hater. 1.3k words. gojo is a menace but are we really shocked. gojo and geto’s spouse attempts to rizz up reader.

a/n: i actually have no idea how i wrote this but enjoy!! i love yuuji sm

People described yours and Yuuji’s relationship in many different ways.

Nobara was both happy that her two best friends (not that she would ever admit that she considered any of you her best friends) had found love in each other; and jealous that Yuuji had found a significant other before she had.

Megumi was utterly sick of the dumbassery (his words), something about you each being insane enough on your own.

Todo was glad that his brother/ best friend had a significant other but heartbroken because “how are we to talk about Jennifer Lawrence’s butt now?”

Yeah... Todo weirded you out when you first met him. Who yells “What kind of woman is your type?!” when you first meet someone??

Anyway.

You guys had started dating in your first year at Jujutsu High and the past four years that you had been dating were absolutely amazing. Perfect even. Yuuji is an amazing boyfriend. He cooks for you (the meatballs are KILLER), his body temperature is somehow always perfect for cuddling, and the sex is mindblowing.

The first Christmas eve after you graduate, you follow him down the sidewalk, your hands intertwined, heading to have dinner at a restaurant with your old teachers, Fushiguro and Kugisaki. He’s excitedly ranting about the sushi restaurant Gojo-sensei, Geto-sensei, their spouse introduced him to. Admittedly, you’re barely listening, too distrated by the sparkle in his eyes, the bounce in his step, his ever so perfect side profile, and his muscular build accentuated now that hes wearing a fitted t-shirt and jeans instead of his jujutsu high uniform.

Yeah, you’re drooling over your boyfriend. What? It’s not a crime.

“Baby? Baby are you listening? Hello? Earth to y/n?”

Yuuji’s hand waving in front of your face brings you back to reality and you apologise to the boy for ignoring him, albeit not regretting staring at him at all. You grin abashedly as you tell your now pouting boyfriend, “Sorry darling, but really its your fault for looking so sexy and edible.”

His face flushes a warm pink at your words and he pulls you closer by your waist to press a kiss to your hairline. “Say shit like that in public again and we might end up with a problem sweetheart. We wouldn’t want to leave our old teachers hanging now would we?” His voice had dropped to a deep, seductive whisper, sending shivers down your spine.

With his sunshine boy personality, it was easy to forget that Yuuji was inhumanly strong, and a lot less innocent than he appeared on the surface.

The proximity of his face to yours was causing your heart to pound ferociously in your chest, blood rushing to your face, and maybe somewhere else too. His golden eyes shone with mischief and lust, flicking between your eyes and mouth. His grip on your waist tightened as he took his lower lip into his mouth and you had to fight the urge to kiss him senseless in the middle of the street.

“Yuu,” you breathed out, pressing a kiss to his jawline. “We should go or we’ll be extremely late and Kugisaki will never let us live it down.”

He lets out a huff and pouts, but starts walking to the restaurant you were supposed to be at nonetheless.

As soon as you guys enter the restaurant, you’re greeted by over enthusiastic yells by Gojo accompanied by his arms waving in the air to catch your attention.

T/n rises from the their chair and pulls you into an aggressive hug. You laugh as you hug your favourite teacher back, as they repeatedly tell you how pretty you look.

“Sensei, are you trying to steal my girlfriend from me?” Yuuji joked, as he received affectionate but mildly aggressive headpats from Gojo, all while Geto laughed in his seat. All the while, Megumi and Nobara ignored your existence.

“Yeah actually i am. These two aren’t cutting it anymore,” T/n laughs, gesturing to Gojo and Geto, who make gasps of mock offense.

“Thats not what you said last ni-“

Gojo is cut off by his black haired husband getting up and slapping his hand over his mouth. “Not in front of our students, you fool,” he hisses.

You head off to greet Nobara and Megumi as Yuuji chats with your teachers about his upcoming mission.

Megumi looks up disinterestedly from the book he’s reading as you approach. “Hey Thing 1,” he greets. Before you can give him a response to the blatant disrespect, Nobara shoves a Santa cap on your head.

“HO! HO! HO!” you immediately say obnoxiously, taking special care to say it right next to Megumi’s ear. He glares at your triumphant expression and mouths a silent ‘fuck you’.

Sticking your tongue out at him, you slide into the seat next to Yuuji and rest your head on his shoulder. He turns his head, momentarily distracted from the conversation he was having, and smiles at you. That beautiful dazzling smile that leaves you wonderstruck everytime you see it. He wraps an arm around your waist and turns back to his conversation with Geto.

He picks up his drink, condensation around the cold glass, and brings it to his lips. After four years of being together you realise just how attractive you find Yuuji’s hands and arms. They’re muscular and just the right amount of veiny. You’ve always known his hands were attractive, but something about the dim lighting of the restaurant, soft music playing in the background and being pressed against his side that makes you incredibly hyper aware of everything about him.

The rest of the evening passes by with Yuuji hands constantly resting on you, eliciting mock disgusted glares from Megumi, fake retching sounds from Nobara and fond looks from your teachers, who saw their relationship in their younger years in you.

When everyone gets ready to leave, T/n insists on driving “the kids” home. When your teachers’ car pulls up to your apartment complex, you and your boyfriend thank them for the ride and make the way up to your place.

The elevator ride up to your floor is shrouded in comfortable silence, Yuuji’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his face tucked into the crook of your neck.

You enter your house a little after midnight, absolutely wiped from the night you had. As fun as it was, keeping up with Gojo and Kugisaki’s energy at the same time could be pretty exhausting.

The small Christmas tree you and Yuuji set up a week ago twinkles away in the corner of the living room as you slip your shoes off. The moment you straighten up after putting away your shoes, Yuuji pulls you into a crushing hug.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he whispers. “You look beautiful everyday but you looked extra beautiful tonight. You’re the only Christmas gift I need baby,” he continues, all sweet and perfect and you want to cry and kiss his face off.

“Well then, its a pity I bought you the collector’s edition of the Human Earthworm movies,” you grin.

He gasps and before he has a chance to respond, you kiss him.

He responds with just as much enthusiasm, kissing you lovingly, even going as far as to lean you back into a dip.

You laugh contently as you break apart and straighten up, still pressed into his body.

“I love you so much, Yuu.”

“I love you too baby.”

He scoops you up bridal style and carrying you to the bathroom, both of you giggling like middle schoolers. You wash your faces and finish your night routine, smiling at each other and bumping hips.

You settle into the covers with Yuuji pressed against you, your face resting against his chest. His comforting presence was lulling you to sleep. He had always been such a safe space for you, holding you through countless stressful breakdowns.

The last thing you hear before you black out is a soft “Merry Christmas sweetheart, I love you,” followed by a gentle kiss on the crown of your head.

please don’t copy or repost my work

comments and reblogs are appreciated

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dividers by @/saradika

[aspenmissing]

𝙲𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚊𝚗 (𝙿𝚝 𝟷)

Sam, who is lying on the floor beside a motel bed and coming out of having a vision. The door opens and Dean enters, chewing on jerky and carrying a six-pack of beer. Sam sits up, panting.

"Sam?" Y/N asks, worried laced in her voice.

"No..."

==

Y/N is driving, Sam navigating with a GPS device which speaks directions and Dean sat in the back, leaning forwards.

"Continue on O-R Two-Two-Four West"

"There are only two towns in the US named Rivergrove" Sam says.

"How come you're so sure it's the one in Oregon?" Dean asks. Sam has a flashback to the vision- the Oregon poster is on the wall.

"There was a picture. Crater Lake"

"Okay, what else?" Y/N asks.

"I saw a dark room, some people, and a guy tied to a chair"

"And I ventilated him?" She asks, looking to Sam.

"Yeah. You thought there was something inside him"'"

"What, a demon? Was he possessed?"

"I don't know"

"Well, all your weirdo visions are always tied to the Yellow-Eyed Demon somehow...so was there any black smoke? Did we try to exorcise it?"

"No. Nothing, Y/N just plugged him, that's it"

"Well, I'm sure she had a good reason"

"I sure hope so"

"What does that mean?" Y/N asks, slightly hurt "I mean, I'm not gonna waste an innocent man" Dean raises his eyebrows "I wouldn't!"

"We never said you would!" Dean says.

"Fine!"

"Fine! Look, we don't know what it is. But whatever it is, that guy in the chair's a part of it. So, let's find him and see what's what.

"Fine" Y/N says, leaning back into her seat more.

"Fine" Dean and Sam share a look.

==

The Winchesters pull into town past a large billboard advertising Crater Lake. They pull up in front of a wooden shop; out front stands an older man, who is cleaning a rifle; he wears a short-sleeved blue shirt with a multi-pocket brown vest. Sam, Dean and Y/N get out and approach him.

"Morning" Dean says.

"Good morning. Can I help you?"

"Yeah" Y/N pulls out a badge "Uh, Kate Dawson, Billy Gibbson, Frank Beard" She says and Dean and Sam nod at their names "U.S. Marshals"

"What's this about?"

"We're looking for someone"

"A young man, early twenties. He'd have a, a thin scar right below his hairline" Sam describes.

"What'd he do?" The man asks.

"Well, nothing. We're actually looking for someone else, but we think this young man could help us"

"Yeah, he's not in any kind of trouble or anything; well, no yet" Dean glances down at the man's left arm, which shows a distinctive tattoo "I think maybe you know who he is...Master Sergeant" Dean smiles "My dad was in the Corps, he was a Corporal"

"What company?"

"Echo-2-1" Y/N answers, with a smile. The man looks to her "My Dad worked alongside his. Good friends" The man nods.

"So can you help us?" Sam asks. The man seems hesitant.

"Duane Tanner's got a scar like that. But I know him. Good kid, keeps his nose clean"

"Oh, I'm sure he does. Um. You know where he lives?"

"With his family, up Aspen Way"

"Thank you" They leave; the man frows as he watches them go. Across the street, Sam bumps into a telephone pole and glances at it in passing. He stops; carved into the wood is a single wood: Croatoan. They approach the pole and Sam points at the word with a significant look.

"Hey" The twins look at the pole.

"Croatoan?" Dean asks.

"Yeah" Dean looks at him blankly "Roanoke? Lost colony? Ring a bell? Dean, did you pay any attention in history class?"

"Yeah! Shots heard 'round the word, how bulls become laws..."

"That's not school, that's Schoolhouse Rock" Y/N says.

"You know I blame you for Sammy's smartass talk"

"Roanoke was one of the first English colones in America, late 1500s?" Sam says.

"And the brains" He says to Y/N, he then looks back to Sam "And Yeah, yeah, I do remember that. The only thing they left behind was a single word carved in a tree. Croatoan"

"Yeah. And I mean, there were theories-Indian raid, disease, but nobody knows what really happened. They were all just gone. I mean, wiped out overnight"

"You don't think that's what's going on here, I mean..." Y/N says.

"Whatever I saw in my head, it sure wasn't good. But what do you two thinks could do that?"

"Well, I mean, like I said, all of your weirdo visions are always tied to the Yellow-Eyed Demon somehow, so..."

"We should get help. Bobby, uh Ellen maybe?" Sam suggests.

"Yeah, that's a good idea" Y/N pulls out her cell phone, then frowns at it "I don't have a signal" Dean and Sam does the same, shaking their heads.

"I don't either"

"Same" They walk to the pay phone, which Y/N picks up; it starts beeping, and she clicks the receiver several times.

"Line's dead" She hangs up "I'll tell you one thing. If I was gonna massacre a town, that'd be my first step"

==

The Impala is parked outside a cabin-like house in the middle of nowhere, and Sam, Dean and Y/N approach the front. By the door is a small, tacky plaque that reads 'Born to fish; Forced to work'. Sam knocks on the door, and a teenager boy with dark spiked hair opens it.

"Yeah?" Dean flashed his badge.

"We're looking for Duane Tanner; he lives here, right?"

"Yeah, he's my brother

"Can we talk to him?" Y/N asks.

"Oh, he's not here right now"

"Do you know where he is?"

"Yeah, he went on a fishing trip up by Roslyn Lake"

"Your parents’ home?"

"Yeah, they're inside"

"Jake? Who is it?" A voice says from inside.

"Hi, U.S. Marshals, sir, we're looking for your son Duane" Y/N says as the owner of the voice comes into view.

"Wh-why? He's not in trouble, is he?"

"No, no, no, no. We just need to ask him a couple of routine questions, that's all"

"When's he due back from his trip?" Sam asks.

"I'm not sure"

"Well, maybe your wife knows"

"No, I don't know, she's not here right now" Mr. Tanner says.

"Your son said she was" Y/N says.

"Did I?"

"She's getting groceries. So, when Duane gets back, there's a number where he can get a hold of you?"

"Oh no, we'll just check in with you later" They turn and walk down the steps as the Tanners shut the door behind them.

"That was kind of creepy, right? A little too Stepford?" Dean says.

"Big time" Looking furtively about, they sneak around to the back of the house, crouching below a window. Inside, A woman is tied to a chair and gagged; Jake comes around behind her, hands on her shoulders.

"It's okay, Mom. It's not gonna hurt" Mr. Tanner comes out of the next room with a kitchen knife. Jake stands in front of his mother and casually rolls up one sleeve; his father cuts into his arm and lets the blood drop onto a wound in the woman's shoulder. Outside, Sam, Dean and Y/N arm themselves and kick down the back door. As they rush in, handguns raised, Mr. Tanner rushes at them with a knife; Y/N shoots him thrice in the chest. Jake jumps out the window, shattering glass, and darts off into the woods. Sam aims at him through the window but hesitates, giving him time to get away.

==

Mrs. Tanner is in the back seat of the Impala; as they pull up in front of the clinic Sam helps her out and leads her to the door. Dean and Y/N open the trunk and look around furtively. Sam leads Mrs. Tanner inside; the clinic is quiet, dim, and empty.

"Hello? Hello? We need a doctor here" A young blond woman rushes out, concerned.

"Mrs. Tanner, what happened?" She asks.

"She's been attacked"

"Doctor Lee?" The woman calls and another woman rushes in.

"Bring her in" Mrs. Tanner looks close to tears.

"Okay" The woman leads Sam and Mrs. Tanner into a back room, and Dr. Lee follows. Dean and Y/N enter, carrying the body of Mr. Tanner, who is covered.

"Is that-"

"Mr. Tanner?" Y/N questions.

"Was he attacked too?"

"Uh..." Dean and Y/N share a look "no, actually, he did the attacking and then he got himself shot"

"Shot?" Dr. Lee asks.

"Yeah"

"And who are you two?"

"U.S. Marshals. I'd show you our badges, but uh..."

"Oh. Sorry. Bring him back here"

==

Mrs. Tanner is seated on a stool with her shirt off; Dr. Lee sits across from her, treating the wound on her left shoulder.

"Wait, you said Jake helped him? Your son Jake?" Mrs. Tanner nods.

"They beat me. Tied me up"

"I don't believe it" The blond woman says.

"Pam. Beverly...do you have any idea why they would act this way? Any history of chemical dependency?" Dr. Lee asks.

"No, of course not. I don't know why. One minute they were my husband and my son. And the next, they had the devil in them" Sam, Dean, and Y/N are listening to this, and they share a look at her last words.

"We gotta talk" The three exit the lab "Those guys were wacked out of their gourds"

"What do you think? Multiple demons, mass possession?"

"If it is a possession there could be more. I mean, God knows how many, it could be a friggin' Shriner convention" Y/N says.

"Great"

"Of course, that's one way to wipe out a town, you take it from the inside"

"I don't know, guys. We didn't see any of the demon smoke with Mr. Tanner, or any of the other usual signs"

"Well, whatever. Something turned him into a monster. And you know if you would have taken out the other one there'd be one less to worry about"

"I'm sorry, all right? I hesitated, Dean, it was a kid!"

"No, it was an 'it'. Not the best time for a bleeding heart, Sam"

"Guys come on, don't start fighting now" Dr. Lee stalks out of the lab, her heels clicking loudly on the floor.

"How's the patient?" Sam asks.

"Terrible! What the hell happened out there?"

"We don't know"

"Yeah? Well, you just killed my next-door neighbor"

"We didn't have a choice" Y/N says.

"Maybe so, but we need the county, Sheriff. I need the coroner..."

"Phones are down"

"I know, I tried. Tell me you have a police radio in the car?" Dr. Lee asks.

"Yeah, we do. But it crapped out just like everything else"

"I don't understand what is happening"

"How far is it to the next town?" Dean asks.

"It's about forty miles down to Sidewinder"

"All right, we're gonna go down there, see if we can find some help" Y/N taps Sam on the shoulder "Our partner'll stick around, keep you guys safe" Y/N and Dean start to walk out.

"Safe from what?"

"We'll get back to you on that"

==

Dean and Y/N pull up behind a wrecked car with Oregon plates that read 'WTF 4C7'; they stop to investigate, both carrying a gun. The windows on the car are smashed and blood covers the seats; on the ground by the driver's side is a large bloody knife. He picks it up and looks to Y/N, who is looking in the back, which has a car seat for a baby, she then looks up to Dean with a serious expression.

==

Sam is leaning against a counter, staring at the body of Mr. Tanner. He begins pacing; Dr. Lee is nearby, looking at something in a microscope.

"Huh" she says.

"What?"

"His lymphocyte percentage is pretty high. His body was fighting off a viral infection"

"Really? What kind of virus?" Sam asks.

"Can't say for sure"

"Do you think an infection could have made him act like that?"

"None that I've ever heard off. I mean, some can cause dementia, but not that kind of violence. And besides, I've never heard of one that did this to the blood"

"Did what?"

"There's this...weird residue. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was Sulphur" Sam looks to Mr. Tanner's body then back to Dr. Lee.

"Sulphur"

==

Dean and Y/N drive along the road to a bridge, which is blocked by a roadblock consisting of several cars and a half-dozen locals with guns. One is Jake. Dean stops the car, frowning then looks to Y/N who has a similar expression. Something bangs down on the roof of the car and they jump; a man leans over.

"Oh-ho-ho. Hey"

"Sorry. Road's closed"

"Yeah, we can see that. What's up?" Y/N asks.

"Quarantine"

"Quarantine? What is it?"

"Don't know. Something going around out there"

"Uh-huh. Who told you that?"

"County Sheriff" The man answers.

"Is he here?"

"No. He called. Say, why don't you two get out of the car and we'll talk a little" Dean laughs nervously.

"Well, you are a handsome devil, but I don't swing that way and my friend here is shy, sorry" Dean jokes.

"I'd sure appreciate it if you got out of the car, just for a quick minute"

"Yeah, I'll bet you would" Y/N says. Dean puts the car into a quick reverse; the man grabs his collar and is dragged along. The men at the roadblock begin firing, and Dean wings the car around, shaking the man off and zooming away.

"You okay!?" He asks, looking to Y/N "Are you hit?"

"No, no, I'm fine. You?" He nods.

"I'm fine"

==

Sam is staring intently at Beverly, still huddled on the stool in the lab.

"I don't understand. Are you saying my husband and Jake had a disease?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. Now, during the attack, do you remember...did you have any direct contact with their blood?"

"Oh my God. You don't think I've got this virus, do you?"

"Beverly, I don't know what to think. But with your permission, we'll take a blood sample" Beverly nods and lays her hand gently on Dr. Lee's. Suddenly she grabs Dr. Lee's wrist and yells in rage, lashing out with her other hand. Sam advances on her and she tosses him against a glass cabinet, which shatters. She picks up a scalpel as he takes a fire extinguisher from the wall; she advances on him, still yelling. He knocks her out.

[arvinsescape]

Subspace.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for aaaaaggggeees, I actually forgot I’d written it 🤣, another different sort of writing and I hope you all enjoy (Please remember this is a work of fiction)! 💕💕

Summary: The first time Tom realises his girlfriend is stuck in subspace.

Warnings: Mentions of sex (Minors do not engage), talks of a dom! x sub! relationship, swearing, mentions of an injury.

Something is wrong with you and Tom can’t put his finger on it. You’re not yourself and haven’t been since last night. You seem almost out of it, as if you’re here but at the same time not.

“Shit.” You muttered out as you caught your foot on the edge of the couch and fell onto your knees. This is what Tom is talking about, you’re not usually this clumsy but this morning? You’ve had his heart hammering in his chest more times this morning than you have in the last year of dating.

“Darling, are you okay?” Tom asked as he helped you to your feet, a complete look of concern in his eyes.

“Yeah, just lost my footing.” You smiled as you flopped onto the couch. “Think my legs are still recovering.” You huffed out through a laugh.

“Are you sure? You’re a lot clumsier than normal.” Tom was concerned now, it was growing inside his stomach and he couldn’t shift it, he just couldn’t put his finger on what was going on with you.

“Like I say, I think my legs are still a bit shaky from last night.” You shrugged as you trained your eyes onto the TV.

You’d had an intense session last night, you’d had multiple orgasms and both of you had had earth shattering ones to finish off, the kind that knocked him out almost completely, how tired he was washing over him in an instant. It had been one of your more intense sessions in fourteen month relationship, although you had a dom, sub relationship it was never too out there. Orgasm denials, multiple orgasms, light choking, him tying you up were as far as you’d ventured so far.

**

Tom only grew more concerned as the day went on, especially when he walked through to the living room at 1pm and found you still on the couch. You were in the same position he’d left you in almost two hours ago.

“Darling,” Tom asked and you mindlessly hummed in response. “You’re meeting your friend in twenty minutes.” He pointed out and he watched as you picked your phone up and checked the time, panicking as you saw it.

“Shit, shit, shit. Lost track of time.” You said as you shot past him and upstairs. Of course Tom understood that anyone could lose track of time, it just happened. But you? No, you were the most organised and punctual person he knew, if you said you would be somewhere, you’d turn up ten minutes early, you didn’t do late.

You quickly rushed out a ‘love you’ with a quick kiss to his cheek as you practically ran out of the door. Tom found himself thanking the Gods that you weren’t driving with how you’d been this morning.

**

You came back a few hours later, rushing into the living room and practically throwing yourself at him. You were cold from the winter air and it made Tom shiver slightly at the sudden temperature change he was experiencing.

“You okay?” He asked as his hand came to the back of your head, your face stuffed into his chest.

“I missed you.” You sniffled and Tom was taken aback, this was normal when he’d spent weeks away from you, but hours? You were a pretty independent person, although you and Tom were extremely close, you were by no means completely attached at the hip.

“I missed you too.” Tom comforted as he squeezed you, you pulled yourself closer, making him shift so you could straddle him. Clinging to him as if he’d disappear, although you were a cuddly person by nature you were usually happy just cuddled into his side as you watched TV. 

“You did?” You asked as you pulled back to look at him, excitement in your eyes, almost like a child. Tom furrowed his brows, this was unusual, like he says, you’re an independent person, you were acting like you needed him to say it, needed him to reassure you.

Of course, there had been times where you had needed that from him, when the media or the fans had been pretty hard on you but as far as he was aware that wasn’t the case right now.

“Of course I did.” Tom reassured as he ran his thumb over your cheek and you leant into the minor touch, making Tom take your face in his hand. You seemed to be craving his touch, it seemed to be something you needed he observed over the next hour.

You stayed in his lap, whining when he stopped running his hand over your back or through your hair. Nuzzling so far into him that he was sure you were trying to get inside him, when he got up to go into the kitchen you’d trail behind him like a lost puppy. All of your behaviours making Tom grow more and more concerned over you.

In the last few hours you’d seemingly lost coordination of your body, lost track of time and now you were almost emotionally and physically needy. Not that Tom would ever call you needy, or mean it in a bad way, he just didn’t know how else to describe how you were being.

**

The last straw came when you were making a brew for the two of you, after spending all day seemingly trying to make him happy, needing confirmation from him that your actions were indeed making him so.

“Did I put enough milk in your tea?”

“Yeah,” Tom furrowed his brows, “why?”

“I can make you another if not.” You panicked.

*

“Did I get the right one?” You asked as you brought a blanket down from the bedroom.

“I never specified which one I wanted.” Tom laughed and watched a panicked look escape you.

“Well when you said a blanket you must have had one in mind, I can go and get it.”

“Darling, calm down.” Tom said with furrowed brows as he forced you to sit with him and trying to stop your panic.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy. That I’m not misbehaving.” You said through a panicked voice and Tom’s concern hit a level he wasn’t sure was possible. Misbehaving? You weren’t a child, you weren’t his pet.

“Baby, you do make me happy.” Tom said. “What’s going on with you? What do you mean misbehaving?” Tom asked and he watched as you shrugged.

“I just want to make sure I’m being good.” You shrugged as you settled back down.

*

Tom watched as you filled the cup in your hand, the water rising and before Tom could stop it happening, it happened. The water overflowed and poured out onto your hand, you hissed in pain as you pulled it from the cup, putting the kettle down as you did.

“Fuck darling.” Tom panicked as he instantly grasped your arm and shoved your hand under the cold tap.

“That hurt a bit.” You said and Tom’s eyebrows shot up.

“A bit? Y/N/N, you’ve just practically scolded yourself.” Tom panicked as he continued to keep your hand under the cold tap. “Where were you?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“I don’t know, I feel a bit,” you paused as you thought of the word. “Floaty,” you settled on.

“Floaty?” 

“Yeah, I feel like I keep drifting off today. I’m sorry, have I upset you?” You suddenly asked, eyes finding his.

“Upset? What? Darling, what is going on?” Tom asked as he placed both his hands on your face. You’d just burnt yourself and you seemed more concerned about whether he was upset than your burnt hand.

“I don’t know.” You admitted as tears sprung to your eyes.

“Oh sweetheart.” Tom said as he pulled you into his chest, making sure your hand stayed under the tap. He held for a few minutes, placing kisses into your hairline as your silent tears wet his t shirt. He pulled back after a while, pulling your hand from under the tap to examine it, he was relieved to see no blisters, that you were extremely fucking lucky and had avoided a trip to A & E.

Your hand was still red raw and had a heat to it so Tom grabbed a tea towel and drenched it in cold water, wrapping it around your hand.

“Tommy, I’m tired.” You said almost childlike, almost as you do when you’re in a drunken state. “I’m really tired.” You said again.

“Okay, I’m gonna go and grab some burn cream and then I’ll put you to bed, okay?” He reassured as he led you upstairs and into the bathroom. Once in there he quickly applied the cream to your hand, he was thankful Sam had talked him into buying some, the chef in him reminding the family how bad burns could be. Once he’d dressed you, he helped you get into bed, pulling the covers over you.

“Wait, where are you going?” You asked as Tom was about to leave the room. “You’re not staying?” You asked in a small voice. Your behaviour had certainly taken a turn over the day.

“I can if you want me to?” He said and he watched you frantically nod your head. He cuddled you until you fell asleep and then carefully removed himself from the bed, careful in his every move not to wake you.

