#you can pry them away from my cold dead fingers

[punkinspice]

you're gonna tell me that Shadow collects his emblems in the new game AND they're shiny and hot pink?

They're on to us... they're on to ME 🦇🦔

[angee1011]

Welp. The Legend of Vox Machina season two is over and what a fucking banger

The amount of love and care and attention to detail they put into it… *chefs kiss*

Cannot wait for season three

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

Cold nights, red Flannel

Joel Miller X Afab!Fem!Reader

Summary: when the power goes out in your building Joel is more than happy to let you have his bed, but when his already sore back flares up in the middle of the night he’s given no choice but to share with you. Things play out differently than expected when he wakes up in the morning tangled up with you in between the sheets.

Warnings: SMUT (MDI) 18+ only, slow burn, dead child, dead people and the fire pit, cussing, age gap (reader is in their thirties), alcohol, Joel gets a ✨massage✨ thigh riding, teasing Joel, Dom!Joel, fingering, multiple orgasms, over stimulation, Joel is… big, slight breeding kink, raw p in v (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk.

Joel Miller Master List

Word Count: you’ve read my other stories right? This is long, buckle up butter cup.

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

The worst jobs earn the most money, it was something you were quick to pick up on, and if you wanted to live the best, you had to do the worst.

The burn pit was busier than usual, truck after truck with what seemed like no end in sight. Everything from your hands to your feet ached, clothes covered in the grey ash irritating your lungs, and the smell was unforgiving. You’ve already added your second bandanna, the lack of clean air nearly suffocating.

“You’re slowin’ down.” The man beside you notes, Texan accent laces his words as he crosses his arms over his chest, voice gruff from being here as long as you have.

“Coming from the man who has taken a water break every thirty minutes.” You snip back, lighthearted in your accusation, looking over to find your ‘coworker’, Joel Miller, tilting his head, brown eyes glaring under salt and pepper eyebrows. He points to the truck behind you, silently telling you to get moving.

You smile even though he can’t see it and turn on your heel, heading for the last body, but your cheeky attitude slips away. You swallow thickly, eyes scanning over the hooded and bound body. They are small in stature, an old cartoon character printed on the back of their white, clean shirt. They look so out of place on the blood and mud stained truck bed.

Only a child.

Joel is quick to notice your sudden hesitation, his own small smile falling as he follows your gaze.

“I’ll get ‘em.”

“No, it’s fine.” You stomp down your emotions, scooping the kid up, to light and frail, and walk them over to the fire. You whisper a prayer, like you’ve done with every child before and toss him over the wall. Soot blows up into the air, orange and red embers dancing among the cloud and you’re forced to pry your gaze away as the flame swallows their body.

“Last one!” A driver yells, the screeching of the reverse alarm cutting through the air. Relief washes over you, closing your eyes momentarily, the day was almost done.

“Son of a bitch.” You turn then, Joel’s looking at the truck in disbelief and when your attention lands on the man in the bed your jaw physically drops open.

The man before you is a literal beast, his height alone impressive but the muscle on him makes you thankful you never ran into him when he was alive.

Had to of been some kind of enforcer.

“Hey, yo, can we like get a horse or something? This guys fucking huge!” You call out to the truck driver who only sneers before disappearing back into the cab.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it.” Joel shushes you, steeping up and dragging the guy by his thighs closer to the edge of the bed, huffing and grunting looking for the best leverage point.

You laugh slightly, steeping back. “Sure, whatever you say cowboy, he’s all yours.” You cross your arms, excited to see how this pans out as Joel tries to position the hulk. To your surprise he’s able to lift the guy onto his shoulder with a strained groan. “Oooo okay, you’ve been working out.” You let out a sharp whistle, his eyes glancing to yours as he stumbles for the fire, giving you a playful wink.

The banter is cut short with his next step though when he cries out in pain, nearly crumbling under the weight as something in his back spasms. You rush forward, grabbing onto the body, helping carry him the rest of the way and over the wall.