It wasn’t long before he was dialling his best friends number and asking him to come over.

“What’s up?” Harrison asked he plopped down on the couch next to Tom.

“Y/N/N.” Tom sighed and Harrisons brows shot up in concern.

“Has something happened? Is she okay?” 

“I don’t know.” Tom huffed out as he ran a hand through his hair. “She’s not been herself today and I don’t know what to do.” Tom admitted.

“How’d you mean?”

“Well for starters she spent most of this morning tripping over things. She lost track of time earlier on today, you know her, she doesn’t do that.” Tom sighed and Harrison shrugged.

“Maybe she genuinely did, we can’t all be perfect.” Haz laughed and Tom looked at him seriously.

“Haz, she’s been, needy. Like I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, just out of character. She told me she didn’t want to ‘misbehave.’” Tom said and Haz furrowed his brows in thought.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” Tom shrugged.

“Are you guys like, you know.” Harrison started nervously before collecting himself with a deep breath. “Do you have a dom, sub dynamic?” He asked and Tom furrowed his brows for what felt that the millionth time that day.

“Yeah.” Tom answered carefully.

“And is she the sub?” He asked.

“Harrison.” Tom warned, he wasn’t one to discuss the ins and outs of his sex life with other people, he saw it as a private thing between two people.

“Just,” Haz sighed. “Hear me out, please. Is she?”

“Yeah.” Tom answered again, carefully.

“Have you had a session recently?” He asked again and Tom nodded in response, he was lost, what the fuck did this have to do with anything? “When you engage in your dom side, do you, you know, like ‘punish’ her for misbehaving?”

“Harrison, what the fuck has this got to do with-” Tom cut himself off as realisation dawned on him. You’d been a brat yesterday and he’d acted accordingly.

“It’s called subspace mate.” Harrison said.

“But this has never happened before? Why would it happen now?”

“It doesn’t always happen, sometimes it just takes her hormones being out of balance. Maybe she slipped into it and you never fully coaxed her back, would explain why she’s stuck in a sub mentality.” Haz shrugged.

“But I’ve done everything we normally do in aftercare, I’ve looked after her, reassured her.” Tom reeled off.

“Maybe she’s looking for her dominating partner to bring her back?” Haz suggested. “Try being more forceful.”

“I don’t wanna push her Haz, she fucking burnt herself earlier, completely on another planet when she made a brew.” 

“Maybe you have been doing without realising it.”

“What?”

“Kept her in subspace, you’ve coddled her. Made her feel safe, taken care of. Look, I don’t know Tom, every woman is different but it sounds like based on her behaviour, that you have pulled her further under without meaning to.” 

“Okay, thanks Haz.” Tom said. They enjoyed a good hour or so together, catching up before Tom’s phone pinged with a message from you asking where he was. Tom sighed as he read it.

“Try being a little firmer with her.” Harrison suggested and Tom nodded as he said goodbye to his friend. “Don’t beat yourself up, these things take trial and error and as long as you are both safe, happy and learning it’ll be okay.” Harrison reassured as he placed a comforting hand on his friends shoulder before heading out.

Tom collected himself as he made his way back into your shared bedroom. Your eyes instantly finding his as you flew out of the bed and into his arms, he took a deep breath before his next move. Clearly he needed to change tactic, he just wasn’t sure which one you needed.

“Y/N,” he said as he pulled you back, holding you at arms length as he looked you deeply in the eye. “I need you to come back.” He said and he watched as you furrowed your brows.

“What do you mean? I’m here?”

“You’re not, not properly.” Tom said a little firmly. “You’re still in that floaty place, as you called it.”

“No, Tom.” You laughed. “I feel floaty, I didn’t go anywhere.” You giggled.

“You did and now I need you to come back.” He tried again.

“Tom, you’re being silly.” You laughed again, “I’m right in front of you.” You said, “see you’re touching me.” You continued as you gestured to his hands on your shoulders. Tom didn’t miss your tone, your bratty tone, he changed tactic, eyebrow raising in challenge.

“What did you just call me?” Tom asked, voice demanding, the same tone he used when he was ‘punishing’ you in bed. He watched as you smirked.

“I called you silly.” You challenged and Tom hummed as he backed you into the wall.

“Are you being a brat princess? Are you sure that’s what you want to go with right now? You’re making it sound like you want me to punish you.” He said, lips close to yours as his breath fanned your face, your breath hitching as you shook your head.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t want to misbehave anymore.” You said and Tom looked you directly in the eyes.

“Then I want you to come back.” He spoke, voice laced in a tone that had told you to ‘get on the bed’, ‘cum for me.’ He watched as an understanding flashed across your eyes and Tom continued. “Come on princess, I need you to come back. I need my Y/N.” He whispered as he captured your lips in his own. “It would make me happy if you did.” He finished.

He watched as your eyes became less vacant, slowly coming back as he coaxed you out with well placed kisses and demands. It wasn’t long before your hand wound into his hair and Tom sighed in relief as his head found your neck.

“That was fucking weird.” You snorted, voice completely your own. 

“That’s never happened before.” Tom said as he pulled back to look at you.

“It was so strange, it’s like I needed you to be the opposite of how you are during aftercare. I just kind of stayed in subspace last night.” You rambled.

“You knew you were in subspace?”

“Well yeah, you’ve done it before but you always coaxed me out of it.” You admitted and Tom looked confused.

“What happened last night? Why didn’t it work?” Tom panicked, had he missed something? 

“Don’t know.” You shrugged. “I suppose you fell asleep quicker than usual and I had one of the best orgasms I think I’ve ever had.” You said and you took in the look on Tom’s face. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up, it happens.”

“But I missed it.”

“Yeah but you still kept me safe. That’s what this is about right? Having fun and being safe. Tom you make me feel so safe, how do you think I end up in subspace sometimes, it’s a different kind of pleasure. As a sub I make myself completely vulnerable to you and you make me feel so safe and wanted and the level of trust I have in you is off the charts and sometimes it just happens, sometimes I drift off.”

“Maybe we pushed it too far.” Tom said as he took your hand in his, placed a kiss to the back of your injured hand. “I couldn’t protect you from this.”

“Tom,” you sighed. “The burn was a mistake, you can’t protect me from everything. If you’re worried I regret what we did last night because of this then don’t be. I don’t regret anything we’ve tried and I trust you, okay? Remember that one time I used the safe word and you stopped immediately and took care of me?” You asked and Tom nodded.

“This is something that does take an element of trial and error, getting fully used to everything that can happen. You took care of me, you brought me back, Tom I trust you completely with me.” You continued. “I’ve never given myself over to someone the way I have you and I’m glad, I’m glad I get to experience these things with you and I wouldn’t change it or you for the world.”

“I promise I won’t miss it next time.” Tom reassured and you smiled as you kissed him.

“I don’t doubt that for a second.”

[ragingbookdragon]

And I Will Still Be Here Stargazing PT. 3

A Batsis x Batfamily Story!

Word Count: 1.3K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: *Vigorously scribbling down the plan to this story whilst my WIP's stare at me unsurprised* Enjoy! -Thorne

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

She awoke to someone patting her head and she frowned, shifting away from it. “Stooooooop,” she whined, burrowing her face in what she thought was her pillow, but when the said pillow started vibrating with laughter, she grunted and picked her head up, realizing she’d burrowed into Jason’s side.

“Well good morning to you too, Princess.” He chirped. “How’d you sleep?”

Grunting again, she dropped her head down onto his thigh and curled her arms to her chest, legs coming up to her torso. “Still tired.”

Someone rubbed her ankle. “Well, from what you said, you’ve slept long enough to not be tired for a whole month.” Dick appeared in her vision. “You really don’t remember anything after seeing the comet?”

She shook her head. “Nope.” Reaching out, she ran her fingers through Tim’s hair from where it’d stuck up; he’d fallen asleep sitting in front of the couch, his head laying back on the sofa. “All I remember is seeing it and then I was waking up.”

“Aliens,” Cassandra whispered, and she looked at her.

“Please don’t say that.”

Cassandra reached out and poked her heart. “Alien in your chest.” Her sister grinned when she scowled. “Gonna pop out of your body and hiss at us. Scurry into the vents and hunt.”

“That’s not funny. I hate that movie.” She pressed her hands to her chest and looked at Jason. “I don’t have a gross alien baby in my thoracic cavity that’s going to burst out at any moment, right?”

He shrugged. “Dunno, (Y/N). We’ll see soon.”

“I hate you guys,” she scowled again, and someone snorted above her.

“Sister, you do not have an alien inside you.”

(Y/N) turned her neck to see Damian sliding off the back of the couch, rolling on top of her, his back to her side. “Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“Doctor Leslie scanned you. You’d also be dead though. From what the lore on aliens says, it only takes a few hours.”

“Great. So, I’m not going to die, but I’ll never get those memories back then.” She sighed heavily. “I really went off grid?”

“Totally,” Dick replied. “Like tracker untraceable. Disappeared into thin air. Gone with the wind. Complete—”

(Y/N) reached over and shoved her hand against his mouth. ��I got it.” He licked her palm and she griped, “You’re a child.” Sighing, she turned her head up, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t remember though. It’s so strange.” Her voice quieted. “What am I forgetting? I feel like it was so important.”

“Hey, you’ll figure it out, Princess. You’ve got us to—” Jason rested his hand on her head. “Holy shit, you’re warm.”

She blinked and met his gaze. “What?”

He pressed his hand to her forehead then glanced at Dick. “Feel her forehead, she’s burning up.”

Dick’s brows were furrowed as he reached over, and his face contorted in concern. “Little-wing’s right, (Y/N). You’re hot.”

“I don’t feel bad,” she offered, reaching up to feel her skin, but sure enough, like they said, she was warm to the touch. (Y/N) shifted. “Dami, get off me for a minute.” He moved and she rose, them following as she wandered into one of the bathrooms, shutting the door behind her.

She gazed at herself in the mirror. Her complexion hadn’t changed, neither had her gum color or tongue. Nothing hurt, no headache, nothing at all. (Y/N) cocked her head to the side in confusion staring at herself when something flashed in her eye. She blinked rapidly and leaned forward, gasping quietly when she blinked again and one of her eyes had changed colors from her normal one—this time, it was a full orbital color, white, like a sparkling diamond.

(Y/N)’s felt her heart lurch, and she reached up, carefully prodding at her lids. It didn’t hurt, but when she pressed a finger below her eye and pulled down to see if there was something inside, her skin sagged with it, revealing underneath something she could only describe as vantablack with bursting colors beneath.

Her jaw went slack despite the terror welling inside her and she stopped touching her face for fear of hurting herself, but when no pain came, she reached up and pinched her skin, slowly peeling it away. The more she peeled, the more the black galactical pattern beneath shown through.

“I’m losing my mind,” she breathed, reaching up to pull away the skin of her upper eyelid to her forehead. She stopped when she reached her hairline, gaping as starlight colored hair peeked beneath. “What the hell?” she whispered, starting to yank.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright in there?”

She jerked, turning towards the door and momentarily, she almost broke down in fear of the door opening. “I’m fine!” she called and looked back towards the mirror, surprised when her face appeared normal once more. “I’m just—uh, taking my temperature!”

Something was seriously wrong with her. Whatever that was, it wasn’t normal, and she was panicking on the inside.

“What is it?”

“It’s about one hundred. Just a minor fever.” (Y/N) opened the door and smiled. “I’ll just go up to bed and sleep it off, yeah?” she didn’t wait for a reply, simply hurrying past them and up the stairs to her bedroom.

Shutting the door, she dove into her bed and under the covers, not sure if she should feel worried or absolutely terrified of what just happened. Maybe I’m just tired. Really, really, out-of-it tired. Though something deep down made her feel like this mystery was just the beginning.

***

When she awoke again, someone was caressing her head and she blinked blearily at whoever it was. “Dad?” she murmured, and he smiled softly.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

(Y/N) sighed tiredly. “What time is it?”

“Quarter past eleven,” he replied. “You’ve been asleep all day.”

“Sorry,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” He smiled again. “You hungry? Alfred made chicken parmesan for dinner.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “My favorite.”

Bruce nodded. “Think you can eat? You’ve gotta be starving.”

Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t hungry at all. Which was weird because she was always snacking on something, be it candy or chips. “Actually, I’m not that hungry.” (Y/N) remarked and she watched as his dark brows furrowed, then he rested the back of his hand to her cheeks.

“You’re still warm like your brothers said.” He frowned. “You’ve been running this fever all day and now you’re not hungry…”

She could tell the mood was becoming worrying by the minute and she smirked. “Face it dad, I obviously got abducted by aliens and this is the one they left in my place to assume normalcy.”

Bruce huffed a laugh and pinched her cheek. “You’re hilarious.” Letting go, he stood from her bed and looked down at her. “Maybe get some more rest and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan, dad.” She agreed, not wanting to argue. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He bent down and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love you sweetheart. You know that don’t you?”

“I love you too, dad.”

“You’d tell me if something was bothering you, wouldn’t you?”

Something in his tone tugged at her heartstrings and she smiled warmly. “Yeah, dad. If there was something I couldn’t handle, you’d be the first I’d come to.”

Bruce returned her smile. “Good…sleep well, sweetheart.”

(Y/N) closed her eyes once more, falling into a deep sleep, but it was anything but restful. No, it was filled with nightmares, of ancient battles waged across the broad expanse of the universe, from the beginning of time to the end of it. And one word kept being repeated in amongst those nightmares—Insentients.

[homoose]

Quick Learner, Slow Lover: Part II

Summary: Literally just a 40 Year Old Virgin AU. This time, reader shows Spencer a whole new world of possibilities. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut, 18 + (minors DNI)

Warnings/Includes: oral (both receiving), fingering, I think that’s it actually

Word count: 4.3k

a/n: Huge thanks to all the babies on my sideblog @softspence for helping with the inspiration for this one, and @gubetube​ for being my beta! ♥️ virgin!Spence is near and dear to my heart.

Series Masterlist

———

After their first escapade, Spencer was called away on a case in southern California. A week into the BAU’s investigation in the desert didn’t have them any closer to solving it, and the team retreated to their respective hotel rooms for a few hours of rest. The second his head hit the pillow, Spencer’s phone was out and dialing. 

She picked up on the third ring, stifling a yawn. “Hi.”

“Hi. Sorry it’s so late,” he apologized. 

“It’s okay.” He could hear her snuggling down under the covers. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” He brought one of the hotel pillows closer, cuddling up against it and letting out a sigh. “I was thinking we could go to that new restaurant around the corner from you when I get back to DC.”

“Mmm, yeah, that sounds nice,” she agreed. He heard her sigh a little into the phone, then she continued, “We could also, um— try some more things.”

His head was constantly full of their first night together, and he basically had not stopped thinking about more things since he’d come in his pants on the couch. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” 

“Good, because the possibilities are endless, Dr. Reid.”

He let his eyes close, let a smile play over his features, and let his mind relax for a second… and then his eyes were shooting open, and his brain was on overdrive, running through the pieces of the case in rapid succession. “I— I think I just figured something out. I— I have to go. I’ll— can I call you later?”

She laughed a little on the other end. “Go save some lives, Spence.”

The team stumbled off the jet less than 24 hours later, exhausted but more than satisfied with the outcome of the case— in large part thanks to Spencer’s late night epiphany. 

“O’Keefe’s for a round?” Luke asked. “First one’s on me.”

There were murmurs of agreement from everyone... except Spencer. “Sorry, guys— rain check,” he called, already halfway across the bullpen and pulling on his jacket. He was through the double doors before anyone could ask any questions. 

He loved the team, and he’d come to enjoy nights out with them, but right now he had more pressing matters to deal with. As he navigated the darkened streets of DC, he considered the predicament he’d found himself in. They were going on two months of official dating, but they’d been sort of seeing each other for nearly a month before that. 

Even before he’d met her, Penelope had gushed about her constantly— a wonderful friend that she’d made through her new job, kind and smart and funny and lovely. What Penelope hadn’t mentioned was how beautiful she was— and he’d subsequently made a fool of himself when they first met: staring and stumbling over his words. 

She hadn’t seemed to mind, and over the course of the evening, she’d proven to be every bit as lovely as Penelope had described, and then some. 

He pulled up outside her apartment, shutting the door and hauling himself and his go-bag out of the car and up the sidewalk. He ran a slightly self conscious hand over his hair, checked his appearance in the glass of the foyer door, and then buzzed her apartment. 

She buzzed him in, and he took the stairs two at a time, rounding the landing just to see her opening the door. The second he dropped his bag, he was wrapping her up in a hug and knocking the breath out of her. She expelled the air into his shoulder and then laughed as he clung to her.

“Well, hello to you, too,” she teased. 

“I missed you,” he murmured, too content to be embarrassed.

Her arms came around him, and she squeezed him tight in response. “I missed you, too.” She held onto him for a moment longer before pulling back. “You must be exhausted. Are you hungry?”

Almost as if on cue, his stomach growled loud enough for them both to hear it. She cackled at his sheepish smile. “Chinese, Indian, or pizza?”

…

An hour later, they were two slices deep and cuddled together on the couch at the end of an episode of Dr. Who. She was tucked under his arm, her warm palm low on his tummy, her thumb rubbing a slow, repetitive path. As the credits rolled, she lifted her head to smile at him. “Tired?”

“A little.” His brain couldn’t focus on anything other than the warmth of her body pressed up against him, her hand so close to where he was desperate for her. He wanted her, but he didn’t know how to ask. “We can… try some things, though,” he decided on.

She brushed his hair back and met his eyes. “We don’t have to. Just because we did, doesn’t mean we’re obligated to every time we’re together.” She tilted her head. “You know that, right?”

He could feel the flush flooding his cheeks immediately, and he dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. “Yeah, of course.” Of course she didn’t want to do anything more with him. He was probably terrible at it before, and she just didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He shifted to stand from the couch, gathering up their plates and turning to bring them to the kitchen, desperate for a minute to collect himself. 

He could feel her eyes on him. “Spence?” He set the plates in the sink, taking a deep breath and then turning to see that she’d followed him. She pressed her lips together, considering him with kind eyes. “You wanna let me in on whatever it is you’re thinking?”

He hesitated, tapping his fingers on the tops of his thighs, before deciding he should just come out with it. “I know I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to… sex.” The last part came out in a low murmur— it seemed lewd to discuss this in the middle of her kitchen. “I’m sorry it wasn’t very good for you, and I’m not exactly sure how to fix that, but—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she chuckled. “Slow your roll. When did I ever say it wasn’t good for me?”

The memory of her— in his lap, her head thrown back, his fingers on her, his name falling from her lips— was suddenly on repeat in his mind. “I, um— I guess you didn’t.” 

“I definitely didn’t,” she confirmed, stepping a little closer. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about it… a lot.”

His eyebrows shot into his hairline. “You have?”

“Mmhmm.” She brought her hand back to his tummy, just above his waistband, then ran it up the line of buttons on his shirt, stopping just above his heart. She met his gaze with soft eyes. “I just didn’t want you to think that— that sex is all I want to do with you. Or that you have to rush to make me happy. And it’s important that you know that if you’re tired, or overwhelmed, or just not in the mood, I don’t— you know, expect you to have sex with me.” 

His heart leapt into his throat at the way she curled her fingers in his collar, the way she smiled quietly while he collected his thoughts, the way she gave him grace and space to consider his wants and needs. He was dangerously in love already, and he wasn’t sure quite how to say it without being the stupid virgin who fell in love with the first person he slept with. 

And even with all of these thoughts of content and love and uncertainty swirling through his brain… he still really wanted to fuck her. 

“I’m not that tired,” he breathed. 

Her smile turned mischievous, and he swallowed audibly. “Well, then. We can start working through those possibilities?”

He was on her before she even finished the question, his mouth hot and hungry, his tongue sliding against hers, his hands on her waist and steering her toward her bedroom. She grinned as he trailed kisses down her throat and then where her t-shirt cut low along her collarbone. She turned them as they made it to the bed and pushed him to sit, breaking his mouth away from where it had been sucking a pretty pink mark. 

She dropped to her knees and ran a firm hand over his cock through his trousers. He was wholly and completely unprepared for the sight of her looking up at him from in between his legs, and he momentarily forgot any and all plans he’d had. She paused to push her hair back out of her face, and he came to his senses. 

“Wait.” She looked up at him, slightly confused. “I wanted to, um—” 

When he didn’t continue, she tilted her head with an encouraging smile. “You wanted to what?”

“I wanted to, um— eat you out,” he said, and he could feel the flush in his ears. “Before. Because I get kind of sleepy after I come, and I— well, I can already tell I’m not gonna last long once you start, um…”

“Blowing you?” she prompted, and now she was just teasing him. 

“Y-yeah.” He ran a nervous hand down his neck. “Is that okay?”

She stood up and stepped closer into his space, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling his head back slightly. “Well, that depends. Did you read up on the literature?”

He returned her teasing smile, already more at ease. “You know I did.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips before stepping back to pull her shirt up over her head. She smirked at the way his eyes went wide and traveled over her form. His mouth dropped open as he tracked her hands, running down over her bare chest, her torso, and then to the waistband of her sweatpants. She pushed the pants down over her hips and let them pool at her feet, stepping out and back in between his legs. “So, what did the experts say?”

He swallowed audibly as she brought his hands to her chest. “Well, um,” he started, palms cupping her breasts. “Um, firstly— start slow. And vary— vary your attention,” he said, squeezing them lightly and brushing his thumbs over her hardened nipples. 

He looked up at her face for guidance, and she smiled. “Then by all means— give me all the attention.”

He leaned forward immediately, tongue and teeth sucking and grazing and nipping at the soft skin of her breasts. He alternated between the two, drew each nipple into his mouth and moaned a little around them at the way she gasped when his teeth dragged on her skin. Her hands found purchase in his curls, tangling and tugging and holding him against her. He brought a hand down to her waist and pulled her in closer, slid his palm over her lace-covered ass and dug his fingers in, eliciting a very pretty sound from her throat. 

He pressed his mouth once more to the valley in between her breasts, then stood and brought his hands to her face, leaning down to meet her in a soft kiss. He turned to have her sit back on the bed, and she stretched out over the pillows and pulled him down over her. He kissed her again, and then dragged his mouth down the column of her throat. 

“Secondly,” he continued, “work your way down.” He did just that, his lips and tongue drawing out goosebumps and shivers as he moved down her body. When he reached the waistband of her underwear, he hooked his fingers into it, and she lifted her hips to allow him to pull them down her legs. 

He started a path back up her legs, kissing her ankles, her shins, her knees. He ghosted his fingers over her thigh, silently asking for permission to continue. She let her legs fall open, and he made himself comfortable in between them. The reality hit him then— that as she opened her legs, she also opened herself up to him— all the most vulnerable and precious parts of her. His breath caught in his throat as he found her gaze on him, soft and sweet and steady. 

He turned his head to kiss a path along her inner thigh, moving closer and closer to her center. He fanned his warm breath over her, and then he licked carefully around the hood of her clit, gentle at first. He flattened his tongue on either side of it, then pointed it to flick across once, twice, three times. Her hand immediately came down to tangle in his hair, and her hips twitched as he dragged his tongue flat over it. 

“I don’t really understand the phenomenon of men being unable to find the clitoris,” he remarked, and then closed his mouth around it. 

She let out a long, low moan when he sucked it between his lips, and her grip on his hair tightened. He alternated the suction with the swirl of his tongue around the hood, and she squirmed against the bed. He laid his forearm low across her hips to keep her still, and then he brought his thumb up to swipe at her entrance, and he moaned around her at the feel. 

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he breathed. He brought his thumb, slick with her arousal, up to her clit and rubbed firm circles over it. “How’s that for pressure? Too hard?”

“N-no, oh— Spence, oh my god,” she whined.

“Do you prefer to rub side to side or in a circle?” He demonstrated each option, and she choked out his name again. 

She drew in a shaky inhale, exhaled out, “Both, both, both.” 

He sucked an open mouthed kiss to her inner thigh, then looked up to see her staring at him. “Do you like penetration? Or just clitoral stimulation?” he asked, stroking his thumb side to side over her clit. 

She huffed out a breath. “You— god, you can finger me.”

He popped his index finger into his mouth, slicking it with spit and thinking of everything he’d read about it. He teased the pad of his finger around her slit, gathering up the wetness that had spilled out of her. “I’ll start with one? Make sure it’s slicked up, and then you can tell me if you’d like me to add another?” 

She hummed in agreement, and he began to press inside of her. She took his finger easily, and he dropped his forehead to her thigh. “God, you’re— you’re so tight.” He withdrew his finger and then slipped it back in, groaning at the slickness. “Can you, um— can you tell me if this is— is this doing anything for you?” He probed gently, searching for the spot inside her that he knew might actually be difficult to find. 

“Um— up, up,” she gasped. “Like, curl it up toward the ceiling and then sort of dra-a-a-g, oh, oh, oh.”

He followed her directions, curling his finger up and dragging it on the out stroke, and she was throwing her head back with a moan of his name. He repeated the motion over and over and then brought his mouth back to her clit. Both her hands came down to yank at his hair, and he groaned, causing her hips to jerk against his mouth. 

“M-more, Spence, more, so close,” she whined. 

When he withdrew his finger, he slipped a second one in beside it and then continued the curl-drag-thrust pattern while sucking and swirling his tongue around her clit. Her moans increased in frequency and volume, and he felt her squeeze impossibly tight around his fingers. He rutted into the bed as her grip on his hair held him still against her clit as she came. 

She let out a final gasp of his name, and then she relaxed around him and her grip on his hair went slack. He slipped his fingers out of her, stared at them in relative awe as they glistened with her come. He sucked them into his mouth to clean them off, relatively surprised by how much he enjoyed the taste. He leaned forward and dragged his tongue over her, cleaning her up and savoring the way she lingered in his mouth. 

“Shit, Spence,” she mumbled, grasping at his shoulder. “C’mere.”

He lifted his head and wiped his forearm across his chin. He watched her eyes go a little wide, and then she was dragging him up her body and crashing their mouths together. “You are so fucking hot,” she whispered. “I cannot believe you’ve never done that before. Such a good listener, baby.”

His hips canted forward desperately at the praise, and she sighed happily against his mouth. “Wanna blow you.” 

She pushed gently at his chest and he sat back to let her up. She slid off the bed and tugged on his hand to move him to sit with his legs off the side. “Can we take some things off?” she asked, gesturing to his fully clothed form. 

He nodded, and she popped the button on his trousers while he started on the button up. They made quick work of both, and she dragged his pants and underwear down in one motion. He shrugged out of his shirt and she took a step back to take him in. 

“You’re so pretty, Spence.” She dragged her finger up from his knee, over his thigh, the trail of hair on his tummy, his chest, his throat— her eyes tracking the motion. He watched her face as she did so, the way her pupils dilated with lust and her tongue came out to wet her lips. She finally settled on his face, smiling and leaning forward to press her lips to his. 

When she broke the kiss, she brought both hands up to cradle his face. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. If anything doesn’t feel good, just say so. You can put your hands on my head, pull my hair, whatever you like. If I want you to stop, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

“Okay,” he rasped. 

She kissed him again, and then dropped to her knees and took him in hand. The vision of her— naked, post-orgasm, looking up at him with his cock poised at her mouth— was so absolutely and gloriously filthy that he almost came on the spot. 

“You’re so big, Spence.” The wonderment seeped into her voice, and he couldn’t help but swell a little with pride. Her warm palm stroked over him, root to tip, and he fisted his hands in the duvet. “What was step one again?” she asked. 

“Um. S-start slow,” he recalled. 

She hummed in agreement, and then trailed the fingers of her free hand over the inside of his thigh. She turned her mouth to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to the other, slowly inching up closer to where she held him in her hand. 

“Your skin is soft,” she murmured. Her nose brushing against the crease of this thigh. She switched sides, moved his cock into her other hand to trail her fingers over where her mouth had been. She sucked a mark into his thigh and then dragged her tongue over it, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

And then she shifted back to the center, flattened her tongue, and ran it up the vein on the underside of his cock. “Oh my god,” he whispered. 

She huffed out a laugh and the way her warm breath cooled the trail of spit she’d left had him shivering. “God, this is gonna be so fun,” she murmured. 

She held his cock up straight with one hand and repeated the motion of her tongue twice more, and then pressed a kiss to the tip. She held her tongue out flat and rubbed it along the underside of the head, running it along the divide between the tip and the shaft. And then she closed her mouth around the head and swirled her tongue around it, and his eyes rolled back in his head. 

“Fuck, Y/N.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped the sheets, and then he felt her free hand tug at his fist. He opened his eyes as she guided his fingers into her hair. She locked eyes with him and then sucked gently on the tip of his cock. He fisted his hand and tugged, and she closed her eyes and moaned around him. 

The vibration of her voice had his hips thrusting forward a little into her mouth, and she pulled back with a grin. He couldn’t even form the words to apologize before she was licking down his shaft and murmuring, “Mm, and vary the attention, right?”

With that, she laved her tongue over his balls, slicking them up with her spit. He realized he’d been holding his breath, sucking in a gasp as she sucked one of them into her mouth. She hummed around it and then let it out with a soft pop, moving to draw the other one in. He hadn’t even considered that he would enjoy having his balls in her mouth, but now that they were there he knew he’d literally never stop thinking about it. 

She pulled back to take a breath, bringing a hand up to cup and massage his balls and stroke over his length at the same time. “Step two?” she prompted, looking up at him from in between his legs. 

“Work your way down,” he reminded her, petting over her hair in awe. 

“Ah, yes.” She brought her mouth back to the tip, sticking out her tongue and rubbing it along the sensitive spot just under the head. She kept her mouth open and held him in hand, alternating between wet kisses and swirling her tongue. And then she sucked it into her mouth, still moving her tongue back and forth as she started to sink further down his length. 

In his mind, he was singing her praises from the metaphorical rooftops, but in reality, her mouth was so hot and wet that all he could do was stare stupidly at the way his cock disappeared between her lips. She continued to massage his slick balls in her free hand as she took him in, inch by inch. Each time she pulled back to suckle the head, she stroked the circle of her other hand over the spit-covered length of him. 

On the next pass down, he felt the head of his cock press into the back of her throat, and his hands shot to her hair, holding tight. “Holy shit, Y/N, I—” he choked on the rest of the sentence as she took him an inch further, then simultaneously sucked and pulled back to the tip.

She tapped the tip of his cock to her spit-slick smile, kissing it teasingly. “Do you wanna tell me what to do?”

“M-more of that,” he begged, watching as she dragged her lips down the side of his cock. 

She chuckled, and the way it buzzed against the side of his cock had him short of breath. “Yeah— I thought you’d like that.” She pumped his length with her hand and then held her tongue out flat, bobbing her head until he hit the back of her throat. 

When she pulled back, he watched a trail of spit drip down her chin, and felt his cock twitch at the idea of her quite literally drooling over him. He barely resisted the urge to pinch his thigh, not willing to wake himself up if this was actually a dream. He brought a hand to her chin and used his thumb to gather the spit, and then brought it up to suck it into his mouth. 

Her mouth dropped open as she watched him swallow, and he briefly began to panic, but then she was surging upward to slot her mouth over his in a hot kiss. “How is everything you do so fucking hot?” she murmured against his lips. 

“I could say the same for you,” he countered, kissing her again. 

“I want you to come in my mouth, okay?” she asked. 

He nodded vigorously. “Shit, yeah, yeah.”

“Don’t hold back,” she demanded, and then she was dropping back down to take him in again. 

She left her mouth open, tongue laid flat, and took him into her throat— once, twice, three times. She choked around him and then pulled back to take a breath. She repeated this pattern again, and again, occasionally sucking on the head or even grazing her teeth just so. Spencer held her head between his hands, staring down at her with reverence. He couldn’t stop the litany of praise falling from his lips— mostly just gasps and moans of her name, but occasionally he found the mental capacity for so beautiful, or perfect mouth, or so good, baby. 

He could feel his orgasm drawing closer with every press into her throat, so incredibly tight that it was dizzying. She pulled all the way off to jerk his cock, a tight circle of her fingers gliding along his length with a squelching sound. She squeezed the base of him, dropped her hand to tug at his balls, and sunk her mouth down his length, holding him in her throat and swallowing, moaning low and long around him. 

She looked up at him then, and it was that which finally brought him over the edge— not that she was on her knees with his cock in her throat, but that she didn’t look away as he came undone. The fact that she was paying such close attention to him coupled with the trust and vulnerability required for this moment was too much to handle. His orgasm hit him like a train, his toes curling and fingers twitching in her hair as he came. She continued swallowing around him, and he fought to keep his eyes open, not willing to miss a single second of this moment. 

When he was finished, she slowly drew back, sucking gently along his softening length and pressing a kiss to the head. He did close his eyes then, cradling her head in his hands and rubbing his thumbs along her cheeks. She used his thighs as leverage to pull herself up, and he heard her suck in a sharp breath. His eyes shot open to see her rubbing at her knees— red and a little raw. 

“I’m sorry, I should have— I could have gotten you a pillow.” He pulled her closer and replaced her hands with his own, soothing the marks. 

She laughed and brushed a reassuring hand over his hair. “Occupational hazard.”

The scratchy rasp of her voice had his cock twitching. “I know I don’t have anything to compare it to, but you’re unbelievably good at that.”

She brought her hands to his face, tilting it up to meet his eyes. “You’re not the only one who reads the literature.” 

Her even tone and steady gaze proved she wasn’t teasing or mocking, and he fell just a little bit deeper in love. He met her halfway in a kiss that was infinitely and luminously sweet and wondered just what in the world he was going to do about that.

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01  @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @daybabyx @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @saspencereid @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween  @s1utformgg  @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @dr-omalley @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid

Series tags: @cielo1984 @dorotheuh @foreveryoungxx3 @happyreid187 @harrystylesholland @seasonfivereid @slut4spencie  @kyomito​

Broken tags: @radtwinkie

[adorehs]

cabin fever

Hi! This might be my last fic of the year- I’ll try and get another out for New Years since I’ve had one in my WIP for a few months now but I’m not sure if I can get it done since I’m having surgery later this month. With that being said, I hope you guys enjoy this!

Summary: Y/N and Harry are having a really good honeymoon (4.7k)

Warnings: lots of fluff and smut. The reader is kinda a horse girl :/

“Harry!” a whisper left your lips as your lips tightened into a wide smile- Harry easily concluded that you were happy. 

“Yeah?” he let out a short chuckle, “What’s got you so excited?” his hand met your chin, tilting it upwards to meet his face. His eyes studied yours for a moment as they glimmered with pure joy. 

You tilted your mouth to meet his palm, leaving a kiss on the soft skin, “Look!” your head whipped towards the dirt pathway, “There are horses,” you whisper again. 

Harry hums in realization, “There are horses baby,” he responds with an amused tone. 

Your head slowly turns back in his direction, “Be quiet! You’ll scare them,” you scold him softly, “And don’t make fun of me,” your bottom lip puffs out into a pout. 

“Sorry love,” he lets out yet another laugh, trying his best to be quiet for you, “Just excited for you,” his hand met yours tightly, wrapping it around his. 

Your eyes narrow into a glare- a look you feel absolutely cruel giving, but Harry thinks you look adorable- you just knew Harry was lying now. “Alright,” you dismiss him with a mocking smile. 

Harry smiles wider than before: he was really fucking in love with you. He bumped his hip with yours as you watched the horses in pure awe. One of the horses turned its head towards you, prompting you to squeeze Harry’s hand in excitement. You were still worried you would scare them away so you acted with caution- inaudible reactions and hushed tones would make due. 

“Are you excited?” Harry asks you, watching the horses intently, anxious about your ultimate reaction to what he has planned.

You looked at him in pure disbelief, “Of course I’m excited.” 

He hummed in response, his eyes never faltering from the view of the horses that were hardly a yard away at this point, “They're coming this way,” he told you. 

Your eyes snapped back instantly. The horses were within reach and if you could just get close enough maybe you could brush through one of their manes. Excited was an easy word to describe how you felt at that moment. 

“Harry,” you whispered again, “Do you think I can pet one?” 

“Yeah, let's do it,” he assured. Your face was starting to hurt from how much you were smiling. 

You let out a giggle, pulling his hand softly as the wind blew against your body, “Do you know how you’re supposed to pet them?”

“Yeah,” he replied gently. As you approached the horse, he could feel you tense up in anticipation. The white horse before you seemed to be standing still, awaiting your arrival. You shoot Harry a nervous smile and slowly step close enough to touch- Harry close behind you. 

“You don’t wanna do it for too long. Don’t think horses are big cuddlers like you, angel,” Harry prefaced. He watched as you nodded in concentration, “Alright, I’ll show you, hm?” 

His hand held yours softly, guiding it to the horse’s shoulder. Your hand shook slightly in his and Harry doesn’t know how much longer he can take your cute nervous habits. He stroked your palm against it’s shoulder three times in an expert rhythm before the horse's head turned towards yours and you let out a soft yelp, retracting your hand. 

“He’s not scared, just trying to see who you are,” Harry laughs at your shock, “He looks quite happy, no?” 

You gulp harshly- for some reason you were scared. “I guess,” you reluctantly agree with your now husband. 

“Okay ready for my surprise?” he asks you after a moment of silence, you still working up the courage to pet the horse. 

“What surprise,” you turn to him, eyes wide. You were really fucking excited and Harry was really fucking nervous. 

“I- uh,” he pauses, his finger brushing his nose in thought, “I brought someone here,” he says. 

You squint your eyes at him, “Are you pregnant,” you harmlessly joke. “No, wait!” you let out an exasperated gasp, “Am I pregnant?” your hand meets his chest in an instant, “How did you find out? I didn’t even know I was pregnant. Did I miss my period? Babe where’s my phone I need to check my tracker-” 

Harry cut you off with a hearty laugh, oh how he loved you more and more each day. “No, you’re not pregnant, love,” he breathed out, his tension evaporating almost instantly. 

“Then who did you bring?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed, “On our honeymoon?”

“Okay, I didn’t exactly bring someone. I hired someone,” he states simply, knowing you would get worked up at his sub-par answers. 

“God, Harry you couldn’t get more vague if you tried.”

Harry hummed in agreement, “Well that’s all I have to say. I hired someone.”

“Did you hire a male stripper because I feel like that would be a better use of my time tonight,” you joke, slightly annoyed with him. 

Harry’s laugh (which you defined to be more of a scream), echoed across the empty field, “I hired someone to help us go horseback riding, you twat!”

Your face turns upward instantly, a smile adorning your lips and a gasp falling out of them softly, “I’m going to ignore that word you called me because we’re going fucking horseback riding!”

-

It was later that night when Harry felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. He had watched carefully as you nibbled on the last of your dinner, your eyes focused on the newspaper you had found lying inside a drawer of the rental house- you were doing the crossword. 

You just looked so cozy. Sitting at the dining table under low light, your tea long forgotten in front of you, and the pajamas you wore made you look so comfortable. And Harry loved that you were comfortable around him.

Actually, he loved a lot of things about you. Being comfortable was just one of them. But, the thing he loved most was that he made you smile. Day after day he tried his hardest amongst the long hours he worked to come home and make you smile- to make your day better- because you were an instant (and permanent) solution to all his worries.

He stood from the couch steadily, his mind focused on nothing but coaxing you into cuddles by the fireplace, “You doing alright over here?” he asks, his hand landing on your shoulder gently.

You hum in confusion, a sign that you were lost in thought. Harry let out a chuckle before sitting down next to you, “Think this one is dream girl,” his finger lands on 42 across: ‘Lover’ being the clue that had you stumped. 

You nod slowly along, mentally inserting each letter into each box, humming in agreement when it fits perfectly, “You’re clever,” you tell him, wrapping your arm around his waist, pulling him into a short hug. 

“You got about 100 words in without me, love,” he chuckles. 

“I guess we’re both clever,” you look up at him, puckering your lips asking for a kiss. Harry happily obliges, “Alright,” you sigh as you stand up, “Whatcha want?” you ask with a sweet smile. 

“I got everything I need in here,” Harry cheeses a grin at you. 

“God I hate you,” you roll your eyes, making your way to the sink to wash your dishes, “You just ruined this whole thing!” 

“No I didn’t. And you love how cheesy I am,” he sticks his tongue out like your six year old nephew always does. 

You bellow out a laugh, “You make me feel so young yet so old.” 

“What does that say about me?”

“Means you’re crazy,” you dry your hands off before giving him a proper hug. Your hands make their way under his sweatshirt, Harry fighting to urge to jump at the icy feeling of your fingertips. He shakes his head at you in disbelief before wrapping his arms around you too. 

“Alright, well the crazy old man wants to watch a film,” Harry tells you, feathering a few kisses at your hairline, making you burrow your head into his chest to hide your warm cheeks. 

It takes a moment to recover from his constant affection, “Alright, but I’m choosing because I refuse to cry over The Notebook again. Not today, Harry. You and your crazy habits are being put to bed today.”

You can feel his chest rumble with laughter, “Okay,” he pauses, “Then what’s your suggestion?” 

“We will be watching,” you pause in thought. 

“No, don’t say it,” Harry begins, “Not again, you say we watch The Notebook a lot but here you are starting Ferris Bueller's Day Off for the hundredth time-”

You cut Harry off in full offense, “It’s a good movie! And we have not seen it a hundred times,” you mumble.

Harry laughs, “No sorry ninety nine times.” 

“Alright well no movie for us- want to watch a show?” you brush off. 

Harry hums in thought, “Sure, let’s watch Game of Thrones,” he says.

You nod your head slightly in approval, “But we watched that a while ago,” your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Yes but that was a different era, baby. You’re my wifey now, not my girlfriend,” he says, smothering your temple with a long line of kisses.

Your nose scrunches up in disgust, “Don’t call me your wifey.”

“But you are, no?” 

“But it makes me cringe, no?” you counter. 

Harry smiles, giving you an extra squeeze (making you gasp and feign suffocation) before letting go and guiding you to the couch. He took an extra moment to turn the fireplace on and bring a few throw blankets to the warm couch before turning the tv on, “Okay round two with my wifey,” he speaks to himself, making you roll your eyes. 

“You’re so annoying,” you huff out before snuggling into his side, you leg over his lap and your arms around his body. 

Harry smiled softly at the sight of you. He can’t stop thinking about how happy he is. And how lucky he is. And blessed. You were his number one blessing and he couldn’t be more thankful for you. 

But, despite how grateful he was, he couldn’t be more frustrated with you. Maybe it was the way you kept inching yourself closer. Or the way your arms started to droop and your hand was lingering all too close to the apex of his heart. 

Usually, it would be an endearing motion. But Harry knew you had ulterior motives. He sat in thought, that’s where she pushes me to lay on the bed. And he really wanted her to push him onto the couch. 

It was hardly a moment before the feeling became overwhelming. He sat in a deafening silence, tuning out Daenerys’ cries for help as his mind became consumed with lust- he wanted you. And he was impatient. 

You grimace at the tv, slowly retreating into Harry’s hold, and that’s when you feel it. Or rather you both feel it. His stiffened cock slowly pushing on your lower back as you try your hardest to ignore the pit forming at the bottom of your stomach. 

The feeling was almost repulsive- you’d been to all too many parties with the same outcome. People having an inability to control themselves and pushing it onto you. But this was vastly different because this was Harry, your Harry, and you welcomed the feeling of desire that is forced upon your body.

First it was your head that turned slightly. You locked eyes and smiled at your new husband- his breath slightly fanning on your face as his eyes begged for you to feel the same way. Then, it was your body slowly turning to face him entirely- the show long forgotten. His arms wrapped around you silently as you leaned onto one leg to hoist the other around his lap. 

You sat straddling him with a small smirk playing on your lips, “Couldn’t help it, huh?”

Harry groaned in response, “Was I just supposed to let it go unnoticed?” 

Your teeth found your bottom lip and pressed into it seductively while Harry began to lose all control, “I don’t know,” you shrug, definitely unsure of the conversation he was trying to hold. You were tuned into him, your body slowly beginning to circle around his cock, grinding slowly and almost noticeably. 

But Harry certainly noticed.

He let out an elongated groan as the pressure between the two of you increased and his head fell onto your shoulder. He could almost feel how your panties continued to accumulate your arousal. Seeping through the thin material and onto the sweatpants you wore, your entire body was soon to be glazed over with a thin layer of sweat and his would follow shortly after just by the look of you. 

“C’mon,” he urged you to stand, “Let’s get to the bedroom.”

You let out a disgruntled whine, “Love me out here,” you tell him with a small pout. Your lips pursed together as you pleaded. 

Harry’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of you- so innocent and ready to ruin, “You want me to fuck you by the fireplace?” he asked with an amused chuckle. 

“Would you?” you ask, with a grin creeping up on your lips as he watched you shift excitedly on his lap- or rather his cock. 

He sends you a charming smile before his hands tug up on the hem of your (or rather his) shirt. Carefully flinging it aside, he traced his hands around the soft swells of your breasts as you released a longing sigh of pleasure.

Your hands wrapped around his shoulders as you sat up straighter in his lap. His hands met your collarbone before he leaned his face into your chest, his mouth immediately attaching itself to your hardened nipple. His tongue worked quickly to outline your nipple and suck on it harshly. Teeth gently coming together to bite and smacking sounds could be heard as he leaves open mouthed kisses around the mound. 

His eyes watched you the whole time- your hands knotting into his hair as your head is thrown back in absolute pleasure. Your mouth parted open angelically urged him to go faster and longer- to suck a bit harsher and bite a bit deeper. The purple bruise left on your breast made him smile widely before he replaced his mouth with his hand and started on your other breast. 

He continued to massage your nipple with his tongue and your breast in full with his hand. You were going absolutely insane as he worked on your body- your breaths getting shallower and more frequent as you panted for him to continue. 

When he finished his assault on both nipples, he was sure he had lost a few chunks of hair but it was worth it. 

His mouth worked back again, a chaste kiss left on your lips before spongey kisses were left along your jaw and neck. Your hands shoved his head closer to your body, if possible, and you sat in pure ecstasy as he worked his way down your décolletage and onto your stomach. 

Your hips bucked upwards as Harry laid you down on the couch, his forearm making a home on your hip bones to hold you down as he kissed lower and lower on your body. It felt like pure torture as you let out a defeated moan, his lips getting exceptionally close to the top of your sweatpants but avoiding them perfectly.

“Please,” you whine out, nudging up with your foot. 

Harry hummed in response, “Get up, babe,” you tell him as you groan in pleasure. Harry obliges, his body lifted from yours as you immediately kick off the rest of the clothes you wore, “Okay,” you mumble as you pull his arm back to its place by your head. Harry smiles at you sweetly, giving you a long kiss before making his way back down to your glistening cunt.

He gave you one last look before making a long, broad lick across the expanse of your vagina- his tongue immediately enrapturing in your taste that he gathered on his tongue. He smacked his lips together playfully and moans in approval at the sweet taste before bringing his head back to your cunt. 

He leaves a harsh kiss at the center of her opening, his tongue sneaking in for a short moment before he backs away. Moving up slightly, he makes contact with your swelling clit. It was puffier than usual- the grinding doing a lot for sheer horniness you were unable to get away from. 

He teasingly bites it with a hardly noticeable pressure before his lips wrap around it, sucking harshly as if he was milking it of everything you had to offer. It hardly took him two seconds to elicit a scream in pleasure from you, your hips moving up rapidly to get more friction. He was doing everything for you.

“What,” he mumbled out as he continued to suck. 

“God, Harry, you’re not funny.” you insult him as he continues his assault on your wet clit. 

You begin to grind your hips against his face. You want more. And Harry knows that but he is no gentleman. 

He begins kissing along the folds of your skin, teasing you by slowly moving from the outside in. His eyes followed yours as they skewed shut and you tried your best to calm your body down, which seemed impossible at the moment. He gets so close to where you want him but he’s teasing. He stops right before he gets to the center making you whine in disapproval. 

He lets out a hearty chuckle before laying his tongue down flat at the base of your entrance. He licks fully up your cunt before returning to the base. He follows into a short pattern- he begins going halfway up, fully up, and laps up and down three times before he repeats. And this has you going absolutely crazy.

You let out a series of moans and a string of curses before calling out his name, your voice laced with sultry, “Harry please,” you moan out, your voice a bit raspier than usual. He hums in approval against your cunt, making you let out another moan at the feeling.

Then, he finally finds your clit again, this time his fingers deep inside you to aid. He bites softly, the pressure feeling euphoric through your body, before you find yourself letting go onto his fingers. 

He sits up, you following shortly after and leaning back onto your elbows. You were out of breath but too lost in lust to care. 

Harry licks his fingers clean, dipping them back in to tease you a bit. You move your body sharply at the contact, feeling so overstimulated in that moment. Harry sent you a smile before bringing his fingers to your lips. 

Your lips wrapped around his fingers easily making him groan. You sucked every last drop off, leaving some on your tongue to tease him before swallowing it all and kissing him after. This time, it was your turn to make him feel good. 

You begrudgingly sat up, your body still in dire need of rest from the orgasm you just had, and allowed Harry to lie down, putting a pillow behind his head for support. Your hand found the drawstring of his sweats and quickly worked the knot loose before sliding them off his legs along with his boxers. While you worked on his pants, Harry haphazardly tossed his shirt behind him, hyper aware of the fireplace that was blazing next to them. 

You moved between his legs and gingerly wrapped your fingers around his cock. Feeling it stiffen (what seemed like to its last degree) made you smirk before running your thumb over the tip. 

Harry exhaled out a sharp breath at the contact and rolled his head back onto the pillow, his hand making a makeshift ponytail for your head as you started moving your hand up and down around the base of his cock and lowered your head to be eye level with his swollen tip, “God, Y/N. Takin’ too long, love,” he moaned out as you slowly inched your mouth closer and closer. 

Jokingly, you stuck your tongue out slightly, giving his shaft a small kitten lick, before fully retracting and leaving him with just your hand. 

He let go of your hair in defeat and ran a hand over his face, “And you say I’m not funny?” he asks.

You chuckle at his annoyance before moving your head fully down to his cock just as he wished from you. You left a series of kisses along the length of his shaft before you wrapped your lips around it, barely taking in the tip and your tongue greedily swirling around it with no hesitation. 

Harry can feel everything perfectly- you’re teasing him so well. He can feel the way you breath out from your nose and he can feel your hand creeping up his thigh and getting all too close to his balls. 

“Y/N,” he moaned out in ecstasy, “Please,” he begged you softly as his words strung together, similar to when he was drunk.

Your hooded eyes look at him as your hand reaches where he wanted. You fondled his balls with your left hand as you continued to stroke him slowly and teasingly with your right. You allow him to gather your hair once more before sinking his cock deeper into your mouth. 

Harry groaned at the sight of his cock poking your cheek- perhaps it was the sight of him being inside you in a way he could see that was so pleasurable to witness. You hummed around his shaft, making him moan out a “fuck” before you removed your right hand and swallowed his entire cock. 

Harry was absolutely lost on how he was supposed to survive at this point. He was so sure you were going to kill him with pleasure in that exact moment as you began to bob your head up and down along his cock and as your hands played with his balls- worshiping him fully. 

He bucked his hips up against your mouth, signaling he wanted to fuck your face, but you weren’t going to allow that to happen. He could take control in a bit. 

You let your mouth off his cock fully, a string of your spit connecting your lips and his cock. He groaned at how hot he thought you looked- your lips absolutely swollen and the way you swallowed all the precum before sticking your tongue out at him. It almost felt childish to him- how excited he was to kiss you- but it was real. 

You leaned into him slowly, hardly touching your lips together before you went back down to his wet cock. 

You spit onto his hardened shaft before moving your hand along it quickly. Your thumb ran over the tip of his cock before sliding back to the base, bringing the drop of precum with it. 

Though Harry had the feeling for a while, he had begun to get a fiery pit at the bottom of his stomach. It was much quicker than he anticipated but he was never able to fully hold back with you. 

His hand tapped your shoulder to notify you he was about to come- he knew you didn’t like to swallow. You glanced at him in acknowledgement before you finished getting him off. 

He let out a few whines before an elongated moan left his lips. It was deep toned and louder than usual and it made you feel everything in that moment. His eyes shut harshly as you made the last movement before ribbons of his cum flew out of his cock and onto your chest. You sent him a smile as he breathed heavily, “Every time I think I can go longer but you just have to make me come, huh?” he groans out. 

You let out a laugh, “I can say the same.” 

Harry smiles before grabbing your arms and turning you around in an instant, “We can try again,” he tells you. 

You nearly moan at the thought of him finally being inside you as he works quickly to lay you on your stomach, his hand reaching towards his cock and stroking it gently as you get comfortable, a pillow pulled under your stomach so he could access your body easier. 

“Please, H,” you moan out as you feel him shuffle to get above you, “God hurry up, you’re literally just standing there,” you complain.

“Oh what? Is this over now because I wasn’t fast enough?” he asks, a smirk hinting at his lips.

“Shut the fuck up,” you groan, “You’re so annoying just put your dick in me.”

Harry laughs, you’re all too impatient these days. He situates himself above you and angles his stiff penis at your entrance, his cock glistening from your saliva and your cut still wet from before. He pushed in fully, a groan leaving both of you simultaneously as he began to slowly tease you, his cock making incredibly short strokes in and out of you. 

You were beginning to have enough of his teasing, though the position was deemed your favorite- he just felt so much bigger- it was beginning to lose its appeal. It was hard for you to take control when you couldn’t even see him.