“Fuck!” Joel barks, face pinched as he hunches over, hand pressing into his back.

“What happened?”

“My back… I’m fine. “ He grits out between clenched teeth, sucking in a few breaths before trying to straighten up.

Someone blows a whistle, signaling the end of the day and people start to rush past you both for the pay out line, ignoring Joel’s insistent cussing.

You offer your shoulder for him to lean on but he waves away your concern, telling you he just needs a minute to collect himself before you both make your way to get your ration cards.

Instead of signing up for another shift you decide to give yourself the next two days off, hoping to sleep as much as you can before hitting the next work period hard. You walk off to the side, waiting patiently for Joel out of habit as he goes down the list, rubbing at his spine.

Being this far from the fire you realize how cold it is, the setting sun the only indication that it’s about to get colder, and you know spring is still a few months away.

You glance to Joel as he haggles with the enforcer, probably over the shortened pay. Over the last five years you and Joel have worked together on numerous jobs, and he’s never shy to insist the right pay for the services you both provide. Though at first never coordinated, you both realized how effortlessly you worked with the other, always fast and to the point with whatever resources given, both searching for the most money.

You recall noticing him when you arrived at your first job at this QZ, his hair a little less grey back then but eyes just as intense. It wasn’t until your fifth job did you say something to him after catching him watching you for the first hour of your shift at the pit.

With whatever confidence you had, you’d walked right up to him, hands on your hips and chin tilted up with a sarcastic smile. “Does my stalker have a name?”

The notion had been so wildly outlandish that after he stared at you for a minute, mouth open and eyebrows raise, he barked out a laugh. A true belly laugh that had everyone turning their heads in shock and confusion.

It was the talk of the job.

Some new girl got the old grump to laugh.

From that moment on Joel decided to stick close by, your fiery attitude attracting him just as much as your smarts. He taught you how to play the system, which officers were more lenient than others, and when he grew to trust you he began taking you on contraband runs. You picked up on the trade quickly, surprising him when you started going out on your own and Joel knew he’d chosen well.

Joel now limps over, pulling you from your thoughts. “Ya know I have this stuff that can help with that.” You state, turning and walking with him towards your apartments.

“Got some icy hot, I’ll be fine.”

“20 year old icyhot? Yeah that most definitely will do the trick.” Your sarcasm isn’t lost on him as he glares done at you. You raise your hands in surrender, walking the rest of the way in silence as the street bustles with life around you.

Parting ways at your building you watch for a moment as Joel limps along, shaking his head back and forth, a clear sign he’s talking to himself. You snort, grabbing for the door handle only to have it ripped away, your next door neighbor nearly knocking into you as she storms from the building.

“Woah, Joanne, maybe next time you can just run me over and we will call it a day.” You snap, glaring as she turns at the sound of your voice, she’s the buildings ‘manager’, a lose term for someone who takes your money and doesn’t fix a damn thing unless it involves her apartment directly.

Not much has changed since the end of the world.

“The entire building is out! I’m trying to get someone to fix it!” Her wrinkled face is red with anger, greying hair disheveled like she’d been pulling at the roots all day.

“Wait what?”

She rolls her eyes, exasperation clipping her words. “There was construction going on next door and they clipped a line or something. No lights, no heat, no fucking water to the entire building.” She turns on her heel, not bothering for what you have to say next and stomps down the road.

You throw your hands up in frustration, groaning at the sky, mentally cursing whatever was out there when a thought comes to mind. You bite your lip, weighing out your options before you are rushing down the street in search of Joel.

Luck seems to finally be on your side as you round the street corner, finding him leaning against a light post, talking to a man you recognize but can’t place with a name.

Jogging over the shaggy haired man’s eyes flicker to you, his posture becoming rigid before he quickly dismissing himself. Joel turns, expecting an officer or worse, and his expression softens as you slow to a stop beside him. “Heya Sunshine.”

When Joel decided to take you in, he made it very clear to others that ran around in the same under ground circles that you were not to be fucked with, being one of the few in his inner circle gave you a type of immunity not so sparingly given out.

“Hey… shit… my power is out.”

“Did ya forget to pay?” He’s mocking you only slightly, concern still underlining his tone.

“No, it’s the whole building, Joanne said someone must have cut a wire or something… I was wondering if maybe… we’ll I’m still covered in all this…” You hesitate, hoping he will fill in the gap as you gesture to yourself but he only stares. Joel always made you use your words. “I was wondering if I could borrow your shower, I’ll be super quick, I swear.”

Joel nods, looking down the road towards his building. “Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem, give me about an hour to soak my back first and then you can come over.” You’re washed with relief, throwing your arms around his neck in a tight hug, catching him by surprise.

“Thank you, thank you so much!” Before he can reply you’re sprinting down the street and around the corner, he stares after you blinking slowly before looking around, a blush staining his cheeks.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Having only been to Joel's apartment a handful of times, it took you longer than you would of liked to admit to find his door, and there may have been the help of an elderly man along the way.

This time though, as the door opens, Joel is on the other side. His greying hair slicked back and still damp, he’s dressed in a long sleeve shirt with matching black sweats. “Well, don’t you clean up nice.” You make a point to look him over as you step into his apartment, breathing in the warm air.

Joel only snorts. “Yeah, sure. Bathrooms that way, should still be plenty of hot water, I rigged my heater a few months back.”

You smile at that, “What a naughty boy you are, Joel Miller.” You wink following his direction, closing yourself in the bathroom.

Joel leans against his front door for a moment, appreciating this side of you that is rare to see, as much back and forth as you two give each other at work you personality blossoms when it’s just you and him. And damn was it flirtatious. Some way or another you’ve kept a spark of life through the last 20 years that has Joel hooked like an addict, even if he could never bring himself to say so.

In the bathroom you’re pulling out your bath products, setting them next to his and the contrast of them makes you laugh a little. Pinks and purples next to dull grays and blues. You have the fleeting thought to look for something special just for Joel on your next run as you twist the shower nob. The pipes groan before sputtering to life, you wait until the waters just a little to hot before undressing and stepping in. You hiss involuntarily, skin blushing under the heat before you relax.

This was the hottest shower you’d had in years and you might just have to start lying about your power being out to get more of this. You allow yourself to relax for a moment longer before you begin to wash away the day.

*~*~*~*~*~*

You emerge thirty minutes later, steam following behind you, you’re dressed in your better winter clothes, but even that’s a stretch. Your sweater hangs on your frame, three sizes to big and moth eaten, your sweatpants in much the same condition.

Joel glances up at you from his rickety table, two mix match glasses and a bottle in front of him. “Is one of those for me?” He simply pours you a shot, sliding the glass across the table as you take your seat, curling your legs up under yourself. You lift the amber liquid in cheers, Joel mimicking your actions as you down the shot. It burns your taste buds, dropping into your stomach like a lead weight.

Coughing you turn the glass over, face scrunched in disgust making Joel laugh as he pours himself another. “Can’t handle your liquor?”

“Was never much of a drinker before all of this, haven’t acquired the taste just yet.” You manage to wheeze out, rubbing at your chest where it still burns. “Thank you again, it would have really sucked to of gone to bed still covered in that shit.”

Joel stands, chair scrapping across the floorboards. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Don’t need the whole building knowing I’m giving out free showers.” He gathers the glasses and takes them to the small sink, before opening his fridge, “How do you plan on staying warm tonight?”

“Um, probably throw on a extra layer and pray I wake up with all my toes.” You drum a rhythm on the table, watching him as he pulls a container from the fridge, grabbing two forks and walking over to you.

You attentions stays on the container as he drags his chair closer, setting it on the table. Inside is beef and rice and your stomach grumbles at the sight of it. Your eyes jump to Joel and he give you a smile, handing you a fork. “Eat.”

You know not to look a gifted horse in the mouth, splitting the container down the middle and enjoying the cold food as much as you enjoy the comfortable silence.