Sitting up slightly on your knees, you pushed your ass back onto him, making him thrust fully into you in a quick instant, “Doesn’t that feel so much better?” you pant.

Harry groaned a bit, “Yeah but it won’t be as satisfying-” he tries to explain.

“Just fuck me, we can talk about satisfying later,” you tell him with a snappy tone, your head craning awkwardly so you can send him a calculated glare.

Harry rolled his eyes in defeat, leaned forward and gave you a quick kiss and an apologetic smile before immediately thrusting in with as much power as he could muster up. 

The sound of skin on skin and your combined moans filled the room and fueled the fire between you two. The room was much warmer now, filled entirely with your sweaty bodies and the now sweaty furniture, but neither of you paid enough mind to care how uncomfortable you felt from being so sticky. It was trivial, really.

His cock hit you just right over and over again, your body falling numb to anything but the feeling of him on you. Your throat began to hurt from the screams you were letting out and Harry’s knees were beginning to give out at how good he felt in that moment.

You clenched around his cock, milking it for everything it had to offer, making Harry groan, his arms falling down beside you so he could stay upright. 

As his thrusts slowed down, you could feel how exhausted but happy Harry was. It had been a long day and a wonderful night that he could feel nothing but pleasure throughout. 

Your moans kept him going as he continued to thrust into you, hitting your g-spot perfectly, the position making it feel more than satisfactory. He was coming down from a high and feeling everything between the two of you became a new drug for him. He was addicted and couldn’t seem to get enough. 

His hand found your clit as he regained his energy and began rubbing furiously, his thrusts slowing down slightly but never fully stopping. As usual he was on a mission to make you feel good.  You knew he was waiting for you to come before he had the pleasure himself. 

You were close though, there was close to nothing for him to worry about in that department. With your lips falling open and disgruntled moans leaving them softly, Harry was about ready to explode.

“Oh my god, Harry,” you moan, your eyes shutting tightly as your body shook with pleasure. You reached your climax and Harry found himself giving you a few more thrusts before following himself. 

He was severely out of breath and you were at a loss for words as Harry laid down next to you, his head turned and your eyes caught light together. The fire was slowly dying down as the sound of the Game of Thrones intro made itself noticeable again. 

A soft smile was sent between you two, “Let's stay here until we have cabin fever.”

[sierraraeck]

Struck by Lightning

Derek x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: After breaking up with your boyfriend, you go out for a girls night. Unfortunately, he follows you to the club to try and win you back. To show him just how over him you are, you kiss the first stranger you see walking through the door. Luckily for you, that man is a sculpted god of chocolate thunder.

Category: Spicy fluff

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol. Age gap between adults (maybe like 10ish years) but I never actually mention it lol. Some cussing.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: This was inspired by the song “Guys My Age” by Hey Violet. If you wanna give that a quick listen, go for it, if not, that’s chill too. This is also for @fortheloveofcriminalminds 600 follower celebration! The prompt “in the likely event that this all goes pear shaped, just remember I told you so” is in bold!

“I finally did it,” you told your friend over the phone.

“You did!” she squealed. “You dumped Brody? I’m so proud of you!”

You laughed, “Thanks, Jess. God, I was just so tired of his bullshit. He never wanted to do anything but hang around his house with his friends, ya know?”

“Yeah, I do know,” Jess responded very dramatically. “I’m so glad you’re done with him! This calls for celebration!”

“Oh god,” you mumbled, knowing exactly what that entailed. Jess was always a bit excited when it came to celebrating. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yes! Girls night!” The high frequency of her voice nearly blew your eardrums out. “There’s this new bar and club downtown that I’ve been dying to check out. I’m going to call the girls!”

Without getting another word in, she hung up, leaving you no choice but to start getting ready for what you were sure would be a wild night.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Wild would not be the word you’d use to describe the night so far. Irritating would be more accurate.

Not even ten minutes after you’d arrived, Brody and his asshat friends showed up too. Of course, they couldn’t just keep their distance like any normal person who’d just been dumped would, maybe a normal person would even leave to go to a different club, but no. The first thing Brody did was approach you, sliding into the barstool next to you.

You could smell the alcohol and weed on his breath when he said, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Go away, Brody,” you deadpanned. You’d finally gotten away from your immature, never-wants-to-do-anything boyfriend who never put you first, who now all the sudden that you’re gone, decides to start making an effort. And of course it had to be on the night that you were celebrating the single life again that he just had to show up.

“Don’t be like that, babe,” he said, reaching out to touch you.

You scooted out of reach of him, “Don’t touch me.”

“Come on, baby, we used to have a lot of fun. Let me remind you of that,” he said, leaning in to kiss you.

You put your hand in the way and pushed his face away from yours. “I would literally rather kiss anyone other than you,” you spat.

“You don’t mean that,” Brody tried to schmooze.

“Yes I do.”

“Oh really? Prove it,” he challenged.

“Come on, Y/N, let’s just go. He’s not worth it,” Jess told you, your two other friends at her sides.

But you were too competitive for that. Plus, this was your girls night out, at the club that Jess had been dying to see for ages now, and you weren’t going to let your stupid ex ruin that. So you accepted by saying, “I will. Next person who walks through that door.”

Brody shrugged, a smug smile on his face. “Fine. Let’s see it.”

You eyed the door as Jess leaned in and whispered, “In the likely event that this all goes pear shaped, just remember I told you so.”

You rolled your eyes, still facing the door. Then you saw movement behind the glass, the door swinging open to reveal the person you’d fated yourself to kiss.

And holy shit. You don’t think you’ve ever been so lucky in your life. The honest to god hottest man you’d ever seen walked through the door. He was tall, broad shoulders accompanying his strong build, and when you saw him turn and smile at the rest of what you assumed were his friends walking through the door, you thought you might pass out. He had to have been sculpted by Zeus himself.

You were staring in shock, as if you’d been struck by lightning, almost forgetting you had a small wager on the line. Jess gave you a small nudge, springing your feet into action.

You couldn’t believe you were about to do this. But, you strutted up to the man still partially in the doorway with confidence like you’d never had before, the group of people facing your way tracking your movements. The man himself had barely enough time to turn around and register you walking toward him before you reached up behind his neck and pulled him just slightly down to you. You smashed your lips to his with a bit more force than you intended, and could feel the shock coming from everyone around you.

They weren’t the only ones to be surprised, though. In only a matter of seconds, without pulling back to ask any questions, he started kissing you back. It caught you a little off guard, to be honest, thinking you were just going to kiss him and awkwardly walk away. But he kissed you back. Like really kissed you back. His lips were soft and smooth, and before you could fully register it, your tongues were exploring each other’s mouths, pushing and pulling in a way you’d never felt before. One of his hands rested on your jaw and the other snaked around your back, spurring on your confidence enough to place your other hand on his very firm, and very muscular chest.

You weren’t sure how long the kiss lasted, but you felt like you had to pull back when one of his friends cleared their throat. You looked into his dark, cocoa eyes now that you could really admire his face close up, and he was looking at you with a mix of confusion and wonder.

You bit your lip and turned to quickly glance at the brunette who’d cleared her throat. She was pressing her lips together to suppress a smile, but wasn’t failing dreadfully at it.

You turned your attention back to the man in front of you, still looking at you in awe. Running on pure adrenaline and confidence, you slowly looked him up and down, then let out a satisfied sigh. “Not bad,” you muttered to yourself, barely loud enough for him to hear it. You ran both your hands down his chest and flirtatiously continued, “Not bad at all.”

You easily slid out of his grasp and winked over your shoulder as you strutted away.

You heard the woman who’d cleared her throat say, “I know you’re Derek Morgan, and I know you’re a catch, but has that ever happened to you?”

You peered over your shoulder and saw him staring at you. Derek, you now knew his name to be, shook his head just slightly and mumbled, “Never.”

You quickly turned away, not wanting any of them to see your grin as you practically bounced back to your seat at the bar. Brody was nowhere to be found.

Jess was slack jawed, eyebrows almost lost in her hairline. You teased, “What was that you were saying about things going wrong? Something about telling me so or..?”

Jess pulled herself together and feigned annoyance, “Oh shut up. You know you got hella lucky.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “I know.”

“Seriously, Y/N, what the hell was that?”

You shook your head, feeling as in awe as the man you’d kissed only moments ago had looked. “I have no idea.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

You eyed each other for the next hour or so, neither of you being too inconspicuous about. You’d been on the dance floor while him and his group were at a bar table. He finally approached you when you’d taken a break to get another drink.

He walked up to you and leaned against the side of the bar you’d just order from. He hadn’t said anything yet, so, without looking at him, you filled the airspace. “You know it’s considered rude.”

“Excuse me?” he questioned. It was the first time you’d really heard his voice, and it was a deep velvety sound you wanted to remember.

“It’s considered rude to stare,” you started, turning to face him, “Especially if you’re not going to buy the next drink.”

He swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, “Is that so?”

You simply nodded as the bartender brought you your drink. He had already fished out a twenty, holding it up between two of his fingers. He never took his eyes off you as the bartender took the cash and you sipped at the liquid in your glass.

“That’s a little better,” you teased.

You stood there leaning against the bar shamelessly looking each other over for another moment before he spoke up again, “I’m Derek Morgan.”

“I know,” you stated, flashing him a smile. He looked at you expectantly, but you weren’t about to give anything up.

He sighed a little, but gave you a small smile when he asked, “Well, if you won’t tell me your name, would you at least like to dance with me?”

You opened your mouth in fake surprise, “Ooh, so you’re a trade off kinda guy.”

He quickly backtracked, “No, that’s not-”

You laughed, cutting him off. “It’s okay, I like a little trade off. How about I dance with you, and if I’m any good, you put your number in my phone. If I’m not, I’ll tell you my name.”

He smirked, “Deal.”

Derek offered his hand and you gave him a small smirk as you took it, letting him lead you to the dance floor.

You both started rhythmically moving to the deafening beat, sharing glances and mimicking movements. The two of you owned the dance floor, people from all across the bar looking your way, but neither of you bothered to notice. You were way too caught up in each other, slowing moving closer and closer as you danced.

Being around him was electric, and each time your skin touched his it sent shock waves through your body, as if the man himself was made from lightning. You were becoming more and more convinced that he was handcrafted by the gods themselves.

You couldn’t remember how long you’d been on the dance floor, but when Derek dragged you off, it seemed like you could have wasted endless time in your own world out there. He was a great dancer, and you loved that he was more than willing to dance with you. Not enough men were interested in dancing like he seemed to be.

He pulled you off to the side in a low traffic, dark hallway. His whole figure seemed to glow despite the dim lighting, and the only real sound was your labored breathing above the muffled bass.

Derek’s eyes raked from your eyes down to your lips, so it was no surprise when his actions followed his gaze. His lips were on yours, and your back was in contact with the wall in a flash. He kissed you with more passion and vigour than the first time, completely dominating the kiss. You didn’t mind, wrapping your arms around his neck to get as close to him as you possibly could and then some. Your heart was racing as you tried to cling to the feeling, ignoring your lung’s cry for air.

Derek was the one who pulled away, but only to trail kisses down your neck, giving you enough time to catch your breath. “Hey, hey,” you whispered. He looked up at you with curious eyes, “Does this mean I won our little trade off?”

A hearty chuckle escaped his chest making your knees weak and he beamed at you as he answered, “I guess it does.”

You grabbed a wad of his shirt and pulled his lips to yours again, then released it to take his hand. You led him from the hallway and back to the bar where you’d left your phone, handing it to him. After he’d typed in his number, one of his friends from earlier, the same brunette, approached the two of you. Derek gave her a defeated look and she nodded her head. He sighed, an entire conversation you couldn’t follow happening in front of you. She shrugged and walked away.

When Derek’s attention was back on you, he said, “It looks like I have to go. But is there really nothing I can do to convince you to give me your name?”

You shook your head with a cheeky smile, “I guess you’ll just have to wait for a phone call.”

“You know,” he started with a joking tone, “I work for the FBI and could probably get your name if I wanted to.”

You laughed, “Is that where you’re off to?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he answered with dry humor.

“Interesting.” He gave you a look but you shrugged. “Makes sense, though, I’d pegged you as more of a SWAT guy.” He laughed and you couldn’t help but join him.

“Morgan, let’s go!” a blonde this time yelled to him.

He rolled his eyes, completely ignoring her and said, “I hope I hear from you soon.”

“Hang in there, Agent Derek Morgan,” you teased.

He flashed you that award-winning smile before turning to leave. You watched him all the way out the door, and once he got there, turned back to look at you. He smiled to himself again and left, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so.

Something about the energy in the room changed when he was gone, like all the electricity had followed him out. You were sure, then, that he wasn’t just created by Zeus, but had to have been Zeus himself. And you couldn’t wait to be struck by the lightning of his presence again.

Taglist

@90spumkin

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

NSFW (whole alphabet) for Captain Rex? 🥺🥺

A/N: Hell yes! Sorry this took so long for me to get to. I love Rex so much, words cannot describe. I hope to do my favorite Captain justice. And as a reminder, REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!! These take just as much time as drabbles and the tags hate me.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Can you say, soft? Because Rex is soft. He’ll do whatever you ask; run a bath, rub your sore muscles, hold you close, whatever you want.  He is the sweetest man after sex.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Rex honestly has a hard time picking his favorite part about you.  His first instinct is to say your legs, but then he thinks about it and say the part where your legs meet your back.  Actually, that whole area.  That, and above it...

For himself, Rex is actually really proud of his back.  You’ve playfully giving him a few wolf whistles when you’ve seen him doing pull ups without a shirt on.  He knows he’s strong and if the way your nails dig into his back when he takes you against a wall is any indication; you appreciate his strength too.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He always ends up leaving a mess whenever he cums.  From lack of experience, he hasn’t quite got the timing down on pulling out and so it often spills half inside you, some on your skin and some on the mattress.  There are times you wonder if he does it on purpose. There have been a few times he openly moaned at the sight of his cum dripping down your inner thigh.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He does cum in a mess on purpose. He apologizes every time and helps clean you up.  However, that doesn’t stop him from getting hard all over again at the sight of you blissed out of your mind and stained with his cum.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

We’re going to say none before you.  Like seriously.  I don’t know where is Dom-Captain Rex came from in the fandom, but that is not this man’s M.O.  His devotion is 110% to the GAR and we see how awkward he gets in social situations outside anything having to do with the army or his brothers.

So, yeah, Captain Rex is a virgin the first time you have sex.  You cannot convince me otherwise.  Luckily for you, he’s also a man who learns and adapts quickly. ;)

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

You on your back with your legs draped over his arms as he pounds into you.  He gets a perfect view of everything; your bouncing tits, your eyes, the way his cock slides in and out of you, plus the option to grab hold of the headboards and really go to down.

A close second is pinning your back against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist. He loves the feeling of your nails down his back as he fucks up into you.  And gravity does the work for him when he pulls out and sees his cum going down your leg.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It takes him a while to loosen up in bed.  When you guys first start having sex it’s like he’s on a recon mission; what works, what doesn’t, testing his own endurance as well as yours, that kind of thing.  It’s only when he gets a full inventory on how to make you feel good as well as himself does he start cracking jokes. It’s not the norm, but it reaches about 30%.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He doesn’t really do much down there until he meets you, besides keeping it clean.  After you guys start sleeping together, he starts to trim it down and experiment a bit.  He even shaved all the hair off at one point, but you assured him he didn’t need to.

Also, he had dark hair down there.  No, he is not bleaching his pubic hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Rex is focused on you the entire time.  He wants you to know he’s paying attention to you and listening to your wants and needs.  It’s more a sliding scale of how emotional it can get, often depending on how much of his own emotion and tension he’s keeping bottled up.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’s done it plenty of times before he met you and continues to do it after you get together; his fantasies now just focus on you and you exclusively. Privacy is an issue in the GAR so often he has to wait late at night to get the showers to himself.  However, he prefers it when he gets a chance to take the time alone in his own bed. It’s really the best way he knows to fully relax without you there beside him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Rex is still exploring his kinks, but he’s finding he gets a certain thrill out of cum play.  Eating you out with his cum still in your pussy is not something he’d ever thought he’d enjoy until one night he couldn’t help himself and ended up cumming on the mattress while you came again on his tongue.

And, I’m just going to put this headcanon to bed. CAPTAIN REX IS NOT A DOM, HE IS A SWITCH!!!

Yes, he likes it when you call him Captain or Sir in bed.  Yes, he likes giving you orders and having you obey them to the letter.  But if you’re telling me he doesn’t get off to the idea of you riding his face and using his body in any way you choose to find your own pleasure; then you and I are not talking abut the same character.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Your apartment  Like I said, privacy is an issue on more GAR ships. The Clones have quarters on Coruscant, but it lacks the personality of your place, not to mention you have thicker walls.  It also means he’s off duty and doesn’t have to be worried of being call to the bridge at any given moment.  He can fully relax and focus on you and himself.

Now when it comes to where in your apartment, literally anywhere to a flat surface. He’s not picky.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You calling him “sir” or “captian” in public.  To give him some credit, it’s not only the words, so much as how you say them.  If you say, “yes, sir” like you’re out of breath or worse, if you look up at him through heavy eyelids, he’s going to need a minute to straighten himself out.

There’s also this spot just on the edge of his hairline on his neck that melts him.  All you have to do is brush that spot with your finger or your lips and he’s going to groan.

And cliche, but I have to say it; any time he sees you kick droid ass or even just verbally destroy somebody in a debate.  Your his cyar’ika and he’s going to let you do whatever you want to him that night.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Water play.  He found it by accident when researching different stuff to try.  He thought it would be like shower sex and it’s...not.  The moment he realized what it was he was disgusted and told you immediately that was going on the “no” list.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Split 50/50 between preferring to give or receive. God knows how many times he’s gotten himself off to the image of your lips wrapped around his cock.  He loves how your fingers dig into his thighs as you take him all the way into your mouth.  And seeing cum drip down your lip is enough to get him hard again in seconds.

On the other hand having your perfect thighs wrapped around his head as you fuck is face is as close to heaven as he can imagine. He can stay inbetween your legs for hours reveling in your taste and the way your tremble around him every time he makes you cum. His current record is making you cum three times in the row with just his tongue and fingers before you pushed him away just so you could breath.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can do either or, but he leans more on the rough side. No matter how slow he might start, by the end he’s gripping your thighs like a vice and pounding into your cunt as he loses all sense of control.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Only if he knows he’ll get to have you all to himself later that night.  He thinks of quickies as just a preview of what’s the come, rather than a done deal. 

That all being said, he’s not keen on them.  For one, he doesn’t want to risk getting caught. Two, he would never, ever, have a quickie while on duty.  Which leads to three, if he’s already off duty he might as well take you to bed right now.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Like I’ve said, Rex lacks a lot of experience, but he’s adaptable and a fast learner. You guys have a list of different things you want to try and are slowly working your way down, checking what you like and crossing out ones you don’t.

The only thing he won’t risk is getting caught in the act.  For one, he would never hear the end of it from the rest of the 501st.  And second, he thinks it would reflex negatively, not only on himself as a solider but on the rest of the GAR.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

As a genetically enhanced soldier, his stamina is insane. Granted, it takes him a while to hold off his own orgasm the first few times you have sex.  But, his recovery time is amazing.

He’s good for about three rounds on an average night and once he gets the hang of things, he can make those three rounds last hours.

Your current record is him cumming five times in one night while you lost count once you reached the double digits.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Captain Rex would not be caught dead having any toys with him.  Not in his bunk, not in his apartment on Coruscant, not anywhere.  He cannot imagine how he’d explain that to anyone if they found out.

However, you have a perfectly nice little collection at your apartment.  You guys have been experimenting.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He tries, but he’s not good at it. When he gets into his, “Captain” mode, he does like the idea of keeping you on the edge, but it never lasts.  As soon as you buck your lips and the first little, “please” leaves your lips, he’s done. He has to give you everything.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not quiet, but he’s not going to scare the neighbors.  He’s a talker, surprisingly.  It’s like whatever filter he has as a commander just slips away the moment he buries himself inside you. He praises how you feel.  He mumbles curses and promises until they turn into delirious grunts and groans just before he cums.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Everyone in the 501st knows you guys are fucking the moment you start, even if Rex never tells anyone anything.  He is terrible at hiding his feelings toward you.  Add that to the fact both Fives and Jesse noticed the not so subtle hickies all over his body, and it’s not hard to guess where he got them from.

Rex denies it whenever it’s brought up, but everyone knows the truth.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again; EVERY SINGLE CLONE IS HUNG WITH A THICK EIGHT INCH DICK! And since all of them don’t really have a frame of reference as to what’s “big” or not, they all assume they’re average size (at least until they get someone in bed).

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not crazy high, but after he meets you it’s like his sex drive just triggered into over drive. It could also be because you guys are apart so often.  But, either way you’re having sex almost every night you’re together.  Maybe after the war things will calm down, but not before then.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Almost as soon as you guys finally decide to call it a night.  He’s fallen asleep a few times while in the bathtub with you, is all I’m saying.

[ncitygirls]

matryoshka - part 1, 4k

sibling!johnny, taeyong x f reader, mark x f reader, platonic/‘sibling’!haechan

nct crime au, angst, cw: character death, death, mental illness, police, injury, violence

300 days

There are few people who can disarm a man like Johnny Seo. Since the rather untimely, and inexplicable death of his mother and father at the tender age of fourteen, he quickly adopted this persona. He considers it a token from his late mother. She had always said, in a voice as soft as the breeze in spring, that to be polite is to be in control. He holds himself to that quite forcibly, reminding himself time and time again that there is power in making others fold to him. At time it is as simple as approaching an adversary with a smile, and awaiting the flare in their skin, the bugle in their veins and the ripple in their muscles. There are few who can disarm Johnny Seo. But few does not equate to none.

“When will you discharge her?” Johnny began, the words rolling off of his tongue with an air of nonchalance that bordered on flippancy, but an edge that was new to even him.

“Mr Seo,” without thinking, Johnny rolls his neck, bracing himself for a response he knows he will refuse. He thinks it odd to loathe an act he is yet to commit, especially when he can still prevent it. What he hates more however, is that you are here to witness it. When the doctor sighs, letting his glasses hang around his neck, he smiles sympathetically. Johnny sees nothing but pity. “I’m not sure how else to say this, but physically? Your sister is stable enough to go home. When we went in to remove what was left of the bullet fragments and saw to her ruptured spleen, we managed to mend her torn ligaments. Her blood work came back clear, and for the most part, her vitals are stable. With a few weeks of physio, I think we would be able to discharge her. Ideally, she could go home this week.”

“Wonderful,” Johnny’s hollow cheer guides his hasty movements as he, unthinking, strips you of your blanket to reveal a sight he thinks might change his mind. Rows of red line your skin, moons of dried blood covering the heels of your palms. He cringes at the dirty cotton cuffs that strap you to the metal frame of your hospital bed. Johnny can’t seem to make sense of the sight. “Did this happen during the shooting?”

“No, Mr Seo,” the doctor shakes his head, his frustration with his patient’s only living relative shedding every second he watches Johnny take in your limp frame. “It is like I was saying. Miss Seo is fit enough to leave. But mentally-”

Johnny simply raises his palm, ignoring the tears that pool in and out the corners of your eyes, a steady stream gathering in your hairline as you relive the events the two refer to so flippantly. “She will do better at home.” It is unclear for whom the assurance is intended. The doctor, you, himself. It is all just hope. So it doesn’t matter. “She will do better once she’s home.”

“Mr Seo, as your sister’s physician, I must implore you to reconsider.” Johnny understands where the doctor is coming from, he truly does. Johnny, taught well by his father, prides himself in being understanding. Like his father before him, Johnny prides himself in being calm in the face of not only danger, but regular folk - those who go about their lives, slaves to normalcy. Those who live life year to year, those who plan their lives, who wake up to sleep, expecting to see the sun once again. Those who consider life a right, rather than a privilege. Johnny has come to understand men like this. Not by choice of course, but because he had to. Especially once you met Taeyong.

2,109 days

“I met a guy today,” the words crackle through the phone, Johnny’s fingers stilling as he finally takes a break from his work, placing a mental bookmark on his train of thought. He wants to ask where, but he doesn’t enjoy seeming interested in affairs of the heart. They sicken him. “He was really weird,” you hum as you kick the curb, swinging your arms as you traipse through what Johnny thinks must be your university campus. He pretends he bother to know your schedule, but never has a reason for why he always gets himself up before you leave every morning. “A good weird,” you add, “his clothes hardly fit, they were all baggy. It’s hard to explain.”

“You kids and your trends,” he huffs, spinning in his chair to watch the city, eyes landing on the bell tower of your campus. “What happened to a nicely fitted suit?”

“It’s a college campus, John. Plus, it’s like half ten in the morning,” you can hear his next question before he even asks. “I mentioned his clothes because I wanted you to envision him, not judge him.”

“Well, I am envisioning a bum.”

“Okay, but envision a cute bum,” you try. “A beautiful, cute, funny bum.”

“That is still a bum, y/n.” You hear the faint sound of floor boards creaking, a telltale sign that he’s pacing. “Did he ask you out?” You hum in agreement, always too shy to admit anything so personal outright. It is times like this he wonders why you bother calling him and not just Haechan. He’ll never tell you this however. Lest he lose his spot as your first call. “I hope ope he’s taking you somewhere nice?”

“Yeah, of course,” he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s Hyuck’s you're both going to. Not that there as an issue with Hyuck’s. Even if you’ve already had the menu four different ways, front to back and then back again. It’s where you take all your first dates, you give Haechan a chance to size them up, figure out if they’re worthy. “I just wanted to tell you first because I think he’s a real contender this time.”

“And you’ll be late home, so you won’t be making dinner again?” Your affirming grunt forced a long sigh from Johnny. However, no matter many times he claimed his annoyance was due to your absence inconveniencing him; you both knew the loneliness bothered him now. “Well, have fun.”

“I’ll try,” you sing. “And I’ll bring that coffee cake you love so much, okay?” Johnny offers his own affirming grunt. Though it sits a couple octaves below your own, you hear the sliver of joy he lets through. “Love you.”

He doesn’t respond. He had already hung up.

300 days

“Mr Seo?”

Johnny had finally shrugged off his suit jacket and let his shoulders sag when he heard his name for the umpteenth time that day. He wanta to ignore it, but what would mother say?

“Yes?” SMPA. The badge is hard to read as it glistens under the glaring hospital lights. But he can’t miss the shape, the obnoxious insignia.

“Good evening,” the detective starts, his smiling eyes are in direct contrast to the gloom and doom of the last few days. Johnny wonders if smiling with teeth is proper practice when greeting someone who almost lost their little sister. “I am Detective Lee, I have a few questions for you about the shooting at Hyuck’s Diner. If you have a moment.”

“Of course,” he sighs, straightening his spine. “I am sure you are aware, but I wasn’t there.”

“I think it’s lucky you weren’t,” the detective adds, a sad smile settling on the bed to your right. “I am a friend of Donghyuck’s.”

“Oh,” there’s a short second where Johnny feels an odd sense of comfort, one he believed would only come when you finally opened your eyes. He also feels some guilt. “I didn’t know he had any other friends in Seoul, I tried to reach everyone I could.”

“And thank you for that,” the detective lets his eyes fall on his friend’s unmoving figure for a moment, his gaze returning to Johnny when he feels a familiar prick. “I have been hard at work on this case. I received word you did not wish for your sister to remain in hospital. May I ask why?”

“It is a public hospital,” Johnny responds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I can afford better.”

“Then why did you let her stay?” The detective asks, scribbling away. Johnny wonders what dictates the parameters of an investigation versus a friendly conversation. “Her psych eval?”

“No,” he sighs, eyeing Haechan to your right. “They wouldn’t let me take him too,” when the detective tilts his head, surprise evident in his round eyes, Johnny lets himself laugh for the first time in over a week. “You wouldn’t want to be me when she wakes up to find I left him behind.”

2,361 days

It is past midnight when you fly into Johnny’s bedroom, a dew gathering on your forehead, chin and neck. In his sleepy haze, he hears only the end of your ramblings, your steps ordered in a manner Johnny can only describe as frantic. It is not in his nature to panic, he leaves such trivialities to you. But when your wide eyes find his, fear brimming as you scramble to get ready, you throw him your phone and he finally sees why.

“There are a bunch of guys who won’t pay up at Hyuck’s and he’s scared. Let’s go.”

That’s how Johnny found himself parked outside Hyuck’s Diner in downtown Seoul, just north of the river. You didn’t give him a chance to park up as you dashed out the still moving vehicle, door left wide open. Johnny is thankful it’s late, but quickly notes it being far too late for Hyuck’s to still be open. As he parks up, he watches you storm into the near empty diner, sees the relief on Haechan’s tired face as you round the bar. Johnny can’t really make out what you’re saying, but he can see the fire in your eyes. He sniggers as he stalks after you, seeing his mother in them too.

“I said, pay up, or give it back.”

“That’s funny,” one of the burly men says, food spitting out his mouth and onto the clean bar top as he laughs in your face. While Johnny only counted two from outside, he can now see a third standing off to the side. When his eyes meet Johnny’s, he falters slightly, thick hands running through his hair as he avoids Johnny’s haunting figure hovering by the only exit. “Who exactly is gonna make us?”

“Me,” you grin, reaching for the back of his head and slamming it hard down onto the bar. You hear Haechan yelp in what you assume is fear for his newly polished, now dented bar top. As the guy to his left lunges at you, you’re quick to utilise your surroundings. Johnny almost applauds your ingenuity as you quickly reach for a used butter knife and practically mutilate the man’s fist. It is then Haechan disappears from your side, his head nearly halfway down the drain pipe as blood splurts onto his newly polished, now dented, now blood stained bar top. The first guy had rounded the bar, only to be met with a fist to the throat, and knee to the gut. Johnny sees you’re expecting something to happen as you repeat the motion before seeing sense. With your hand latched to his collar, you drag his doubled over body out onto the street before you knee him again.

In the middle of the intersection pours his unpaid bill, meeting one end of the deal. Johnny laughs at how visibly dissatisfies you are, considering how long their bill actually was. You fish his wallet out of his back pocket, taking a few hundreds to cover the balance. “Who even carries cash anymore?”

Johnny wonders too as you pass by him, walking back inside and turning on the third guy. “Your friend covered yours, so you’re free to go.” As he scrambles to leave, he keeps his eyes fixed on your brother, halting when Johnny moves to stop him, a lone finger pointing toward the man's weeping companion.

“Take them with you.”

It’s a few seconds before their presence is no more than a distant memory. Johnny is quick to clean the bloody bar top, and rearrange the furniture. He even loads the dishwasher as you tend to a still queasy Haechan. “When I text you, I didn’t think you would do all of that,” he huffs, backtracking as he notes the hurt look in your eyes. “I mean, I am so grateful. Really, I am,” he smirks, fatigue stealing the light that usually fills his eyes. “But I didn’t know you were The fucking Bride.” When you roll your eyes, he presses on, glimpses of his usual self slowly return as the adrenaline begins to kick in. “No, honestly! I wish I had cameras in here because- fuck! That was insane!”

“Alright, whatever. Get your things, you’re staying with us tonight.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Haechan asks, the worry in his tone hurting you beyond belief. “Do you think I should call Mark again?”

“Who, the cop? No, they won’t be coming back, trust me,” you hum. When Johnny emerges from the back, drying his hands on a clean rag, you jest, “no thanks to angel eyes over there may I add.”

“Oh my god, hyung! And you!” Haechan restarts, allowing you to pack up his things while he recounts the terror in the third man’s gaze as he locked eyes with your brother. “It’s like he saw a ghost or something.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, grabbing Haechan while Johnny locks up. “Or something.”

It’s nearly dawn when Haechan crashes. It was Monday and he needed to find cover for the open. But getting cover didn’t stop him fretting, and no amount of herbal tea nor booze could settle a frantic Haechan. It is laughable though, how it took no more than a film opening to send him off. You slip away at sunrise, snuggling up to Johnny who gave up on sending you away shortly after your parents passed. However, he still makes sure to express his disdain for the affection.

“At least stick to your side, y/n-”

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you breathe, clearly uninterested in satisfying his request. “I know you have to be up soon, and I’m sorry. But having you there was- yeah. Thank you.”

For the first time in years, Johnny lets you snuggle with him. An hour later, for the first time ever, Johnny lets Haechan do the same. He fears that this might become a pattern, the two of you craving so much affection it might suffocate him. Johnny knows it just might, but has found peace in that. Much like he has found peace in your insistence that Haechan be one of you. Because he is one of you, he too left orphaned at a young age, you took him under your wing. So much like that day, as Johnny falls asleep to the sound of your light snores, he also decides-

300 days

“He’s family.”

“He speaks so highly of you both,” Mark adds, smiling thankfully at your sleeping frame. “But I’m sure he would forgive you for doing what’s best for her.”

“She wouldn’t.” Johnny adds, though a part of him knows he might have trouble forgiving himself.

“What is it you do for a living?” Mark asks, eyes quickly scanning Johnny’s crisp suit. “I can’t say I recall Hyuck ever mentioning it.”

“A bit of this and that,” he jokes, glancing towards you. “That’s what she calls it.” He hates the melancholic tone he has adopted. It is pitiful. “After our parents passed, I took over their pharmaceuticals company just after I turned twenty-one. We dabble in everything; medicine, cosmeceuticals, nutrition, you name it.”

“That must keep you busy.”

“I work from home,” Johnny knows he is being foolish, trying to falsely place an accusation in Mark’s assumption. Johnny knows he fell into the classic trope of throwing himself into his studies, and then his work, just to avoid the harsh reality that his parents were gone and they were never coming back. He would readily admit he abandoned you in the beginning to grieve on your own, to figure it all out on your own. He just wouldn’t take that from a stranger. “I tried to be around for her as much as I could.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Mark’s smile is kind, full of unfiltered sympathy. Johnny wonders if you have to practice such a thing, and if so, whether someone should have the doctors do the same. “I just wonder if you are wearing yourself thin is all.”

“You needn’t worry about such things Detective.” Johnny reminds, drawing the line between the two so simply, his eyes flicking slowly to Mark’s badge. “Worry about the case.”

“Of course,” Mark rushes, scrambling to defend his statement. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“And I you,” when the doctor enters to take both yours and Haechan’s vitals, he greets Mark warmly. Johnny feels no resentment to this warm reception, none whatsoever. But he can’t help but wonder what about him denies him the same warm greeting. He is quickly reminded of the first time he was to meet Taeyong.

1,977 days

“Your knees are shaking the counter, hyung,” Haechan sniggers. He knows he shouldn’t, he does. But he can’t help but bask in his friend’s nerves. How can the coldest man he knows be so scared to meet his sister’s boyfriend. As calm and collected as he behaves, Haechan is no stranger to worry, and it worries him to no end how the evening will go. From what he has heard from you, Taeyong is as nervous as one can be. And yet, your main concern lies in how your brother will react, and Haechan is an empathetic soul. He just knows he will feel it all. “Your vibe is really killing the mood, lighten up.”

“Shut up, kid.” Johnny warns, eyeing his watch every so often. “They’re late.”

Strike one.

“You know what y/n is like, she’s probably trying to talk him out of it.” Haechan notes how innocent Johnny looks with his head tilted, confusion bleeding into his features. “You are pretty scary hyung, maybe she thinks you’m scare him off.”

“Maybe he isn’t worthy then.”

Strike two.

“Or,” Haechan sings, adjusting his embroidered apron, Hyuck’s opening anniversary gift from the very man he is about to berate. “Maybe you’re not ready to watch your sister grow up, so you sabotage everything with your scary eyes and bad vibes,” Haechan shrugs with his chin in his palm, blinking sweetly at Johnny who resists the urge to flick his forehead.

“Don’t you have coffee to go pour?”

Haechan sniggers once more as he does just that, refilling Johnny’s coffee and shrugging. “Or maybe they’re stuck in traffic.”

So he can’t fly?

Strike three.

300 days

After a few hours, Mark returns for a detailed description of the three men he suspects may be involved in the shooting. Johnny says as much as he can recall, even going as far as to emphasise the detective’s lack of involvement. He suspects it is in direct retaliation to his earlier comment and ignores it, though Johnny quickly sees his own guilt reflected back in the detective’s guilt ridden eyes. “Will that be all?”

“Almost-” Mark starts, before glancing over at you. “I just,” he can’t seem to push past the lump in his throat. Johnny has given him everything he knows, that much is true. But after speaking with the doctor, Mark can’t help but wonder. “Why haven’t you tried speaking to her? Doctor Kim said she may respond well to a familiar voice.”

“I’m not sure what to say.”

Mark knows it’s a loaded statement. One dripping in regret, in guilt, and in shame. But Mark can’t afford for Johnny to be ashamed. Not with Haechan lying unconscious as you lie there, reliving that day over and over and over again. Mark needs you to wake up. But Mark also swore to never relinquish his compassion. All Mark knows of you is the stories he’s heard through Haechan. Though some have a rosier hue due to his familiarity with you, Mark is sure there is no exaggeration in your case. You are a good person. One who cares deeply, who loves deeply. Mark thinks those parts of you are the ones Johnny can tap into. He just won’t.

“Haechan was my first friend in Korea. When I moved here as a kid, my parents worked at the orphanage he was at. He made fun of my Korean for a year straight before I could finally understand and speak fluently enough to defend myself. But, I guess it was okay, you know? He was helping all the same. I was a scrawny kid, I used to get picked on a lot. He was always there. Even though he got beat up too. He’s in all my earliest- my best memories. growing up. He’s like my brother. If he was awake, I think I’d-”

“But he isn’t,” Johnny reminds, eyes locked on your sunken face. Johnny knows what Mark is doing, he knows the tactic very well. He is quite acquainted with guilt as a form of persuasion. “He’s not awake, detective. The doctor said he doesn’t know if he will ever wake up. You know, I overheard the doctors say they haven’t seen spinal fractures that severe in their fifty years of combined experience. They said if Haechan ever opens his eyes again it will be a miracle. If he walks again? This hospital would be internationally renowned. Those surgeons would be infamous. But they can’t. They can’t so it. They can’t do it because they don’t have the facilities for such an operation, and even if they did, Hyuck couldn’t afford it. Even if he could afford it, y/n would have to wake up and give them the okay, because this idiot made herself his guardian so he could practically sell his soul for the loan for that fucking diner.

“So, I’m sorry, detective. I’m sorry that the only thing standing between you ever seeing your friend again is my selfish sister.”

“Mr Seo-”

“But you must agree, she is selfish. She thinks she’s the only one hurting, the only one who has lost something, lost someone.” Mark only sees what Johnny is doing a few seconds too late. As Johnny raises a lone finger to his lips, his eyes catching on the stream pouring down your temples. Mark’s heart nearly beats out of his chest as your vital signs begin to whir, the machinery at your bedside coming to life as Johnny reminds you that, “people die every day. Our parents, Hyuck’s parents, and now Taeyong-”

“Don’t!” You scream suddenly, your body nearly thrashing off of the bed. Johnny fears the force with which you rise could snap your arms in two, but nothing is more worrisome than the bloody red rimming your crisp white eyes; the visible and painfully rapid rise and fall of your chest; the tremor in your chapped lips. “Don’t! Please! Please don’t say it-”

Johnny had never moved so fast. His hands clinging to your trembling frame as he stroked the back of your head. He chanted quickly in your ear, pleading with you to stay with him as he promises to stay. “I won’t go anywhere, I won’t leave you. Never. I promise. Just please, stay with me, okay? I need you here, Hyuck- Hyuck needs you, okay? I need you to stay with me, we’re all we have. Please, y/n-”

Mark couldn’t help but feel intrusive. His earlier pushing began to feel filthy, unfair, unjust. But how could he know you were this far gone, this distraught. Nothing is more sickening than the soft, croaky ‘yes’ that spills from your lips. Your bloodshot eyes lingering on his frozen frame before you see Haechan. You tremble again, your body nearly convulsing as you recognise the boy beside you.

“Shh, he’ll be okay- I promise- we’ll get him help. I promise you- we’ll be okay.”

Johnny rarely spoke out of hope. He was a man who would cling so tightly to reality, you would sometimes joke that his knuckles would snap from the pressure. But as he holds you tightly in his arms, rocking your hollow frame back and forth, he realises he has nothing more than hope.

But since when has hope ever been enough?

[shoichee]

Red Rose

Part 3 of the Pun Fest collection!

Akashi x Reader

Word Count: 4,355

Synopsis: You made it a challenge for yourself as the esteemed 1st year class clown to get a reaction out of Akashi. Not just any Akashi, however. Boku-Akashi. Things quickly get too out of hand.

Note: I will be trying to avoid describing the “color” of Akashi’s eyes because they are actually a non-diegetic effect, where the animation/visuals are flashy/emphasized for the audience to see, but in the canon universe, they don’t actually look like that and no one will actually see said animations, and such.

»»—————　☼　—————««

“...and after that, his ass fell flat on the floor right in front of everybody! Can you believe that?”

As your voice chimed throughout the halls, your fellow classmates were stifling their laughter but chortles still escaped from their suppressed lips. Hayama smacked your head in utter embarrassment.

“You’ve already told that story to everyone, c-cut it out already!”

“Kotarooooo,” you pouted. “Not my fault that they kept asking for me to retell it again.” You stuck your tongue at him.

“Tch,” he clicked his tongue, figurative irk marks popping up on his temple. “You needa show some more respect to your senpais!” With that, he started grabbing your head to mess with your hair.

“H-Hey! It’s not my fault that you tried to impress a passerby 3rd year girl by doing a failed dribbling trickshot,” you vehemently protested, trying to rip his strong grip off your poor hairline.

Your classmates were either watching with complete entertainment or with concern for your safety as both you and the Uncrowned King were duking it out and sidestepping each other. 

… That is, until they grew increasingly uncomfortable after spotting a particular redhead walking in their direction. 

You and Hayama were too invested in the playfight to notice the unforeseen deathly silence and chilled air that accompanied it.

“Kotarō.”

With a simple call from his airy tone that still somehow glaciated the sunniest of atmospheres, he halted both of you (with his hand still fisted in your hair and you still pulling his cheek) to turn your attention to the person to whom the voice belonged.

Akashi Seijuro.

“C-captain!” Hayama separated from you at an inhumane speed that rivaled his lightning dribbling. You stiffened yourself straight like a plank.

You’ve heard the rumors. From whispering gossipers to personal testimony from your blonde best friend, you knew his presence meant anything but pleasant. 

“Did you forget that we had practice today?”

Holy shit. You glanced in the corner of your eye to see Hayama paled before he gulped. Was he gonna be okay?

You dared not move a muscle from where you stood, hoping not to attract the basketball captain’s attention, but you knew you stuck out like a sore thumb after seeing how all the students huddled closer to the walls while you were stuck in the middle along with Hayama and Akashi.

“I knew that you forgot, so I came by for your sake so we can all start practice together as an absolute team.”

Ah… there was his infamous favorite word.

Akashi flickered his catlike gaze to you. He didn’t miss the way your body was paralyzed by fear, but he slightly narrowed his pupils at the fact that you almost looked curious about him.

“We’re going.” He gracefully pivoted around to walk the opposite direction in where he came from.

“I-I’ll see you later, dummy,” he whispered, giving you a playful wink before he strode up to Akashi’s pace, but you knew from his tense back that he was scared shitless of whatever inevitable punishment drill he was going to be tortured by.

You recovered from your stupor and tried to ease Hayama with a joke. “Don’t act all tough, Kota! I know you’re gonna akashit your pants!—” You snorted trying to finish your one-liner but finding your own joke funny. “P-pf-pfft, don’t slip on the floor again, okay?”

And just like that, with your words, the students around you eased up and let out soft chuckles.

Hayama turned back around even as he continued walking. “Oi! Watch it, kid!” He made the motions of pointing his eyes to you, but you knew that he was grateful for you in trying to unravel his bundle of nerves.

Akashi, still walking, merely glanced back at your figure, unamused at your “joke” but nonetheless almost impressed that you actually had some type of leadership charisma to be able to uplift a crowd’s mood in an instant.

. . .

Everyone released a huge sigh of collective relief once the basketball-player duo was out of sight.

“Are you insane, (l/n)?” Another good friend of yours went up to your side. “You had the balls to literally say such a thing in front of him? Of all people?”

“Well, it’s not like, I’d get sent to the faculty office because of him…” you muttered. On second thought, you probably would. This was Akashi Seijuro you were talking about.

Everyone started clamoring as they all started seeing you in a much higher regard; some of them even looked at you with starry eyes and others swore to be your new admirers. The rest, though, thought you had just sealed your fate by getting under Akashi’s radar.

“You’ll be missed and honored,” a classmate said, giving a solid pat to your right shoulder. “What type of flowers would you like for your funeral?”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, pointing to your chin and staring at the grand ceiling. You turned to them. “Roses as red as Akashi’s hair and the blood of his victims.”

“(l/n), you did not—”

“Oh my god.”

“Is it too late to become religious just to pray for your wellbeing?”

You just summoned chaos in the hallway for the next hour.

---------

The next morning was just another indication of a mild, warm day in Kyoto as you walked past Rakuzan’s school gates. Or at least, you thought the morning would be fine. Even with your thick uniform blazer, you swore that you felt cold chills running down your spine every now and then when you were strolling your normal route to your class.

There’s the cold chills again. 

You stopped and looked around your shoulders and behind your back. No one shady was near; they were all too busy chatting with their friends or changing their shoes in their lockers to care much for your presence. Those who noticed you nearby had already given you a friendly greeting.

You hesitantly walked again, being your usual carefree self but now being hyper aware in tracking the students around you. Your eyes widened.

There.

Had you blinked in that moment, you would have surely missed it, but a flash of red flitted around a corner of a hallway. You sighed and groaned inwardly.

Your classmates were right: you were going to die by the hands of a certain redhead.

This was the price you had to pay for not passing up the perfect opportunity for an iconic line.

---------

“Say,” you said turning to your friend once you entered your classroom. “Has Akashi ever shown a side other than being a calm freak?”

“I don’t know if you ever wanna see anything different than that,” she replied, looking up from her homework.

“Imagine him laughing, though. That’d be news of the century.”

“Dear god, I can’t imagine him laughing other than the kind of scheming cackle you’d get from the TV show villains.” You bursted into a fit of snorts while other students, who were secretly eavesdropping out of curiosity after hearing Akashi’s name, snickered.

Another student wedged himself into your conversation. “No one’s ever seen him show any side of him though. Honestly, he’s like a demon.”

“He’s a 1st year student just like the rest of us,” you chided. “Come on, he’s human too. He wasn’t born to be a calculating machine.”

Everyone in the vicinity gave you incredulous looks (for valid reasons, to be fair).

“Hmph!” You crossed your arms. “I’ll prove it to you guys! He’s not as stone-cold as you think!”

“(y-y/n)-san…” Your friend from earlier tugged onto your sleeve. “You’re really fun to hang around with and all, but…”

“Yeah, um… We know you’re competitive and don’t like to back down, but I think you shouldn’t tread into this type of… dangerous territory.”

“Did you already forget what happened with Hayama-senpai yesterday?”

Pretty soon, a large chorus of agreements and mumbles spread throughout your class. Irked, you pouted as you continued to cross your arms.

“I’m gonna make him laugh, and I’ll do it.”

“Uh..”

“Um…”

No one had the heart to disagree with you when you looked like you sparked a fiery aura around yourself as you raised your fists, ready to take it as a challenge for yourself. 

Your classmate sighed. Welp, there’s a reason why you got along with Hayama so well in the first place.

You were both so overly enthusiastic and reckless.

---------

You’ve been thrumming your fingers on your desk throughout your classes, staring blankly as you start stringing up ideas on how to accomplish your “challenge.”

Succeeding in making Akashi laugh is like Hayama agreeing to let the dentist extract his snaggletooth. You’re basically asking for the impossible.

Maybe you should’ve settled for a more realistic goal, but then again, this entire ordeal was an entire miracle on its own.

Ah ha. You stopped your finger taps, hitting a fist to your palm in realization. Maybe you just need to get a reaction out of him, and the rest will eventually fall into place.

At the same time, your friend looked at you in worry; you were making odd hand gestures and mumbling to yourself as you went too deep within your thoughts to regard your surroundings.

Oh dear.

---------

Once lunch began, you immediately left class after incoherent chants of “seeyah” and “gotta go” to go look for Hayama’s corpse and pay your respects for the poor 2nd year after yesterday.

You bought sweet bread from the student store for his offering before you went to look for him.

At the sight of the completely lethargic Hayama, you ran up to him in mock grief.

“Ah, spirit-sama!” you cried out, bowing with your hands clasped together (the bread secured in between). “Please at least tell me that Kota died peacefully—” He interrupted you with a chop to the head.

“Ow! Please don’t curse me, spirit! I didn’t treat him that poorly when he was alive…” You winced, rubbing your head in an attempt to soothe the impact. 

“I’m not dead, idiot!” he retorted, but his banter lacked bite, and both of you knew why.

You sighed before you flashed him a genuine worried expression. “Are you okay, though?” You promptly handed him the bread, and he immediately did a 180, hooting and having starry eyes at the package.

“Of course I am,” he said, munching on the bread. “Not! He made me do so many extra drills and exercises that I seriously thought I was gonna die!”

“Okay, before you totally freak out, but please don’t freak out,” you started. You told him about your plan about Akashi.

“You’re gonna WHAT—”

“SHHHhhhHHH—” You clamped over his mouth despite him still chewing. “What did I just say?”

“Reo-nee! Ei-chan!” he called out while you still attempted to close his yapper. “Save meeeee!”

The said Uncrowned Kings nearby eyed you two before looking at each other and shrugged; they strolled up to you.

“Oh? (y/n)-chan?” Reo tucked his strands behind his ear. “Has he been causing a ruckus?”

“I have not—”

“Actually, since you’re here anyways, I wanna ask you all something,” you said. “What do you know about Akashi personally?”

“Huh?” was all you heard from the Uncrowned Kings.

“Well…” Reo hummed. “I might know a thing or two about Sei-chan…”

“I’ll just go get lunch,” Nebuya called out.

---------

Day 1 of the Challenge.

Thanks to Reo, you knew most of Akashi’s schedules so you can find the perfect opportunities to “safely” encounter him.

You waited behind a corner of the hall that you knew Akashi would walk through to get to the student council room during lunch. Peeking out, you looked for scarlet hair, ignoring the judgmental (and curious) glances thrown your way here and there. 

The moment you saw that everyone instantly collectively vanished, you knew Akashi was extremely nearby. You took a huge breath, expanding your chest to the point of exaggeration, and turned around the corner to finally meet the infamous emperor. 

You casually strolled, putting up an impeccable act that you were naturally there rather than staking out the same spot for 20 minutes. 

There he is. 

You purposely got closer, hoping the closeness between you two would catch his attention. He walked without a change in expression, however, impassively eyeing you before turning his gaze back to the front. That’s when you saw your opportunity.

You almost bumped into him, but you jumped away at the last second while putting your hands up in surrender.

“W-whoa! Wahh, sorry, Akashi-san!” you quickly apologized in a bow. “Luckily, I had my emperor’s eye to foresee the future and prevented any mishap on my part.” You peeked up from your position to see him standing with his back to you, head turned to the side. 

A few beats of silence passed before he said, “Your head is too high.”

“Huh?” You were thrown off. That was the last thing you expected him to say. “Wouldn’t my head not be high because I’m bowing?”

He was still assessing you from the corner of his eye, and you willed yourself to return his stare.

“Stay out of my way.”

“Then you should take your own advice,” you huffed, getting up from your bow. “Yesterday morning, I knew you were watching me at some point before you disappeared.” 

But he just turned his head back to the front and continued his intended course for the student council room.

Day 1 Results: he scared the daylights out of you instead of you trying to unnerve him.

---------

Day 2 of the Challenge.

What the hell did he mean by “your head is too high?” You still couldn’t decipher his cryptic line. Maybe he just said it to everyone, but that would be really corny of him; he wasn’t that type of person.

Did he think you were too much of a peasant to even talk to him?

You gritted your teeth. You weren’t gonna give up any time soon.

When everyone was dismissed after school, Hayama let you accompany him to Rakuzan’s spacious gym, under the belief that you were going to go home right after.

As soon as you were both in front of the bulky front doors, you marched right in, catching the blonde off guard so much at the fact that you waltzed in there (full knowing Akashi was in there). He couldn’t yank you out in time even with his lightning reflexes, and you skipped around, being careful to stay near the gym walls to not disrupt anyone. You plopped yourself on one of the further benches where you knew none of the players would ever sit, and as soon as you knew Akashi was in earshot (who was ignoring your existence), you smirked.

“Hey Kota!”

“Huh?” He looked up from rummaging through his duffel bag.

“I’ve heard shogi is being played a lot more by people our age for once, but don’t you think it’s such a dread to play such a dull hobby?”

“Yeah, righ—oh.” He swallowed back his answer in seeing Akashi behind you a few meters away, being as still as a statue.

You gleefully looked behind you, hoping for any entertaining response.

Without moving, he slinked his pupils to you before grabbing a water bottle and leaving.

“C-c-can you just drop this entire thing already?” Hayama runs to your side to give your shoulders a firm shake. “I swear to god, you’re not gonna live at this point!”