Joel suddenly lifts his head, sniffing the air before turning his gaze on you, stopping you mid bite to stare back.

“What?”

“Do I smell… cookies?”

Your face lights up with a grin. “Oh yeah, I was baking in the bathroom.” He doesn’t look amused and it adds to your enjoyment. “Sugar cookies, specifically. You have your contraband, and I have mine.”

Contraband consisting of feminine products you’ve scored over the last few years, keeping nearly 70 other women fairly stocked and your pockets lined.

“Where ya hiding them? Under this?” He plucks at your shirt, distaste written across his face making you laugh, a sound Joel likes a little to much.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Miller.” You raise your eyebrows suggestively earning an eye-roll, his foot nudging your chair.

He slides you the rest of his food as he stands. “You can sleep here for tonight, I’ll take the couch.” He’s talking over his shoulder as he walks into his joined bedroom, leaving you to shovel the rest of the food into your mouth.

“Wait… your back, you should really sleep in your own bed Joel.” You can hear drawers opening and closing before a soft grunt of satisfaction as Joel finds whatever it is he is looking for. “I really don’t want to inconvenience you any further.”

“It ain’t an inconvenience, and my backs fine, the icy hot did the trick, just like I said it would.” He comes back into view carrying a very large red button down flannel, tossing to you. It’s thick, the fabric soft to the touch and smells clean with an underlying musk that’s unmistakably Joel. “That’ll keep you warm, a lot better than what you’ve got on now.”

“Really? Are you-.”

“Don’t argue with me. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to. Okay?”

A light blush tints your cheeks, glancing up at him through your lashes with a sweet smile that has his stomach tightening. “Thank you Joel.”

“You’re welcome.” He rejoins you at the table, watching you pick at a loose thread on the shirt.

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t know much about Joel, or maybe it’s the fact that this is the very first time you’ve been alone with him, no one else in the room, no traders. Curiosity sparks and it’s a hard flame to put out.

“Do you… are there things you miss about before?”

He glanced at you, your eyes still trained on the garment. “What do you mean?”

“Well like… I use to do kickboxing, I miss that a lot… I miss going on coffee dates with my girlfriends… things like that.” You shrug, refusing to meet his gaze incase he thought this was silly, ridiculous even. You were never good at small talk.

Joel is silent for a moment longer, biting at his lip. “I miss football with my brother.”

You smile. “Tommy right? My daddy loved football, he wasn’t going anywhere on Sunday night.” You laugh softly, resting your chin on your knee. “I miss mall Chinese food, they always loaded up so much on those plates and I could never finish it.”

“That was about the only thing I liked at the mall, we didn’t go there much though. I miss my guitar, I don’t even know if I could play it now if I remembered any songs…” Joel chuckles, “I loved the SNL show, tv in general I loved to stay up at night with…” His voice fades off, fist clenched slightly out of your peripherals and though you don’t know much you know at some point during the start of everything he had lost a child.

Clearing your throat you jump to change topics. “Do you like wine?” You lock eyes with him then, his expression a little more retreated.

“I haven’t found one I’m a huge fan of, but I never turn down a glass.”

Your smile does that thing to his stomach again and he can’t stop his gaze falling to your lips for the briefest of seconds. “Well good, there’s this lady I trade with in my building and she makes wine. I’ll have to bring you a bottle one night.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up, “trying to wine and dine me, Sunshine?” A blush creeps up your cheeks turning your smile sheepish.

“Maybe, only if you pay for dinner.”

Joel scoffs, the ease returning to his features as he tilts his head to the side. Your heart hammers a little faster under his gaze. “What a cheap date you are.” He mumbles softly, resting his elbows on the table leaning his head against interlocked hands.

“The cheapest.” You breath back, mirroring his posture. He smiles warmly butterfly’s erupting under your skin giving you that giddy school girl feeling that takes your breath away and turns your brain too mush..

“I’ll look forward to it then.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

You’d only been asleep a few hours when your name reaches your ears, startling you awake. You sit up mattress squeaking under your weight as you peer into the darkness.