“You’re right,” you said. “Just for today, I’ll have to retreat before I’ll die.”

“Not just today!” He shook you harder. “I mean stop this for good!”

“Kota, I already signed a death certificate the moment I bumped into him yesterday. Might as well go all out.”

“Oh god, you started this yesterday?”

“Well, I gotta go! See you tomorrow!”

“... More like see you never.”

Day 2 Results: his reaction was inconclusive, but it was more of a failure than success.

---------

Day 3 of the Challenge.

You were pondering about how to annoy Akashi next, both excited and terrified about where this was going to end up.

“(l/n).”

“Y-yes?” You stood straight up from your seat the moment your homeroom teacher called you.

“During lunch, please make your way to the student council room. You’re needed.”

What in the world was going on? 

You fidgeted in your seat for the next few hours, shooting anxious glances at the clock every so often. All your classmates’ words of encouragement went through one ear and out the other.

“You’ll be fine!”

“I’m sure a teacher just wants you to help out with some workload…”

“We’re rooting for you!”

As the lunch bell rang, you braced yourself before you promptly made your way to the room that reeked of that particular chilled atmosphere that repelled most students away.

You prodded the door open, slipped in, and softly clicked the door shut before turning around to face the poker-faced terror sitting on his desk, watching your every move.

“Right on time.”

“You called me here?”

Akashi paid no heed to your outburst and continued. “I’ll admit. I’m quite interested in you. You have the innate sense of magnetism that draws others in.”

D-did he just compliment you?

“I would like to put your leadership to the test. You’re now vice.”

“What? You can’t just make a decision like that!”

“I ordered him to quit. There shouldn’t be a problem.”

What the hell?

What the hell, what the hell, what the hell—

Akashi looked at you like he was peering into the depths of your conscience and simply gave a civil smile.

“I hope you will contribute greatly to this school.”

Day 3 Result: a miserable failure.

---------

Day 4 of the Challenge.

You’re stressed, and it’s all Akashi’s fault.

Which made you even more determined to ruffle his feathers and rile him up.

When news broke out of your new “promotion” as vice president, your classmates celebrated for you and your already high popularity skyrocketed. Your teachers didn’t want to hear you talking about quitting when you “haven’t tried anything yet to know if this job was for you.”

The Rakuzan’s basketball starters (minus Mayazumi) were initially ecstatic for you as well… until you told them about Akashi’s string-pullings. 

“I’ll make sure Sei-chan won’t do anything, okay (y/n)-chan?”

“Thanks a bunch, Reo-kun… or should I say… Reokunma (Rilakkuma bear)?” You snapped your fingers at him. He just stared at you and patted your head, totally disregarding the fact that you made a pun.

“Just pack in the muscles and you’ll have nothing to worry about!” Nebuya flexed his biceps before getting a scolding from Reo.

“Shortie! Call me whenever you need help!” Hayama dropped his elbow on top of your shoulder to emphasize his point.

“Argh, Kotarō! You’re not that much taller than me at all!” You rolled your eyes. “If anyone, why don’t you say that to Akashi?”

“Say what.”

Oh fuck.

“S-Sei-chan!...” Reo walked over to Akashi. “If you’re here for us, I thought practice didn’t start until much later!”

“I am here for (y/n).” 

His irises contracted, highlighting his feline pupils. “I am depending on you as vice president to make this school an absolute powerhouse.” 

He still somehow made that sound extremely condescending, like a king encouraging a mere peasant. 

You were scared out of your wits, but you weren’t going to crumble so easily. Not until Akashi did first.

“Buh-bye, everyone! Good luck in practice later!”

. . . 

The walk back to the office was painfully silent. You decided to break it.

“I’m not taking back what I said, prez, you’re a shortie.”

He paused in his steps. “You run your mouth while knowing no bounds.”

“You’re just a spoilsport, y’know.”

“My orders are absolute.”

“You know, you’re scary as shit, but the whole ‘absolute’ line kinda grows old when I hear it every time I talk to you.”

Palpable silence blanketed between the two of you once again at your words.

This guy can’t even crack no matter what you do.

You stepped into the office and followed him to his desk. He walked to grab a pen from a drawer before he approached you.

He stepped forward, thrusted the sleek, black fountain pen to your face, and jerked back the writing instrument at the last millisecond. 

You froze, forgetting to breathe as you felt the pen nib harshly prodding the tip of your nose.

“Do not make me repeat myself. My orders are absolute.”

He then gave you some paperwork and assignments to complete like nothing ever transpired. 

Day 4 Results: you thought being relentless in your attacks would prove beneficial, but you’re starting to regret everything.

---------

Day 5 of the Challenge.

Maybe you needed to avoid direct confrontation, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t get a reaction from him in other ways.

One small perk of being vice was the fact that you no longer needed to tail around Akashi in order to bump into him “coincidentally,” but you’re not sure if this sole advantage could outweigh the disadvantages, particularly one that might result in your early death.

You’re frankly not as scared as you should be, even though you definitely were at those times you were with Akashi. If anything, it pissed you off that he’s always able to get you to jump out of your skin.

He’s just a 1st year. He’s just a 1st year.

You went to the student council room early to tape on a note to his desk, so there wouldn’t be a chance that it would “fall off his desk” and that “he didn’t see it.”

Roses are red,

I suppose you’re “absolute.”

You’ll still be knocked dead,

And there’ll be no dispute.

You snickered. It was too funny to pass up.

Before you left, you took the time to survey around and get a solid look at the office interiors for the first time (since Akashi’s presence made it impossible for anyone to not pay attention to him).

It was ridiculously tidy, all the wooden furniture polished to the point where their mahogany varnishes shined. Books were meticulously ordered by alphabetical order and genres, and they looked like they were all dusted at every free chance. The rugs showcased simple circles, but the minimalism of them added to the office’s air of crisp cleanliness. The gray curtains gently framed the wide window behind Akashi’s desk. But what really caught your eye was a board of shogi and its pieces tucked away in a corner on a high shelf.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try knocking on Death’s door again.

. . . 

Akashi’s shoe clicked on the floor as he opened the door. His steps continued to echo throughout the small room as he walked to his desk to start his work, that is, until he saw your note.

“Oh?” A grin snaked its way onto his face by the time he read the last line.

He severely underestimated you. You unexpectedly had tenacity.

No one has ever defied him repeatedly so openly before.

His expression put the notorious Cheshire cat to shame, his ulterior smile occupying half his face as his eyes widened in excitement equivalent to a predator.

Feeling pumped for the first time in a while, he decided to expend his energy on shogi. He carefully brought down the board and placed it onto his desk, going through the familiar motions of unpacking and setting up a game, before he froze.

There were various pencil doodles on each shogi piece. All of them were variants of :/ and :). 

You were taking a jab at his personality as well as his mannerisms.

He barked an amused harsh laugh. 

. . . 

Day 5 Results: truth be told, you were too scared to see him face to face right after your double stunts; since you knew his schedules, you only came into the student council office when you knew he wasn’t inside.

---------

Day 6 of the Challenge.

Continuing to avoid him would already confirm to Akashi that you were actually shaken up by the high possibility of him retaliating, and you definitely weren’t about to give him the satisfaction. 

You went to class as always, and by break, you feigned innocence as you strolled into the council room, seeing Akashi leaning against the table.

“Good morning, Akashi.”

He nodded in acknowledgment before he gave a full, predatory smile, his pupils focused on you. 

“To continue to fuel diligent work, it’s beneficial to recognize one’s efforts by giving gifts.”

What? Was he not going to bring up what you did yesterday?

He pulled out a single red rose and gracefully tilted it for you to take. You warily plucked it out of his hand.

In a different context, it would’ve been sweet or even romantic, but you knew Akashi ticked a different tune.

“I do hope that you will continue to stay and become even more efficient with your work.”

You gazed at the rose at your hand, confused, as Akashi started walking back out, heading for the door.

You gasped.

“... Did you overhear our conversations the other day in the hallway?”

He chuckled. 

“I know the future, because I am absolute.”

“Bastard.” You clicked your tongue, turning to Akashi. “You knew the entire time?” 

“Shogi is easily applied to every aspect of life. Move the correct pieces and you will always win.”

You turned back around to avoid letting Akashi see you in an embarrassed state. He played you like an absolute fiddle. 

You scowled, and you were about to cross your arms in defiance until the sunlight from the window cascaded on something where your “note” used to be.

“Akashi, what’s that on your desk?” You tentatively walked up to the table to see a stainless glass vase with a single dark burgundy dahlia resting daintily against the inner rim.

His hand was on the doorknob before he turned back to face you.

“Dahliang,” his tone of voice light, almost mockingly saccharine. “Do be careful from now on.”

He left.

Day 6 Results: he completely destroyed you at your own game and sealed the final nail to your coffin with a pun.

---------

End Note: Black dahlias (which are actually dark burgundy in color) symbolize signs of warning, betrayal, and other negative emotions.

[detroitbydark]

Title: Play With Fire- Part 2

Characters: Migs Mayfeld/”Pockets” (OC)

Rating: T

Summary: First Impressions

Warning: Blood? but not gore

A/N: So apparently Pockets is now and OC and I have more ideas then I care to admit for this pairing. Thank you to @crimson-dxwn​ for being my beta extraordinaire and listening to my rants and raves. Anything ya'll wanna know about these two crazy kids? let me know and I might explore it. Also, 3 ABY is approximately one year before the battle of Endor and the second Death Star and their reunion ( the first part in this) takes place about 9 ABY sometime after the second season of The Mandalorian.

 3 ABY

Sometimes you made the shot of a lifetime. Sometimes you didn’t.

Sometimes you made that once in millennia shot as Rebel artillery was destroying your nest and you went tumbling ass over blaster down a ravine with half a ton of loose debris and rocks.

You couldn’t win them all.

Migs got this. He understood it like he understood his unfortunate short stature or the hairline that had receded for too early in life. Those were the breaks.

You either lived with it or died with it and he was fully set on living until he was old and shriveled.

Some days it just sucked.

Today was one of those days.

“We got a live one coming through. Clear a table, will ya?”

The voice of his squad mate, Crikes, was too loud on his right as his weight pressed heavily into Smitty on his left. The rough outer rim accent bounced around in his bucket like a stray blaster bolt.

Kriff his head hurt.

Everything hurt actually, from his head to the tips of his toes. The slide hadn’t been that bad. Seven meters? Maybe ten? It was the sharp obsidian stone that had come down with him that had done him in. The razor sharp black stone had bludgeoned and gouged his armor, weaseling its way into the cracks and under the plastoid plating. It cut at his skin with each move he made. If the stims hadn’t helped numb him up he’d probably have passed out when the assault droid had helped yank him from the rubble.  His gauntlets were both cracked and he could feel a cool breeze coming through the cracks in his back plate. He’d liked his armor. Command wasn’t gonna take to kindly with having to replace it.

It was nice to pretend his biggest concern was getting a new set of plastoid requisitioned. 

“Hey medic!” Crikes’ voice cuts through his thoughts, “I said we need a hand over here!”

“Maker… do you have to yell so fragging loud? I mean-“

“What are you going on about?” Looking back he’s never sure what it was that he noticed first, but he likes to think it was her voice. Like an holomodel fantasy out of a good spice trip, she shuts that Hutt humping Crikes up, marching over with her hands on her hips and scowl on her face.

“We got an Imperial war hero here.” Crikes sounds chastened, but Migs doesn’t bother to look over to see if his face matches what he’s hearing because he’s in the presence of a fragging angel.

“Yeah? Look around. Got a lot of heroes here.” Sarcasm flows from her pretty pouty lips like water from a fountain. She sweeps her arm toward the other beds and the piles of bloodied plastoid littering the small field hospital. “This one ain’t any better or worse.”

Migs frowns under cover of his helmet. For a while he’s been wondering if he might have some bleeding going on somewhere. He feels a bit woozy when he turns his head too quickly to follow the angel as she grabs a datapad off a nearby cart. He was better then a majority of the scum around him. He was a sharpshooter, best of the best, and the bastard who single-handedly brought down the pair of x-Wings decimating their ground troops.

He tries to tell her as such but the words don’t come out of his mouth in any coherent thought. Angel freezes, looking up from the datapad she barks to his squad mate and Migs suddenly feels his bucket being pulled from his head.

“Designation number trooper.”

It’s an order not a question. He didn’t like orders, even from his own superiors but she’s damn pretty and his head hurts…

“Trooper? A number?” Angel looks up from the datapad. There’s concern on her face. She’s scanning his injuries. The ones she can see. Were they that bad? Migs reaches up and feels something warm and sticky against his temple.

“FO-593” Smitty offers for him.

“593… got it…” she takes a step closer, setting the datapad down and pulling gloves from her pocket. She’s got the prettiest hazel eyes, long lashes. Migs wonders if she’s seeing anyone. It’s probably one of those civvie doctors that signed on…

“593-“

“Mayfeld. It’s Migs Mayfeld.” He clarifies, ‘cause a pretty girl like her should be saying his name.

“Alright, Mayfeld, what happened?”

“He saved our asses is what he did!”

Crikes again. Maker, if the bastard kept stealing his glory he was going to deck him. Once the room stopped spinning.

“You know what?” The Angel looks about as amused with Crikes as

Migs felt. “I think it’s high time you two go get some rations in you and leave Mayfeld and I to our own devices.”

Smitty elbows Crikes, the plastoid of armor clattering as he tips his head toward the entrance.

“I’m good boys,” Migs offers the other two field operatives, “Let me get some alone time with the pretty girl.”

He ignores the raised brow directed his way and the crossed arms that follow. Nausea rolls through him as his buddies wander back the way they came.

“Frag… I think I’m gonna be sick.”

She does well. Manages to miss the first splash of vomit. The second retch hits her shoe.

“Son of a bitch… Maker fragging-“ 

The angel has a mouth on her. He could get used to that. Migs uses the sleeve of his under armor, exposed by the shattered plastoid to wipe his mouth.

“Sorry about that, Sweetness.” 

Her eyes narrow as she reaches behind him. “My name is not Sweetness. I am FM-111 to you trooper. Specialist Coronette if you're lucky.”

The words slip out, some verbal diarrhea to go along with what he was starting to think was a concussion. “I am lucky and you’re beautiful.”

“That’s it-“

“Pockets? Have we got an issue?”

Wait- was that a-

“No Coric, I’m good.”

The older man looks at Migs and Migs looks right back. No shit. A clone. You didn’t see that everyday. Guy’s got a head of close cropped salt and pepper hair, looks real dignified. He’s also… glaring? Ok yeah, that wasn’t good.

“If he’s giving you trouble I can-“

Angel’s…. Specialist Coronette’s face softens as she looks at the clone. Migs feels a little jealousy percolate deep down - accompanied by the occasional flip of his stomach. She pats the other man’s cheek fondly and he gives her a soft look.

Some guys had all the luck.

Migs closes his eyes as the world takes a big spin. He doesn’t mean to groan but the axis has tilted and the poles have just flipped and… Fek… he really is starting to not feel good.

“Hey… Mayfeld?” The voice is soft and Migs focuses on the sweet, silvery words. Slowly he opens his eyes and notes that Coronette, is at his side looking more concerned then she has the entire time he’s been in the damn med bay. Over her shoulder the clone medic gives his own appraising look.

“You got this Pockets?”

Migs sees irritation flash in sharp green eyes, not just green but, like, Endor. So bright and alive there wasn’t any way he could think to describe them other than the greenest Kriffing place he’d ever seen in his life.

“I’ve got it, Sir.” Her tone is sharp but the clone, her superior, doesn’t seem to take offense to it. She must not just be blowing smoke. At this point he doesn’t give a wamp rat’s ass. He really just wants to call it a day, catch a cycle worth of sleep and lay in bed til the gut-rending nausea goes the fek away.

“Uh-uh,” she tuts, irritation melted away, “can’t fall asleep on me just yet. You haven’t even shown me a good time yet.” She teases and Migs wills his eyes wide open.

“You’re flirting.”

“Maybe… or maybe I’m trying to keep you awake because you’ve got a concussion. You’ll never know.”

Specialist Coronette pokes and prods, shuffling him toward the edge of the gurney. “Wanna go somewhere more private?”

“Trying to get me all alone, beautiful?”

She huffs. It sounds half amused. He can work with that.

“I’m trying,” she grunts, looping his arm around her shoulder and manhandling him into standing, “to get you in a private room so I can assess your wounds without the whole battalion seeing you stripped down.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” His head spins at the sudden change in momentum. “I’m not that kind of man. You gotta wine me and dine me before-“

She twists under his arm and sharp pain shoots through his side cutting off his words more effectively then any shushing ever could. 

“Easy Mayfeld.” He hears a familiar voice but can’t place which slimy barve he knew it came from. “You can’t handle that one.”

A pair of voices, masculine and feminine, grunt in agreement as he and his medic slowly hobble past and to a clean, empty ‘room’.

It’s a room about as much as a room as a troop transport is a luxury yacht. Four ceiling to floor curtained walls block it off from the other rooms and the larger, open floor of the hospital. He manages to collapse onto the exam table as the world takes another vicious whip around. This time he manages to spew in the bucket shoved under his nose.

He apologizes after he finishes. “Thanks. You know, you keep showing me basic human decency like this and you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Coronette is pulling clean gloves on and hunting in a shallow drawer. She arches a pretty brow in his direction as she finds a pair of shears. “I have to clean up whatever mess you make. Don’t confuse decency with laziness on my part.”

“Whatever you say, Pockets.”

Her shoulders tense for a moment and then she takes a deep breath and lets the bait he’s laying out go to waste.

“I’m getting this armor off you. ‘Fraid it ain’t doing you any good anymore.”

Migs glances down at the cracked plastoid. His pauldron is long gone and both pairs of vambrace and gauntlets are thrashed. There’s so much under armor and skin showing, Migs isn’t really sure how they're still even on him. Pockets manages to get them off without much to it and little input from the guy wearing them. She begins on his cuirass and Migs thinks of half a dozen smart ass remarks about getting his clothes off, but there’s something going on under the armor and each time she begins working at the cracked and twisted chest piece it steals the air from his lungs.

“Karking hells,” he curses lowly. 

“I’ve almost got it…” 

Migs takes a deep breath and holds as still as he can. It kriffing hurts, burns hotter than two suns over Tatooine. Just when he’s sure he can’t handle a second more of it, the plastoid falls away in two pieces. It’s like a pressure he hadn’t realized was on his chest has finally been removed and he can breathe-

“Son of a mudscuffer-“

Migs doesn’t need to ask what’s wrong. He can feel it. Warmth spreading and staining the under armor across the left side of his chest. 

“Karking thing was putting pressure on-“ she trails off again as she retrieves the shears from her pocket. She’s efficient and wastes no time slicing up the front of his under armor. The black fabric falls away from one side and clings to blood staining his other. Coronette doesn’t stop moving, flowing from one spot to the next. She doesn’t stop talking either.

“Fek. Fek. That’s not gonna fekking come out in the wash-“ 

He could laugh but she’s pulling the clinging fabric away from his chest and pressing bacta soaked gauze into the laceration. If that didn’t burn like the wrong end of a burner’s incinerator he didn’t know what did. 

“Damn it! Is your kriffing processor pickled?! Warn a guy!” He's all bark and no bite at the mercy of the medic who continues to press hard on the wound.

“Shut it 593.” It’s grunted out as she continues to press with one hand and reach across him with the other for Palps only knew what. Sharp words fizzle on his tongue as he catches a glimpse of pale flesh down the top of her scrubs. Fek. He really loved a pretty pair of tits and judging by the rounded tops he can see and the slight jiggle as they move, Coronette’s were perfect. It’s better then any painkiller he could imagine… until she’s leaning back and catches the cast of his eyes.

“So are so kriffing lucky. You slimy little nerfherder- if I had two free hands.”

He should feel bad about being caught but Migs has had a day and he really can’t find it in him.

“Not my fault, maker gave you a gorgeous rack and Imperial uniforms don’t hide it.”

He winces as she yanks the bacta soaked gauze away, blood beginning to well up again immediately. She doesn’t warn him before pressing the gun into the open wound and squeezing the trigger. Bacta foam fills in the area as he hisses, sealing the laceration. She doesn’t stop to make sure he’s ok before she’s spinning and grabbing more supplies. A bacta patch gets slapped over the quick dry foam.

“Weasly stormtrooper scum…” she continues under her breath.

“Aww come on now, I’m sorry.” He tries to offer a weak smile but her back is turned as she furiously enters data onto a pad. “I really am. When’s the end of your shift. I’ll buy you a drink?”

The anger that flashes in those forest eyes when she whips back is the sexiest thing he’s seen in a standard cycle. If the stims weren’t beginning to wear off and his body beginning to hurt to Malachor and back, he’d be getting stiff in what was left of his armor.

“You think I’d have a drink with you?”

“Come on sweets, what really matters is if you think you’d have a drink with me.”

Her eyebrows skim her hairline. “Are you kidding me? Give up already. Karking little-”

“Not the size of the aak in the fight but the fight in the aak, Sweetheart.”

“Not in your life, Buckethead.”

Her ass looks almost as good in her scrubs as her tits but she doesn’t give him a chance to say so before she storms out.

[musette22]

Anal Fingering 101

Anal Fingering 101

By @paper-storm​​​​ & @musette22​​​

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 6.6k

Rating: E (so 18+ only please!)

A/N: Yup. Anal Fingering 101. That’s what we’re calling it. That’s the fic. We're just still quarantine horny and got excited about this concept after discussing the above gif and then we wrote this. It got weird but also (we think) strangely sweet and hot. We hope you agree 🤷🏻

Summary: The one where Sebastian (jokingly) suggests they should make a sex tutorial video and upload it to PornHub, Chris (not jokingly) agrees, and Sebastian doesn't know what he's gotten himself into.

Read on AO3

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Sebastian stretches languidly. Feels a slow moan rumble through his chest, unsure if it actually escapes his lips or if it dies before it gets there. He’s warm, and the sheets below his bare skin are soft, and it feels like hours, they’ve been at this, Sebastian laid out on their bed like a sultan and Chris down between his legs, two fingers buried in him. It’s leisurely, this time.

Certainly not always. They have their quick, we have to be there in less than an hour, hurry up! times and their intense, emotional times and their wild times where Chris is worked up and is rough and punishing, making Sebastian see stars and hiss in pleasure-pain and forget his own name six times before they’re done. Other times, like this one, Chris likes to go meticulously slow. Take his sweet time, sliding his warm tongue over every inch of Sebastian’s body, touching him gently and then taking his hands away to prolong it, playing Sebastian like a treasured instrument so that by the time he finally comes, eons later, it’s not with a kick and a shout but unhurried and deep and soulful, like it’s trapped in honey.

He loves every possible way they do this, every single thing Chris does to him and every single thing he does to Chris in return, but it’s possible this is his favorite way. When Chris just adores him, slathers him in attention and kisses to his hipbones and quiet, heartfelt praises. It’s also possible his favorite way is whatever is currently happening, and he’ll change his mind by tomorrow.

“Mm,” Sebastian hums, making a real noise this time, as the tips of Chris’s talented fingers find his prostate again and rub slowly against the gland.

“Feelin’ good?” Chris asks, Boston charm, sweetly eager to please him, while at the same time smug because he knows he is.

“Yeah,” Sebastian sighs. “You gonna get on with it at some point? Or just torture me forever?”

“Hmm.” Chris pretends to think about it. While he contemplates, he takes the head of Sebastian’s leaking cock into his mouth, and swirls his tongue around the head, into the foreskin, where it’s hot and sensitive. Then he slides down, taking Sebastian fully into his mouth, sucking just once before he rises up and lets it fall away. Sebastian swears in a whisper and pants, the tease lighting him up, the cool air on his now-wet dick making him shiver and ache for more.

“Chris,” he says, on a shaky laugh, draping an arm over his eyes.

“I’m undecided,” Chris says, even though he isn’t. He cups one of Sebastian’s legs, just under the knee, and lifts it, so he can slide his tongue along Sebastian’s inner thigh, leaving trails of moisture and blowing on them. The fingers of his other hand, still massaging Sebastian’s prostate, withdraw and press back in a few times, but slow enough that it couldn’t be described as a thrust. Just teasing him.

“You’re evil,” Sebastian tells him.

“You’re beautiful,” Chris returns, earnest against the junction of Sebastian’s hip and thigh.

It makes Sebastian shiver again, for reasons other than physical this time.

“Love this so much.” Chris puts Sebastian’s leg over his shoulder and leans back down, nuzzling into his heavy balls as he continues, “love this body. Love you letting me have it. Love the noises you make.”

His fingers search, again finding that fireworks spot inside and working it, a little more insistent, now, but still meant as a tease. It’s one of those times, Sebastian can tell. It will be ages before Chris lets him come. Chris might not even fuck him. They might not even get that far. He might just stay right where he is, massaging inside, until Sebastian gets too close to the edge of that cliff and can’t stop himself from tipping over it.

“You’re… oh,” Sebastian breathes, chest heaving suddenly, as Chris rubs harder unexpectedly, just for a moment, and then lets up again. “Fuck. You’re good at this.”

“I had a good teacher,” Chris says, earnest again, all that sweetness that ruined Sebastian so thoroughly when they’d first met.

Sebastian closes his eyes and smiles, remembering. Remembering how Chris had experimented a few times with other guys but it had mostly consisted of quick, shameful hand-jobs or hurriedly sticking his dick down some extra’s throat in a back office, before rushing back out onto a set feeling hot and wrong. He remembers showing Chris so many things, when they finally stopped dancing around each other and gave into what they’d both wanted since the moment they shook hands.

“The student has become the master,” Sebastian jokes, and Chris rumbles out a chuckle. “I mean it. You should do like, one of those sex tutorials on PornHub. ‘Finding the G-Spot 101’, except for anal fingering.”

“Ooh, baby, say anal fingering again,” Chris says, faking a moan, and Sebastian giggles and covers his face, his whole body flushing, but in a good way.

Chris returns to his task, dragging the flat of his tongue up the underside of Sebastian’s erection, digging the tip in below the head. Then, in a contemplative voice, he says, “maybe we should.”

Sebastian laughs again, and reaches down to thread his fingers into Chris’s hair, soft right now because they’d showered earlier and Chris hadn’t put any product in it. “Sure,” he says.

Chris looks up at him. Blue eyes shining, through his thick eyelashes, blinking at him with an expression that takes Sebastian by surprise. He pushes up to his own elbows, so they can exchange a more significant look. Not breaking their eye contact, Chris licks at him again, making a show of sliding his tongue in a zigzag across Sebastian’s dick, apparently intent on breaking Sebastian’s brain.

Chris replies to the question in Sebastian’s eyes with a shrug. “Let’s do it,” he says, and Sebastian can’t, for the life of him, work out whether Chris is still kidding.

But then Chris crooks his fingers while his soft, lush lips close around the head of his cock again, and for a while Sebastian forgets everything that isn’t heat and slide and wonderful, delicious pressure.

---

“So, about that video.”

Sebastian lowers his book and looks up at Chris upside down, from where he’s resting his head in Chris’s lap. “Huh?”

“That tutorial you mentioned last night.”

Instead of replying, Sebastian gets temporarily sidetracked by Chris’s ridiculous eyelashes, fanning out delicately over his cheekbones. When the words finally register, he blinks.

“Tutorial? What are you – oh.”  

“Whaddaya say?” Chris asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Sebastian’s own eyebrows rise slowly towards his hairline. “You’re not serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Come ooooon, Sebby,” he cajoles. “It’ll be fun.”

“So,” Sebastian says pushing himself up into a sitting position and turning to look at Chris. “You wanna like… roleplay? Pretend we’re shooting some sort of porn video?”

Chris shrugs easily. “Who says we’ll be pretending? You know me, I’m a show off. I kind of like the idea of showing other people how to please their partner.” He raises an eyebrow. “Plus, I’d be showing off my beautiful boyfriend in the process, right? And you can’t tell me you don’t like the idea of me putting you on display and having my way with you in front of thousands of strangers.”

Sebastian swallows. There really isn’t any use trying to pretend he doesn’t like the sound of that – Chris knows him far, far too well for that, judging by the devious twinkle in his eye.

“Think about it,” Chris goes on, slowly running a hand up Sebastian’s thigh. Sebastian helplessly lets his legs fall open a little bit wider. “I’ll lay you out on the bed, make sure the camera captures all of that beautiful, smooth skin. Spread those beautiful legs wide to give ‘em a good view, hm? And then I’ll slick you up and rub on you a little until you’re all pliant and relaxed, slide a couple’a fingers inside, one by one, open you up slowly for everyone to see. And then I’ll show ‘em how to find your sweet spot, all the way up inside you, rub it nice ‘n slow until you start makin’ those pretty little noises for me…”

“Jesus, Chris,” Sebastian breathes, blood rushing in his ears, dick throbbing in his sweats. “You’re a fucking menace, you know that? Everyone thinks you’re this big, happy golden retriever, but really your mind’s in the gutter twenty-four seven.”

Chris’s grin isn’t repentant in the slightest. “Only when I’m around you, sugar. Can’t help it, you’re just so fuckin’ sexy all the time. ‘Sides, there’s no need to act all virtuous, baby. I’ve got your number. I know you need it just as bad as I do.” To prove his point, his big hand slides over the bulge in Sebastian’s sweatpants, squeezing it lightly.

Sebastian curses, hips jerking into Chris’s grip, which only makes the smirk on Chris’s handsome face that much more smug.

“So?” Chris asks again, leaning in to press his nose into the spot just below Sebastian’s left ear. “You in, sweetheart? You gonna let me show you off?”

“Fuck you, Evans,” Sebastian says weakly, tilting back his head to give Chris better access. “Of course I’m fucking in, what do you think?”

“I can’t decide whether you’re being a good boy or a brat right now,” Chris rumbles in his ear, teeth nipping briefly at his earlobe. “But I guess it doesn’t matter so much if I’m getting what I want.”

Before Sebastian can object, Chris is climbing off the couch, his big, lean body towering over him as he holds out his hand. Sebastian takes it instinctively and Chris pulls him up so quickly Sebastian stumbles a little.

“Whoa, we in a hurry or something?” he asks, steadying himself on Chris’s tiny waist.

“To get you naked?” Chris grins, leaning down to steal a quick kiss. “Always.”

---

“Move up a little higher for me, baby.”

The instruction comes from where Chris is squatting behind their side table, looking at Sebastian through the lens of his expensive camera, which he propped up against a stack of books – Foucault’s History of Sexuality among them, Sebastian notes with faint amusement. He wonders briefly how Michel would’ve felt about his seminal work being used for this particular purpose, and then decides that he probably would’ve cheered them on.

“Shift that pillow a bit to the right, don’t want it hiding that pretty face of yours.”  

Sebastian still blushes like Chris hasn’t called him pretty a thousand times before, and does as he’s told. “Like this?”

Chris regards him critically, tilting his head a little as if he’s assessing the shot. He’s got his director’s hat on, Sebastian thinks, and something about that, about Chris looking so capable and in charge, has him feeling hot under the collar. Well, that’s if he were wearing one. As it is, he’s not wearing anything at all. He’s stretched out in the center of the king-size bed, propped up a little on a couple of pillows, as naked as the day he was born.

“Perfect,” Chris decides. “Stay right there for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian mumbles, and Chris shoots him a look that says, don’t get smart with me, sweetheart.

All that does is make Sebastian squirm, which earns him a raised eyebrow, which only makes him want to squirm more. It’s a vicious circle, really. Chris can play him too easily.

“Now what?” he asks, eyes tracking Chris’s movement through their bedroom. Chris is wearing dark wash jeans and a white, short-sleeved t-shirt that strains across his shoulders and biceps but hangs loosely around his waist. His proportions are so ridiculous, it’s damn-near impossible to find shirts that fit him properly. Sebastian thinks he should probably mind that Chris gets to be fully clothed for this while Sebastian’s got all his most private parts out for everyone to see, but he can’t find it in himself to object. If he’s honest, he likes it. Likes it a whole lot.

Chris grabs the lube from the nightstand, tossing it onto the mattress. “Patience,” he says, belatedly replying to Sebastian’s question. “All I need you to do for this one is lay back and look pretty.” He comes to stand at the side of the bed, one hand on the mattress as he leans over Sebastian and brushes a feather-light kiss over his forehead, his cheeks, the cleft in his chin. “You think you can do that for me, Sebastian?”

Sebastian exhales, feeling a little unsteady. “Yeah, I think so,” he nods. He tilts his face up, shamelessly angling for a proper kiss.

Chris laughs silently but obliges, catching Sebastian’s lips in a soft, fairly innocent kiss that still leaves Sebastian feeling like there’s an electrical current running through his skin. When Chris pulls back, Sebastian runs the tip of his tongue over his tingling lips. He wants more, wants Chris to climb on top of him, kiss him again, devour him, but Chris doesn’t, and other parts of Sebastian are left tingling as Chris turns his attention toward the camera and Sebastian realizes again how utterly naked he is while Chris is still fully clothed.

“So, hi,” Chris starts. His voice is different. Higher, clearer, like he’s performing. Which, Sebastian realizes with a swoop in his gut, he is. “I’m, uh, Chris. Evans. You probably know that already. Or maybe you don’t, I don’t wanna act like I’m some big shot.”

He chuckles, and shrugs modestly, and Sebastian snorts. “You’re Captain America,” he reminds him.

“Yes, I am,” Chris agrees, grinning down at Sebastian, and then back at the camera. He gestures at Sebastian, who cringes as he’s slapped in the face with how completely ridiculous this is. “This gorgeous slab of man-meat is Sebastian Stan, my – oh. I guess technically most of you didn’t know, yet, that he’s my boyfriend.”

“Well they fuckin’ know now,” Sebastian cracks up, a little delirious at the notion of what a completely insane way this would be to come out to millions of people. “Man-meat?”

“I also said you were gorgeous,” Chris points out, winking.

Sebastian laughs. “That makes it better.” He feels crazy, like he’s spinning around on an amusement park ride and can’t get off. They’re not going to actually post this. There’s no way Chris was serious, Sebastian thinks. But he doesn’t know. And that thrills him a little more than it probably should.

It’s all hot and confusing and Sebastian is undeniably turned on even though Chris has barely touched him below the shoulders, his cock thickening where it’s laying against his belly.

“Today, we’re going to show you how to… God, how do I even say this?” Chris giggles, embarrassed, and then gives himself a shake and restarts. He points authoritatively in the direction of the lens. “No, this is important. Today we’re going to show you how to make your biologically male partner feel real good using just – ” he wiggles his thick fingers, “ – these.”

He sits, making the mattress dip next to Sebastian’s hip, and looks down at him. There’s nerves and excitement swimming in Chris’s clear turquoise eyes, and he smiles a little, and Sebastian feels like that one is just for him. He’s likely pleading again, with his own eyes, for a kiss, because Chris braces a hand next to his arm on the bed and leans further over to slide their mouths together. His tongue slips in, and Sebastian moans quietly around it, bringing his hands up to hold Chris’s face.

Chris is smiling into their kiss and whispers, “love you,” barely loud enough for Sebastian to hear. Then, louder, talking to the camera and their future audience again, he says, “you gotta warm them up first. Never wanna just dive right in, gotta get them feelin’ good and relaxed and turned on.”

Again, Sebastian is about to say something, add to the commentary somehow, but he’s too embarrassed so he doesn’t. The heated flush travels all the way down his chest. Chris follows it with his lips, sucking small bruises into Sebastian’s neck, collarbone, lips finding a nipple and closing around it. Teeth squeeze the bud and then his tongue soothes the sting and Sebastian gasps a little and buries his fingers in Chris’s hair.

“Not all guys are into this so much,” Chris says, as he moves over to the other nipple. He turns his head to look at the camera, adding, “try it out, though, so you know for sure. ‘Cause he is.”

“I’m –” Sebastian begins, searching for something to protect his dignity, but the words die in his throat as Chris closes his lips around his other nipple and sucks, hard. Sebastian twitches, and pleasure rolls through him, and he whimpers.

Chris lingers, for a lot longer than he needs to, like he forgot himself a bit and got lost it kissing and licking at Sebastian’s chest. By the time warm fingers curl around his erection as Chris sits up, Sebastian barely needs them before they move onto the reason they’re actually here. He’s already hard, moisture already left in trails across his hip, but Chris strokes him anyway, looking down at him with darkened eyes that leave Sebastian shivering. Chris squeezes, twists his fist, works him just perfect, and Sebastian reaches out, patting his forearm.

“Chris,” he breathes. Get on with it, is what he’s trying to communicate, if you want me to last. It’s hardly been anything, it’s humiliating that he’s this worked up already, but it’s everything. Sebastian can’t lie even to himself, the idea that a camera is rolling, that thousands, maybe even millions of people might watch this, has his head spinning. It isn’t news to him that he has tendencies like this, that he likes being on display and appreciated, consumed by hungry eyes and maybe embarrassed a little. It’s news to him that he likes the idea of strangers watching him quite this much.

“Kinda wanna do everything to you,” Chris murmurs to him, probably loud enough that the microphone will pick it up, but soft enough that he’s talking to Sebastian and not their audience. “Show ‘em how to suck you off, how to eat you out, how to fuck you.”

“Chris.” Sebastian shivers again, hot and cold running through him like a fever, and gets dizzy at the thought of it. At people he knows seeing him like this. Seeing him laid out and cherished, brought to orgasm in any number of ways by Chris’s talented hands and mouth and cock. Seeing him loved, but also used. It’s a confusing, desperately arousing tangle of emotions deep in his gut.

“Make sure your fingernails are short and clean,” Chris instructs, suddenly all business again, focusing back on the camera and his task, “and use lots of lube.”

Sebastian can’t even tell if he’s also turned on, because he’s still in jeans and Sebastian can’t really see his lower half from this position. Sebastian almost wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t – if Chris was taking this so seriously, so earnestly, like he does everything, that it wasn’t even affecting him in that way. Too busy being a professional, too busy caring about what they’re doing as if it’s actually important. That thought thrills him too. That in a way, this isn’t even really sex. Not if Chris isn’t getting off on it, too. It’s entirely performative.

“Especially if they’ve never done it before. It’s gonna feel a bit strange at first, before he gets used to it and knows what to expect, so making sure it’s nice and slippery helps. You don’t want it to hurt.”

“Speaking from experience?” Sebastian asks, finally finding his voice enough to make a shadow of a quip.

Chris grins at him. “Yeah, I am.” He looks back at the camera, but nods his head toward Sebastian. “He’s pretty good at this, too. Maybe we’ll have to show you that, sometime.”

Sebastian shudders at the thought. He’s pretty sure he’d be so embarrassed he’d melt right out of his skin, if he was expected to run this show. He’s also pretty sure he’d love it. Getting his hands on Chris’s body and waxing poetic about it are kind of two of his favorite things in the world, after all.

“Now,” Chris goes on, “find a position that works for you both. Your partner could be on his front for this, which could give you easier access, but Sebastian here usually prefers to be on his back.” He pauses and quirks a cheeky eyebrow at the camera before adding, “he likes to watch.”

He’s not wrong. Sebastian can never get enough of watching Chris’s face while they make love, seeing the awe and hunger and adoration there as he lavishes attention on Sebastian’s body, wringing every last drop of pleasure from it. It’s humbling and intoxicating and so goddamn sexy. Still, Chris saying those words to the camera, in that tone, makes Sebastian feel almost dirty, like he’s some sort of voyeur, peeping on his own life. A voyeur and an exhibitionist, it seems.

Chris is kneeled on the mattress now, between Sebastian’s spread legs. “As you can see, Sebastian likes to keep himself nice and tidy. Some people will opt to go natural – not everyone’s going to like waxing or shaving and that’s completely fine, as long as you make sure you’re clean.”

Oh God, Sebastian thinks, a trickle of shame running through him. This shouldn’t be hot. He’s discussing intimate hygiene, for crying out loud. Chris talking about whether Sebastian washed his ass before he presented himself like an offering should not be turning him on, and yet it does. It’s something about the detached tone of Chris’s voice, his almost clinical instructions, that have Sebastian feeling like he’s there just for Chris’s convenience and enjoyment. Like he’s a prop; an instrument that Chris is teaching their audience how to play. It makes Sebastian so wildly, unreasonably horny, it’s almost unbearable. He tries to hide how much it’s affecting him, to steady his breathing as much as possible, but Chris doesn’t even seem to notice, focused as he is on his task.

“Lube’s naturally quite chilly,” Chris states matter-of-factly, as he squirts a generous amount of it onto the fingers of his right hand. Some spills onto the comforter, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. “So you’re gonna want to warm it up a little, by rubbin’ it between your fingers. It’s not imperative, but it is the nice thing to do.”

Sebastian huffs a breathless laugh. “Thanks,” he says weakly.

Chris winks at him. “Anytime, sweetheart.” His expression turns a bit more serious. “Ready?” he asks, as if making sure that Sebastian is still up for this.

“God, yeah.”

Chris smirks and turns towards the camera. “If you’ve done a good job warming him up, he’ll be pretty eager at this point. That’s good, ‘cause that means he’ll be more likely to be relaxed and receptive.”

Sebastian’s face is flaming. He can’t believe Chris is calling him out like that, basically calling Sebastian a needy bottom, but fuck if that isn’t true, at this point. He almost wants to tell Chris to hurry up, to put his fingers inside him already, but stays silent. He doesn’t get to make demands right now. He just gets to lie there and look pretty, let Chris use him however he sees fit.

The next moment, Chris is reaching down, sliding his slippery fingers between Sebastian’s cheeks and starting to slick him up. Sebastian shivers, goosebumps erupting all over his body at finally being touched where he’s been aching for it.

“Like I said before, it’s important to use lots of lube, make sure he’s nice and wet. When that’s done, you can start by rubbing on him a little, to try and relax the muscle as much as possible before you penetrate it.” He does exactly as he says, rubbing slow, insistent little circles around Sebastian’s entrance with his thumb, before switching to his forefinger and finally pressing the wide tip of it inside.

Even though this is hardly the first time Chris has done this to him, Sebastian still clenches instinctively around Chris’s thick forefinger, and Chris reaches for Sebastian’s cock with his left hand, slowly stroking him as he pushes his finger in deeper.

“Always start with a single finger, and go slow when you push it in. It’s normal to feel resistance, it’s the body’s natural response to an unusual intrusion, but do make sure your partner is comfortable and try to help him relax as much as possible.”

“Mmm,” Sebastian sighs, wiggling his hips a little bit to spur Chris on.

Chris chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. “For some people, it might take a while before they get used to the feeling, so make sure you give them time to adjust before you try to up the dosage. Other people, like Sebastian here, are more… experienced, and will want you to start moving right away.” He demonstrates by pulling his finger most of the way out again before pushing back in, rotating his finger as he slides it in and out of him easily. “As you can see, Sebastian has no trouble taking a single finger. He also likes it when it burns, just a little bit – don’tcha, baby?”

Already, Chris is lining up a second finger next to the first and starts to push against his rim, forcing his middle finger inside, too. Sebastian blows out a quick breath, trying to relax. It still burns a bit, because Chris’s fingers are solid and wide, but like Chris said, he does like the sting.

“Uh huh,” Sebastian groans, gritting his teeth.

“Yeah,” Chris replies, sounding almost contemplative, “that’s it. See how well he takes it?”

That last bit is aimed at the camera again, and Sebastian has to stifle a moan. Jesus. Hearing Chris talk like that, as if Sebastian isn’t even there, is so much hotter than he would ever have anticipated.

“Now, with two fingers, you can start scissoring a little. Don’t try to force anything, just incrementally widen your fingers, gently loosening that tight ring of muscle, coaxing him open. Be patient. Don’t rush, and don’t forget to keep checking in on your partner, see if he’s doing alright. You want to be making him feel good, first and foremost. If he’s not feeling good at this point, chances are you’re not doin’ it right.” Chris has been mostly watching either his own hand or the camera up until this point, but now he’s looking up at Sebastian, his expression earnest and attentive. “You feelin’ good, sweetheart? Nothin’ hurting?”

Sebastian, struggling to keep his breathing level, shakes his head. “Nothing hurts. Feels good.”

“Good,” Chris hums, satisfied. “That’s good, baby.”

It’s not even really praise, and yet Sebastian lights up at Chris’s words. Chris is pleased with him. He’s being good. That knowledge alone feels almost as good as the two thick fingers buried in his ass, rubbing against his inner walls as Chris starts to slowly fingerfuck him.

Getting distracted from his lesson plan for a moment, Chris leans down and licks up the underside of Sebastian’s dick. He takes it into his mouth, the same way he had the other day. He sucks, slow and controlled, and Sebastian swears and covers his face. It’s so good, and at the same time it feels dangerous, because they didn’t discuss him doing that.

Chris lets it fall out of his mouth again, and turns back toward where the camera is still rolling, faithfully capturing every inch of this hot, confusing, crazy thing Chris managed to goad him into. “Seb likes just being fingered for a while, not having it immediately leading anywhere, just enjoying the sensations. Other guys might not be into that, so keep communicating.”

He does as he says, just slowly sliding his fingers in and out of Sebastian, slippery from the lube, catching on his rim, Sebastian’s whole body still thrumming with the dirty thrill of having an audience, even though that audience doesn’t technically exist yet.

“When you want to find the prostate,” Chris says, a little quieter, the only sign he’s affected at all by any of this, “you wanna aim about two inches in, and upwards. It’ll feel like… you’ll feel it, when you find it. Kinda unmistakable. Then crook your fingers up and towards yourself, like you’re doing that ‘come here’ motion.”

He does it, and Sebastian gasps.

“Right there?” Chris asks, a self-satisfied grin apparent in his voice.

Sebastian nods and feels like he can’t open his eyes or the room will spin away into space. “Fuck, yeah. There.”

“It feels really good,” Chris tells the camera. “Orgasms from just this are out of this world, I’m tellin’ you. You can also provide additional stimulation of the prostate from the outside, by rubbing your thumb over his perineum, applying light pressure.”

He keeps talking as he fingers and strokes, but Sebastian can’t hear him anymore. It’s just more instructions, more tips, and it all falls away into the white noise rushing through his head. He’d meant what he said, when he made the comment that started all this. Chris is good at this. Too good at it, and Sebastian’s whole body is on fire. Warmth spreads out, his skin prickles, and he wants Chris’s mouth back on his dick but at the same time, like this, he can focus solely on the other sensations because there aren’t competing ones.

“Chris,” he mumbles, feeling it bubble up unexpectedly fast, whether because Chris is paying so much attention to the gland inside or because the idea of doing this on camera is so hot and shameful all wrapped up into one, he couldn’t say, but his gut is clenching. He tries to warn Chris, tries to stop it, but then Chris’s fingers press right there, unrelenting right on the perfect spot, and Sebastian loses it. He grunts and comes in slow, all-consuming waves, cock spilling over his quivering stomach as his breath comes in pants so harsh they burn in his lungs.

Chris stops mid-sentence, and his fingers stop moving, and when Sebastian opens his eyes Chris is staring at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Sebastian wants to hide. To recoil into himself, dive under the covers and never, ever come back out. He wasn’t supposed to do that. They’d discussed it, all the details, this morning. It was meant to be educational, Chris had dutifully insisted with doe-eyes, not actual pornography. Chris was going to demonstrate what needed to be demonstrated and then turn the camera off, and keep the ending just between them. Chris may be a show off, as he’d said, but he’s also possessive, and didn’t want anybody else to see what Sebastian looks or sounds like when he comes. Chris wanted that to remain just his.

Renewed embarrassment flies like wildfire over Sebastian’s bare skin, and he covers his face with his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whines.

Chris is quiet just for another moment, and his fingers slowly retreat and leave Sebastian’s body, and Sebastian prepares himself to be scolded. Instead, Chris’s fingers drag through the mess Sebastian left on his stomach. Sebastian looks down at it, the mess of sticky white on his own skin and Chris’s fingertips in it, and then up at Chris, blinking in confusion. Chris looks back, his mouth still open and his eyes wild.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, shaking his head, and then he’s surging down, mouth crashing into Sebastian’s so hard it hurts, devouring his lips in a ravenous kiss.

“That felt so good,” Sebastian breathes, admitting it into the space between them, and Chris growls low in his throat.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy, I can’t stand it,” he says, sounding almost pained.

It’s a half hour at least before they remember the camera is still rolling.

---

They take a shower, and a nap, and order a pizza. Neither of them brings up watching the recording, but Sebastian knows they both want to. Chris doesn’t mention it, so Sebastian doesn’t either, but it remains unspoken between them. Finally, well after the sun has gone down, Chris just grabs the camera and an HDMI cable and starts hooking it up to the T.V. in his living room, without a word. Sebastian gets nervous all over again, and excited, and ashamed, that confusing jumble of emotions returning in his chest as he settles on the couch and Chris plops heavily down beside him.

“What if it’s awful?” he asks, with a laugh, trying to make it a joke to hide how unsure he is about it. He’s heard horror stories, of people making their own sex tapes and finding out they don’t look nearly as good as they thought.

“Then we delete it and never speak of it again,” Chris says. He puts an arm around Sebastian, pulling him in and kissing his hair. “But it won’t be. You’re gorgeous. Everyone thinks so.”

“Everyone hasn’t seen my dick,” Sebastian points out, and Chris chuckles warmly.

“I’m glad to hear it. But, that’s gorgeous too.” He presses a button on the remote, and they appear on the screen, Sebastian naked on the bed and Chris’s voice behind the camera.

The thing is, Sebastian is an actor, and as such he’s used to seeing himself on the screen. Not that he watches his own movies in his spare time or anything like that, but since he has to attend his own movie premieres, he sees all of his movies at least once. So he’s not a stranger to watching his own face. Watching his own, stark naked body on a T.V. screen, however, is a bit of a novelty. He’s been pretty damn close to fully nude on camera a couple of times but between the combination of movie magic and stunt doubles, it was nothing like this. This is just him. No filters, no clever angles. Bare in a way he never has been before, the shot immobile and continuous and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“That’s what I look like naked?” He’s seen himself in the mirror, but somehow this feels different from that, too.

“It is,” Chris says into Sebastian’s hair. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I look…” Sebastian hesitates before finishing, “…pretty good.”

Chris huffs, jostling his shoulders. “You don’t gotta be so modest, baby. Admit it, you look incredible.”

“I don’t look incredible,” Sebastian protests, but that’s the moment when on-screen Chris leans over on-screen Sebastian and kisses him, and Sebastian transforms. From one moment to the next, he goes from self-conscious and tense, seemingly hyper-aware of the fact that he’s naked and being filmed, to just melting into Chris’s touch. The Sebastian on the T.V. positively flourishes, turning into Chris like a flower turns to the sun, moaning softly as Chris kisses his neck, his chest and then pays special attention to his nipples. Real-life Sebastian’s skin prickles watching it, like feeling ghosts of those lips on his body right now.

And suddenly, Sebastian thinks Chris kind of has a point. Together, they look pretty stunning.

“Oh,” he says, softly.

“Wow,” Chris whispers, seeing it too, just as captivated as Sebastian. “I’ve never… I mean, I see you, all the time. But never like this, never get to just sit back and watch you… fuck, sweetheart. So responsive, so perfect for me, I can’t believe-” He trails off, distracted by the scene unfolding on the T.V. screen.

Sebastian’s not sure whether to focus on the way Chris is lavishing attention on his chest as Sebastian arches up to meet him, or the way Sebastian can see his own cock thickening against his stomach the longer Chris loves on him. It’s mindboggling and strangely exciting at the same time. Watching Chris turn his attention back to the camera, going methodically through his instructions about lube and clean fingernails, fills Sebastian with the same dirty thrill as it did at the time. Although watching it back, he feels a lot less like he’s just a body for Chris to demonstrate on. He sees love in Chris’s open expression, that he hadn’t noticed when it was really happening.

“See that?” Chris asks, as if there’s any chance Sebastian could not be watching the screen right now. He couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried. Chris is so close to him, still with his arm snug around Sebastian’s shoulders, talking reverently into his hairline. “Now you see why I can’t keep my eyes or my hands off you? You’re fucking gorgeous, Seb, especially when you’re naked and laid out like that, all open and willing. Wanting me so badly.”

“Needy, you mean,” Sebastian murmurs.

“Sexy as hell,” Chris corrects, lifting Sebastian’s left hand to his face and pressing a kiss to the back of it. He nods towards the screen. “Look at yourself. Look how turned on you are from just one of my fingers inside you. Imagine how that makes me feel.”

“How?” Sebastian asks breathlessly, eyes still glued to the screen, where Chris is now pushing a second finger into him, all the while describing what he’s doing while Sebastian tries his hardest not to burst into flames.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Chris turning his head to look at him. When Sebastian does the same and meets his gaze, he shivers at the naked want and adoration reflected back at him.

“Like I’m the king of the fucking world, baby,” Chris tells him in that almost painfully sincere way of his, leaving Sebastian with no choice but to attack him with kisses, breathless, rash and joyful.

A loud moan from the direction of the T.V. pulls their attention back to the screen, just in time to see Sebastian’s eyes rolling back as he comes with his dick untouched, spilling onto his own stomach while Chris looks at him like he’s one of the seven wonders of the world. With a rush of heat in his gut, Sebastian remembers how embarrassing that was, and how hot it was at the same time. How intense it felt, how intense it looks, his own chest rising and falling as on-screen Chris reaches out to drag his fingers through the mess Sebastian made of himself.