“J-Joel?”

His sleep riddled voice bounces back to you. “I need help.” Instantly your scrambling out of bed, flipping on a light as you round the wall to find Joel looking up at you from where he lay on the couch, red faced and defeated.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t get up… I gotta take a piss.” Joel hasn’t felt this level of embarrassment since throwing his back out working with his brother and had to be carried down to the hospital. The feeling only digging deeper as he watches your face fall padding over to him, extending your hands.

“I told you to sleep in your own bed, Joel.” You abolish gently, pulling him to his feet. His grip tightens on your arms, hissing as his back straightens out, taking the moment to get his bearings before he releases you, grumbling something under his breath and limping to the restroom.

You sigh, going to your duffle bag and rummaging through its contents before you finally come across a small bottle of chamomile and lavender.

Joel comes out a few minutes later, eyes trained on the floor. “Sorry.”

“Hey it’s okay, I tore my shoulder apart when I was in highschool and could hardly use it for a year. Had to have people help me all the time.” You try to sympathize with his situation, your expression soft and warm as his eyes find yours. “But, luck for you, I think you only pulled a muscle. And I have something to help with that.” You lift the little bottle shaking its contents.

Joel eyes it suspiciously, crossing his arms over his chest, “I ain’t taken that.”

You scoff, grabbing his bicep, pulling him towards his bed. “You don’t take it, now lay down and lift up your shirt.”

Joel turns on you, looking horrified like you’ve grown two heads all of a sudden. “Excuse me?”

“Just trust me.” You pull him again, squeezing his arm, Joel hesitates, glancing from the bed then down at himself. “I use to be a message therapist. I’ve seen a thousand naked backs, yours isn’t going to be any different.” You encourage, smiling at him as he glances your way.

Sighing Joel relents, kneels onto the bed, pulling his shirt over his head and laying down, folding his arms under his head.

Okay.

Maybe you were wrong.

Joel’s back is defined, scars littering in various stages of time, some more purple compared to others. Shaking your head you swallow your sudden nerves, kneeling beside him. You open the bottle, the smell instantly filling the room and dump it into the palm of your hand, the oil slipping between your fingers, soaking your sweats and you curse silently, setting the bottle onto the night stand.

“Tell me where it hurts the most.” You instruct, rubbing your hands together to warm the oil before placing them on Joel’s lower back, his hips twitching slightly at the sudden contact.

“A little to the right.” His skin is warm and he hums softly under your touch, shifting his shoulders and head, wishing he could see your face. “There.” You set to work, finding the knot in his muscle and kneading the area, digging your thumbs and palms into his flesh.

Joel groans, long and drawn out and a thrill works it’s way down your spine at the sound, “To much?” Your voice is softer than you initially intended it to be, much to sensual sounding.

It’s just a back rub. Nothing more, be more professional.

He shakes his head, his body relaxing fully. “You weren’t lying.” He’s muffled slightly by the pillow but you can hear his smile.

“Yeah I went to school and everything. It’s like riding a bike, you just never forget.”

“Get an A from me darlin’.” Your heart swells with his praise, staying quiet as you continue messaging his back, traveling up to his shoulders and back down to his hips, the silence interrupted occasionally by a soft grunt or groan coming from Joel.

It’s only when he goes quiet, his breath turning even and deep do you stop, whispering his name. When he doesn’t reply you ease away and into the restroom, washing your hands and shedding your oil soaked pants.

Joel’s soft snores are all that can be heard as you stand at the foot of the bed, chewing on your lower lip trying to decide what to do from here. The couch is now free, but there is only one blanket, which is now trapped under Joel. There are enough pillows to maybe set one between you both, make a little barrier of sorts…

Would Joel be mad if he woke up in the same bed as you? You shift your weight from one foot to the other, mind racing with every possible reason as to why he would be mad, before you finally take a deep breath and tiptoe to the other side.

Without giving yourself time to talk yourself out of it you climb under the covers, setting a pillow in between you, praying that Joel won’t be upset in the morning as you drift off.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Joel wakes up slowly, conciseness coming to him little by little with the early morning sun lighting the room. He’s warm, body heavy and mind sluggish from what has possibly been his best sleep in years. Selfishly he wants to hold onto it a little longer, screw whatever he thought he needed to get done today and bury himself back into his dreamless sleep.

It’s only when he shifts, his chin bumping something firm, does he feel the weight on him. Blinking slowly he lifts his head, looking down to find himself tangled up with you. Your head is resting on his shoulder, leg slung over his hip while his own is slotted between your thighs, and you’ve seemed to have lost your pants; Joel being granted a perfect view of your black panties that hide little to the imagination.

And all of the sudden he’s overly aware of you, of how soft your waist is under his callused palm, of how you still smell of sugar cookies and lavender, of the little puffs of air leaving you full lips ghosting across his neck. Then there is how his flannel has morphed to your curves, twisted around your body showing the pudge of your stomach and his blood is rushing somewhere… South.

All he can think about is how damn good you look wearing only his clothing. Joel’s heart rate picks up, his fingers drifting to your hair on their own, carding themselves through the soft strands, “Sunshine.”

You hum in your sleep, grip tightening around him as you nuzzle closer, lips brushing the column of his throat making him hold his breath as you settle again.

I’m going to hell.

It’s all he can think, his body so readily responding to you and you’re not even aware of it. You’re in your thirty’s for fucks sakes he shouldn’t even be considering this… but…

Tentatively, his grip tightens on your hair, pulling your head back so he can finally see your face. You look so peaceful, your features soft and delicate in your sleep he almost hates to ruin it. Almost.

“Honey … sweet girl wake up.” Joel’s voice is firmer, cutting into your sleep, rousing you with a small grumble.

“What…” You voice is horse, rolling your head to the side as you yawn, sleep holding on tight.

“It’s just me.” He can’t stop himself, seeing the length of your neck exposed like that, he leans down, gently kissing the delicate skin and you gasp, body tensing slightly. “Just me.” His thigh shifts up, pressing between your own and he can feel the heat radiating off of you through his sweatpants and it makes him feral.

“W-Ah… what are you doing?” You whimper, eyes pinching shut, fingers digging into his ribs as he finds that soft spot just under your ear earning another small gasp.

“Repaying you… For last night.” His grip on your hair disappears, finding your hip and rolling you onto your back. Your eyes snap open, breath trapped in your throat at the intense look of lust etched into Joel’s face. Now that you can fully see him your stomach tightens, need zipping down your spine as your eyes drink him in.

Just like his back his chest is defined, shoulders broad with a light dusting of hair that runs down to his stomach, and just past the waistband of his sweats where you can clearly see the outline of his…

You swallow audible, causing Joel to snort. Your eyes dart back to his and you swear you can feel your body melting with the fire in his gaze. He dips his face closer, bumping his nose against yours and smiles as you nervously squirm, thighs clenching around his where it still rests pressed against your mound.

“This okay?” As he speaks his lips just barely touch your own and you already feel your thoughts emptying out one by one as you nod slowly, eyes never leaving his own. “Tell me, need to hear your sweet voice.”

“Th-this is okay.”

With that he’s on you, restraint snapping as he finally kisses you, rough and hungry and desperate. Teeth, tongue and spit, forcing a moan from your throat with the intensity of it all, that Joel is all too happy to swallow up. His thigh presses in closer, your hips bucking involuntarily, dragging a moan from low in his chest.

Your hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping anything you can find for leverage as he sinks you into the mattress, drowning you in the covers, the pillows, and him.

Arousal consumes you, sparking in your stomach and traveling through your veins making you light headed, having not felt this type of high in many, many years. You grind yourself up against his thigh, your slick wetting your panties and soon creating a darker spot on his sweats.