“Holy shit, Sebastian,” real life Chris curses, and Sebastian – surprising even himself – giggles. It’s just all so absurd. Hearing himself moan like that and watching himself having sex on T.V. like he’s in some sort of cheap, homemade porno (which he supposes this is, actually) is just a bit of a trip, really.

His laughter is infectious, it seems, because soon Chris is giggling right along with him, pulling him into his arms as Sebastian winds his arms around Chris’s waist and buries his face in Chris’s neck again.

“So yeah,” Sebastian says dryly, once they’ve calmed down a little, “we’re probably not going to actually put this online, are we?”

Chris snorts into Sebastian’s hair. “Probably not, no. This was really fun but also really fucking weird.”

“So weird,” Sebastian agrees, then feels compelled to add, “but I kinda really enjoyed it, too.”

“I had an inkling you might have, yeah.” There’s a pause, before Chris asks, “So we’re totally gonna make more of these, right? Just for us?”

“Fuck yes.”

“God, I love you.”

And then Chris is pushing him back into the couch cushions, while in the background, on-screen Chris and Sebastian are getting increasingly noisy. It’s kind of odd, the notion of having sex to the soundtrack of themselves having sex, but it’s like, good odd. Sebastian and his body are fully on board with it. No one ever claimed actors were not slightly narcissistic creatures.

Read on AO3

[nothingunrealistic]

Prompt/request: Winston has been SUPER burned out lately because of, yunno, the pressure to prove himself and actually be valued for his contributions to mase cap while almost everyone rags on him, and eventually it gets ... too far. I'll leave it vague to give you some freedom. Cue dynamics between Taylor, Rian and Mafee (because not enough people pay attention to the latter relationship, I know Mafee was a giant dickwad to Winston in 4x11 but he might as well has his own loyalties tested).

Renovations have been going on all week at Axe Capital, and the noise is really ruining the ambience of the office. Luckily for Rian, none of the construction work is happening inside the Mase Carb enclave, but glass walls don’t block out all the sound, just muffle it.

With everyone trying to make up the losses from the Shine-Lucence collapse, it’s been a week of late nights for the quant team. She’d expect the construction crew to have gone home by now, but they’re still in the building, and the constant clamor of saw and hammer still seeps through the glass. Maybe they don’t have a union.

Rian hits the button on another backtest and leans back in her chair. That should give her an hour at least to look into another project, or maybe just to relax. 

She glances over to Winston, thinking of asking what he’s working on, but he doesn’t look like he’s working at all. Though technically he’s looking at his Bloomberg, or at least pointing his face toward it, his eyes are glazed over. His hands aren’t on his keyboard or mouse; one of them is clicking a pen every few seconds.

Rian pauses her music and takes off her headphones. Normally that would catch Winston’s attention, but he doesn’t look her way. She needs to be more obvious.

“¿Estás pensando en la inmortalidad del cangrejo?”

Winston’s eyes flick over to her, more focused now, giving her a half-hearted attempt at a death glare. He still doesn’t say anything.

“You’re really spacing out right now,” Rian says. “Like, you might as well be in the Oort cloud.” Oh, that’s a good metaphor, very fund-appropriate. She’d better keep that one in her back pocket.

The silent semi-glare lasts several more seconds before Winston speaks. “Long week. I’m tired.”

A hammer bangs against metal somewhere on the main floor, and Winston flinches, eyes flickering shut, fingers curling tighter around the pen. That doesn’t look like ordinary exhaustion.

“Construction getting to you?” Rian says, trying to be casual. Sounding too concerned would make it weird. “I can’t believe they’re still here.”

“Yeah. Can’t block it out, can’t focus.”

“Don’t you have headphones?”

“Broke last week. New pair hasn’t shipped yet.”

The muted clunk of the office door opening turns both Rian’s and Winston’s heads. Mafee’s walked in, and pushed the door so far open that it’s locked into place, letting the sounds of power tools flow in unfiltered. “You guys are still here?”

“Fuck off,” Winston says. A few analysts stare, but Mafee ignores him.

“You’re also still here,” Rian points out.

“Everyone on the trading floor’s gone home. Didn’t expect there to be anyone left here.”

Winston drops his pen onto the desk. “Shut the door, asshole.” 

“Deal with it,” Mafee says.

“Do you know what the renovations are for?” Rian says, as Winston pulls off his glasses and buries his face in his hands. “Or why they’re continuing this late?”

“No clue.” Mafee yanks out an empty desk chair and drops into it with a clatter. “Back in the Westport office, Axe had the meditation room torn up and redone into a panic room. Maybe he’s doing that again.”

“What for?”

“Who knows? It’s Axe, no one has a fucking clue why he does anything until six months later.” A drill whines and buzzes outside; Mafee raises his voice. “I mean, when he was renovating the first time, he was crazy paranoid about there being a quisling in the office, and then in three weeks it was like he’d totally forgotten about it — whoa, hey, man —”

Rian follows his gaze to Winston, who’s pressing his open hands against his face again and again, so hard that it has to hurt. Red scratches run from his hairline down over his forehead. Mafee jumps from his chair and tries to pull Winston’s hands away from his face. “Dude, you’re gonna hurt yourself, don’t do that —” 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Winston grits out, barely intelligible, struggling to yank his hands free of Mafee’s grip.

“Help me out here,” Mafee says, turning back to Rian, but she’s never seen this happen, has no idea what to do. 

Who would know?

Lauren and Wendy are nowhere in sight. Most of the other quants have gone home, and the few left, whose names Rian doesn’t know anyway, are pointedly ignoring events at Winston’s end of the desk. Taylor —

Taylor’s still here, in their office. Taylor knows how to handle problems, how to make things better.

“I’m going to get Taylor,” Rian announces, and gets up from her chair.

On her way, one analyst she passes dares to ask, “What’s going —”

“None of your business,” Rian says, because it seems fitting, and sounds a lot better than I don’t know either and I’m scared.

She slips into Taylor’s office. With their laptop open and the desk phone pressed to their ear, they don’t notice her even when the door shuts behind her. This might be a bad time.

“Hey, are you busy?”

“Excuse me for a moment,” Taylor says into the phone, before setting it on the desk. “Yes. Is this urgent?”

“Well, Winston’s kind of freaking out, and Mafee and I don’t know what to do,” Rian says, “so… yeah?”

Taylor looks toward Winston, and their brow furrows over widening eyes. They pick up the phone just long enough to say, “I’m sorry, but I’ll need to call you back another day,” before hanging up and slamming the laptop shut. In less time than it took Rian to decide to ask Taylor for help, they’re out the door; she follows them.

“Please go home and close the door behind you,” she hears them say to the remaining quants, who hurry to shut off their computers and pack up their things. When they get to Winston, they wave away Mafee — he’s gotten the message to get his hands off Winston, it seems, and was just entreating him to calm down instead. (It isn’t working.) No reason why Rian’s presence would be any more helpful; she retreats to the couch near the office entrance, the door finally swinging shut behind the last analyst to leave. 

Taylor sits in Rian’s chair, leaning in close to Winston and talking too quietly to hear from across the room. That doesn’t stop Rian from trying, and she’s straining so hard to pick out their words that it’s almost a surprise when Mafee sits down next to her. “Do you think he’s having a stroke or something?”

“I think if he were having a stroke, Taylor would have called 911 instead of handling it themself.” Rian shifts on the couch. Mafee’s sitting partly on her cushion and partly on the one next to it, and it’s throwing off her equilibrium. “You haven’t seen this before?”

“Never.”

Relative quiet settles over the office — the racket from outside is muffled again, and inside there’s only Taylor’s voice, low and calm, and Winston’s breathing, slowing.

Both of them get up, and Winston follows Taylor to their office. Through the glass, Rian watches him collapsing onto the couch just inside the door and Taylor pulling down the window shades. Seems like it’d be helpful if the glass walls on three sides also had shades. Maybe this would have been avoided if they were in a normal building.

Winston described it to her, once, the building that Taylor Mason Carbon had called home when it was named Taylor Mason Capital and not under Axe’s control. An old warehouse, refurbished, across the river in Dumbo. Exposed wood and stone and solid doors, low light and quiet, rather than Axe Cap’s glass and chrome and glaring fluorescents and soaring staircases that declare the future is here and now and it is insane wealth. He’d obviously missed it, and she can see why.

On the other side of the glass, Taylor sits down beside Winston, shoulder to shoulder, their backs to everyone else, and Rian aches.

“I think maybe we should leave,” Mafee says.

“We should.”

Rian pushes herself off the couch to return to her desk. The backtest will have to finish another day. She turns off her Bloomberg, scoops up her laptop and headphones, and doesn’t let her focus linger on Winston’s glasses, askew on his keyboard.

When she turns for the door, Taylor is there, and Rian almost jumps. It’s spooky how quietly they move sometimes. “Before you go, I need to speak with you. And Mafee.”

“Sure.”

A nod from Taylor summons Mafee from the couch. He comes over demanding to know, in a not-quite-whisper, “What the hell was that about?”

“Winston will be taking a few days off.”

“Because he gave himself a concussion and said ‘don’t fucking touch me’ when I tried to stop him?”

“In a case like that, I would suggest that you not fucking touch him.” Taylor shoves their hands in their pockets. “It likely exacerbated the situation.”

“There wasn’t a situation until he tried to tear his face off.”

“There kind of was,” Rian says. “Before you came in, he said he was tired and the noise from the construction was bothering him. And you leaving the door open probably didn’t help.”

“Exactly. Being subjected to noise at that volume for this long can be… overstimulating.” Rian steals a glance toward Winston, who’s now lying down on the couch. “Some people are more sensitive to that kind of disruption than others.”

“Winston? Sensitive?”

So the pot is calling the kettle callous now? “Unlike you.”

Mafee shrugs, hands falling open helplessly. “It’s not like I wanted him to suffer or something. I didn’t know he wasn’t just being a jackass about me leaving the door open.”

“Anyway,” Taylor says, curt. “Winston will be out next week. I’ll see what can be done about the renovations before he returns —”

“But he’s going to be fine, right?”

Surprised looks from both Mafee and Taylor land on her like laser sights. Damn. She sounded too concerned and she’s made it weird.

“Yes.” There’s no impatience in Taylor’s tone now, just sympathy. “He will be.”

[gayregis]

Do you like Regis' design in tw3 ? Have any actor headcanons who could play him in twn ?

omg no i hate him 😭😭 im so glad you asked though

here’s a quick rundown of the specific things i hate about regis’s design by cdpr:

the biggest issues to me are the following: ( and @ everyone reading... don’t try and excuse any of these with “but he was recovering from regeneration / healing / he was tired / stressed / upset” because cdpr could have just written a better plotline then):

he doesn’t smile very much in b&w. like... very much at all. and in the books, every time he is mentioned, he smiles with pursed lips, as is his custom. he kind of has this air of being amused by geralt in bof, smiling with pursed lips and then proceeds to be a true friend to him in tos and lotl, smiling with teeth on occassion. i consider this to be part of his character design because for characters like dandelion and regis, their smile is just an essential part of their visual description as a character.

the hairline..... i hate this count olaf pennywise motherfucker. cdpr tries to make their main characters look insanely different from every npc and that, to me, is not good character design. they should design for how the character is described and how the character feels, what visual elements do they think embodies the character. 

regis should not stand out. the entire point of him is that he looks just like a regular normal human guy. for this reason, the claws and teeth annoy me (not to mention regis is described as having just regular fangs and not all pointed teeth, not to even breach the topic of his having all pointed teeth the same shape/length would be difficult for animals to live with, look at the skulls of mammalian apex predators and you will find variation in their teeth).

where is his apron. it’s almost akin to twn removing jaskier’s plum bonnet with an egret/heron feather. it not only symbolizes his profession as a surgeon, but also his domestic qualities and general approachableness. it makes him look kinder, imo. he may heal you or he may bake you bread... either works

where is his cloak. a nice black cape i think is ESSENTIAL for a powerful vampire to have.

he wears some fancy and expensive-looking items. doctors in medieval times were not treated like they are today, regis is not living on a $150,000K+ annual salary, and nor do i think he wants to... he is a humble and sincere man, he spends 1/3 of his year living in the wildnerness. he wouldn’t care so much about fancy clothes unless the occassion called for it, like in beauclair, and then he would wear a nice fancy black velvet jacket that makes him look like a vampire. i think just giving him a simple black coat would suffice, maybe a linen shirt instead of a highly embroidered and decorated one. one key element about regis is that even though he tends to lecture, he never intends to make others feel inferior to him, i feel his outfit in b&w represents someone who is formal and would use their status to demean others... 

fingerless gloves. i like the fingerless gloves but they are incredibly impractical for a medic to wear... i think just no gloves would suffice (in bof, regis asks geralt to hurriedly pour a solution over his hands so he can perform surgery immediately, i feel that having to take off your gloves would waste valuable time.

regis should look kind, humble, run-of-the-mill skinny guy chilling in a cemetery at midnight, approachable, yet also a little ... off? it’s in the way he smiles maybe, hiding something... 

also (god im so negative, anon i sincerely apologize because you came here just asking questions and im like NO >:( I HAVE HATE IN MY HEART, i want to reiterate that i really appreciate this question because i love talking about the subject of character designs, the books vs the games, and regis as well) but also, i do hate twn, and i hope they skip him entirely or bastardize him so hard that there will be no resemblance and that no one in the fandom will ever care about him, because his character in the books has so much nuance and twn could never. 

i don’t really... have fancasts... because i don’t watch very many movies or tv shows... (also because i don’t think live action is the way to adapt the witcher!! we need a 2D animated series in a very beautiful unique style that becomes a cult classic!!!!) but as a joke one time i proposed jeff goldblum bc of the way he speaks and acts and also since he’s tall, skinny, and salt-n-pepper-y, and i had a good laugh, and then i started to consider and was like hm ok actually yeah sure why not. but i don’t really know him as an individual, and i think he did some shit, or was involved in a scandal, as all actors in hollywood do... 

tbh im not horribly picky when it comes to casting because i feel like acting and writing is more important than casting. but they should you know also fit the description of the character. im still kinda bitter about jaskier and yennefer’s hair in twn, and twn also requiring cavill to beef up for the role of geralt even though geralt in the books literally starves nightly... ok lol... but yeah as long as the actor is some middle aged skinny (tall, thats my headcanon) guy with salt and pepper/greying hair, preferably a long haircut, no beard but maybe stubbly, and has dark eyes and kind of a pretty face, a little bit angular but not sharp features, and sincere kindness in the eyes, then i’m good i don’t really care much about casts... just act good please....

[angelixskz]

↳ pairing; seo changbin x reader

↳ genre; suggestive, fluff if you squint, soulmate!au 

↳ summary; your leg is killing you, but that doesn’t stop you from getting a new tattoo. 

↳ word count; 2,448

HAPPY BELATED CHANGBIN DAY! I hope he had an amazing day and that he smiled till his cheeks hurt. I hope that he ate well, stayed safe and overall go all the happiness that he deserves. 

↳ a/n; I got a little carried away with this fic, just a tiny bit. thank you to @haechaaaaaaanssi​ for beta reading and helping me make this header because my brain does not understand the concept of headers. hugs for janna. anyways, I hope that you enjoy this angels <3

↳ inspo; these pics and touchy feely by ro james (can y’all believe that someone gave that to me as a song rec lol)

↳ warning(s); making out

It was getting harder and harder to walk towards the parlor.

You weren’t sure if it was because of the nerves partying in your stomach or the increasing pressure around your right calf, or maybe, it was both. Turning back briefly, you saw your friend give you a thumbs up. The tiny encouragement sparked an ounce of determination, and with that, you tightened your grip on the warm cup of coffee in your hand and pushed open the door to the dimly lit tattoo parlor with a blinking neon ‘open sign’.

Presented in front of you was a small waiting room, the lighting as dark as the tinted windows showed. Covering the wall behind the wooden front counter were various pictures of previous customers’ designs. Decorated on the other black-painted walls were simply just framed sketches. 

You were alone in the parlor.

Light shone behind the black curtains leading to, what you presumed, were the work stations for the employees. You could faintly hear the buzz of machinery and the hum of a fan. The pain in your leg thumped your hand into action. Hesitantly, you pressed on the bell resting on the counter.

As you waited, you turned your attention back to the framed papers hanging on the walls. They were all very pretty, but they didn’t compare to the one that you had in mind. Remembering the piece of paper, you reached into your back pocket. It was odd how you came about it; simply waking up at the crack of dawn with a pencil in hand and a beautiful sketch of vines and flowers on a white sheet of paper in front of you. At that moment, you were heavily thinking about pursuing your career as an artist. Instead, your friend convinced you to get it tattooed on your body. 

The first tattoo parlor that came to mind was the one across the street, conveniently, right across the cafe you worked at. 

“That regular who never talks works there, right?” 

Of course Felix would remind you of Changbin, the seemingly never smiling tattoo artist who would only utter his order before leaving to his table. You looked at the sketches hanging under his name. While they were all very pretty, one specific design caught your interest. 

Stepping away from the oddly short counter and past the worn out leather seats sitting next to the entrance door, you shot one hand out towards the one paper hanging loosely by a transparent blue tac pin. The ache started to increase, almost as if the vines imprinted on the skin of your leg were tightening. 

Before you could fully compare your own design to his, a hand shot past your ear. 

“Can I help you?” came out the gruff voice. 

You turned around with a grimace. With each second that ticked, the ache in your calf didn’t seem to falter. For a moment, you held your breath, for you were met with the dark gaze of the Changbin. He always looked peaceful while drawing in his sketchbook as he occasionally glanced outside the window to observe the people passing by, yet here, he didn’t look too happy with his furrowed brows and irritated dip of his lips. 

Glancing down at the harsh grip he held on the paper with his right hand, you explained that you were here to get a tattoo. Your gaze lingered on the ink peeping through the crumpled lines. “This… is a tattoo place, right?” you questioned, finding the courage to look back up at him.

Perhaps your words confused him because his once irritated expression morphed into one that you could only describe as a constipated scrunch. His eyes squinted slightly, brows accompanied by line etched in between and a slightly gapped mouth.

“Did you read the sign that says Stray Tattoos?”

You smiled brightly at the boy, “Of course not, I just randomly decided to visit this mysterious looking store across my cafe.”

He clicked his tongue before turning around and walking behind the counter. You followed along, hoping that your limp wasn’t showing as you struggled to deal with the horrid throbbing in your leg. 

“You have a design in mind?” he asked, bringing out his sketchbook. 

“That one,” you told him.

He raised a brow at your pointed finger. The paper he previously tore from the wall was still clutched in his hand. “No.”

You blinked, “What?”

“It’s not a design.”

“Then why was it on the wall?”

Changbin stared at you with an unreadable expression, “It’s not now, so go choose a different design.”

You frowned, “Why can’t I get that one?”

“I told you, it’s not a design for sale,” he pursed, “and you most definitely did not have this in mind. It’s not posted on our website or any of our social media accounts.” His frown deepened, confusion written in his eyes, “Even if it was, no one should be able to see the design.”

He mumbled the last part, but you managed to catch onto his small words. You smiled cheekily in response, “Well maybe I’m special since I’m able to see it.” 

Wholeheartedly, you meant it as a joke. Changbin’s dead serious face didn’t seem to take it as a joke. He wanted to say, ‘you must be’ but he knew better–soulmates don’t exist.  

He rolled his eyes, “Whatever. The point is, you can’t get this tattoo.”

You pursed your lips, “Fine, then I want this one.” You pulled out the folded piece of paper from your back pocket and slapped it onto the counter. Changbin’s eyes widened as he stared at the identical design you gave him.

Before he had a chance to speak, he was interrupted by the voice of a blond boy with a dimpled grin. “Are you giving our customer a hard time?” he chastised.

“Hello there! I’m Chan.” He placed a hand on the shoulder of his fellow grumpy co-worker. “Don’t mind Changbin here, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

Changbin slapped away the hand of his friend.

“See,” Chan whispered, a hand covering his mouth from Changbin’s view, “he’s a bit sensitive today.”

You chuckled, “It’s okay, I just gave him my design.” 

Chan followed your gesture towards the folded paper that Changbin was holding against another crumpled paper. Confusion flashed in Chan’s eyes for a brief moment before he hid it with a gleam of playfulness. “I see, you guys are exchanging secret sketches.”

“Secret sketches?” you echoed.

“Yeah, did you guys use invisible ink or something–” he vaguely gestured towards the papers–”because there’s nothing on there.”

You would’ve laughed at him if it weren’t for the pinch of pain that pulsed through your leg. 

“What do you mean? There’s designs on both of those papers,” you frowned.

Something sparked in Chan’s eyes and he gave a knowing look to Changbin. 

There was a silent battle of glances between the two, one that you witnessed without much focus. You were too busy remembering the bothersome prickling in your leg. Frown deepening, you focused on the warmth of the coffee cup you held in your hand, hoping that the warmth could transfer to your leg. You cleared your throat. “Well if today isn’t a good time, I can just leave. Oh, and uh,” you placed the now cooling cup down on the counter, “this is for you, Changbin, since you didn’t come to the cafe today.”

You bit the inside of your lip, hating how the pain increased tenfold when Changbin made eye-contact with you. You gave a slight nod and let out a silent wince when you turned around–conveniently missing how he expressed a small grimace. 

“Wait,” he called out, “You can get the tattoo.”

-

You anxiously wiggled in the black leather chair when Changbin entered the room. 

Wordlessly, he sat down on a chair next to you. He didn’t seem to be concerned that you didn't have any pants on, but then again, he hasn’t glanced once at you since he arrived. He was quite content on his needles, jaw clenched. Your leg throbbed, unbearingly so–you let out a whimper.

He casted his eyes on yours, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you weakly replied, “just nervous.”

“First time?”

You nodded. Slowly, he trailed his gaze down your neck, past your chest and down to your bare legs. He stayed focused on the vines wrapped around your calf–a new wave of pain washed over you. 

“But it looks like you already got one? Unless it’s fake,” he observed, your wince unnoticed by the fact that he tried to ignore the insufferable sting in his right shoulder. “These vines match the ones on your calf,” he added. 

“Would you believe me if I said that it was marked there when I was born?” you managed to gasp out, sweat starting to form against your hairline despite the wind blowing towards you.

Pain clear in your voice, he quickly turned to you with concern, “Are you sure you’re okay? We can do this another day.”

“I’m-” before you could utter ‘fine’, you let out a yelp, your hand moving to your calf to rub away the pain. Changbin dropped the needle on the floor and instinctively reached for your extended hand. 

Suddenly, it stopped. 

Everything stopped, it seemed. The needle stopped midway to the ground, the fan blowing in the corner froze, the clock’s hand paused, the rapid acceleration of your heart slowed, but most importantly, the ache in your leg dissipated. 

Your breath hitched when the vines around your leg started to unravel. You felt breathless as they grew. You followed as the vine slowly trailed up your leg, the slow beat of your heart suddenly loud in your ears when you saw another vine out of the corner of your eye. 

There were no words you could speak when you realized that the other vine was trailing down Changbin’s arm. You spared a quick glance up at his eyes. They sparkled with the same awe as yours. Letting out a breath of disbelief, you looked back down at the two vines moving towards each other. Your vine moved up to Changbin’s knuckles that were touching the skin of your thigh and connected to his vine that curled around his wrist. 

When the two vines interlocked, pure serenity fell over the two of you. Flower buds blossomed in the trails of the vines. Slowly, Changbin let go of your hand. Once the two of you were no longer touching, time resumed; the needle started falling again, the fan resumed cooling the room, the clock started to tick, your heart never actually stopped beating but it sure felt like it, and the ache in your leg throbbed faintly. The vines started to retract, budding flowers starting to disappear.

As light as a feather, Changbin touched one of the flower buds. The two of you were sucked back into a frozen universe within a split second. His thumb smoothened over the bud as it started to blossom, vines extending and curling towards his touch. You could only watch with a held in breath as he leaned closer towards the flower. As if in a trance, he pressed his lips softly against your skin. The pillowly touch of his lips was light, yet it still managed to make your heart flutter and it elicited a gasp from your mouth. 

Too in awe at the colors inking your skin and flooding the outlined flower, you failed to notice how Changbin regretted his action. It wasn’t until he pulled away did you realize that he was spouting out countless apologies–he thought that he overstepped his boundaries.

Before he could fully dismiss his touch, you cupped his face. You tried not to get distracted by the vines creeping up his neck and growing to where you hand lie. 

“Hey,” you murmured, “it’s okay.”

His brown eyes were blown wide, a haze swirling in the galaxy of his iris. “Are you sure-”

You chuckled and nuzzled your nose against his, “Did you know how many times I thought that this vine on my leg was some useless birthmark? Never did I ever think that it was my soulmate mark.”

“I thought soulmates didn’t exist anymore,” he admitted, eyes glancing down at your lips for a moment.

“I didn’t either, although, I did feel a certain pull towards you whenever you visited the shop,” you confessed, “but then again, that could’ve been because I thought you were cute.”

He raised a brow, “Cute?”

You smiled, “Yes, cute with your beanie and sketchbook, just drawing away while admiring the pedestrians passing by.”

Something about you calling him cute didn’t sit well in his stomach. “Cute,” he repeated, almost scoffing out. Your heart started to speed up as he slightly pushed you into the chair. He hovered over you, breath mixing with yours. He pecked kisses from the corner of your lips all the way down to your collarbone. Flowers bloomed and colors exploded on the flesh of the two of you.

Together you painted a beautiful picture. 

Your breaths became shallow as you felt his tongue swipe against your skin. He colored your skin as he moved back up. His kisses trailed along your jaw and aimed at the corner of your mouth, never quite planting his lips on yours.

“Kiss me,” you whispered.

With a small smirk, he slowly connected his lips with yours. There was no hurry in his actions, afterall, the clock was no longer ticking. He never stayed more than a second before pulling away. His eyes glimmered with amusement as you chased after his lips each time. 

“Changbin,” you whined when he disconnected his mouth from yours for the nth time.

The way you breathed out his name made him break. 

He pushed his mouth against yours, teeth clashing and temperature rising. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip. Saliva mixed together just as the vines around you twirled within each other. The leather beneath you started to stick to you as you wiggled around. 

You tugged at the hem of his shirt which prompted him to quickly remove the material. With hot pants leaving your mouth, you marveled over the numerous vines penned from his neck, connected to his shoulder blades and curling down to his torso. You trailed your hands along the path of vines, flowers blooming with each touch. When he exhaled a shaky breath, you chuckled.

“Cute,” you teased, pressing a kiss to a flower on his jaw. 

The color pouring into the petals of the flower contrasted the darkness that engulfed his eyes. 

He mocked your chuckle, “Oh, baby, I’ll show you cute.”