You moan as he pulls away, attacking your neck again and pulling at your shirt, trying to expose whatever skin he can. “J-Joel… m… what’s.. what’s gotten into you?” Your losing your breath, the hand he isn’t propping himself up with traveling over your body, down your thigh, up your side, fingers sliding along the other side of your throat making goosebumps raise the hairs on your skin.

“Just want you, been wanting you since I laid eyes on you.” He admits, your face flushing with heat. “D’ya know how many times I’ve fucked my hand thinking about you? All laid out and pretty on my cock.” A filthy moan leaves your lips, grinding against his thigh to relieve the ache building between your legs.

Joel sits back, both hands finding your hips, encouraging your movements. “That’s right sweet girl, just like that.” You whine into the air, hands dropping to the bed gripping the sheets. He stares down at you, lust darkening his brown eyes as you grind against him. “Make all those pretty sounds for me, it’s just us.”

You nod, chasing after your building pleasure, breathy moans falling from your lips. Joel ruts against the back of your thigh, hands bruising your hips in the most delicious way. “J-Joel… need more… please…” Your clit throbs painfully, the angle you’re at restricting you from rubbing it how you want against his thigh.

“So greedy, go ahead play with yourself baby, wanna see you cum on my thigh before I fuck you, senseless.” Your fingers find your clit and rub harsh circles through the damp fabric of your panties, flying to that familiar peak, teetering right on the edge as you moan his name, hips frantic, but you need more, you want more.

Joel coos softly, enjoying your struggle. The pinched look, the wobble of your lips, as you search for that last little something. “I know you can do it baby, cum for me. Show me how good you can be and soak my thigh.” His words are your tipping point, sending you spiraling into that void of dark bliss as your orgasm rips through you.

The noises that leave your delicate throat consume Joel, and he’s whispering soft praises that you don’t hear, watching your legs tremble and hand still. “There it is, did so good for me baby.” You go limp underneath him, chest heaving with each shuddering breath, eyes shut and mind to far gone.

“Let me get this off of you.” He takes his time, slowing down to let you ride your bliss, undoing each button of the flannel. “Sit up.” You hardly have to, just lifting your shoulders and head before he throws the flannel across the room and you’re sunk back into the pillows.

Your panties and his sweats follow shortly after. His lips back on you, kissing between your breasts his beard scratching your skin in the most delirious way. “Joel…”

But his fingers are finding your slick heat, a groan reverberating through his chest and into yours. “So fucking wet, you liked that baby? Like getting yourself off on my thigh?” Warm embarrassment fills your belly, reigniting that fire. You nod slowly, keeping your eyes shut to avoid his intense gaze. “You getting shy on me now? Just a second ago you were fucking my leg.” He smiles against your skin watching the red tinting your cheeks grow darker, turning your away from him.

“J-Joel don’t… Don’t be mean.”

“Not bein’ mean.” Two thick fingers are suddenly sinking into you, a shrill cry retching itself from your throat. “Just given ya what ya want.” Your brain turns to mush with each pump of his fingers, hands scrambling to find any perches, a set of nails digging into his shoulder, the other tugging at the sheets. “Fuck… you’re so tight, gotta get you ready for me.”

His thumb finds your clit, working the bundle of nerves making moans echo through the room. Those thick fingers press against that gummy spot inside you that makes your hips stutter, your moans a little louder and he smiles in triumph, teeth nipping your breast watching the skin bloom with red marks. “S’that the spot?”

“Mmhmm…” it takes everything you have just to hum out an answer, mouth hanging open, thighs trembling as you’re brought back to orgasm, again. Climbing that mountain, no running it, to your tipping point.

“Can feel you squeezing my fingers baby, you gonna cum again so soon?” Joel doesn’t need your reply, even if you could give him one, your hips rocking to meet the rhythm he’s set. He doesn’t ease up, watching you come undone below him with a few more expert swipes of his thumb across your throbbing clit.

You make him feel young again, his body thrumming with pure, carnal lust. Something he hasn’t felt in years as he draws his slick coated fingers to his mouth, tasting you for what, hopefully, will be the first time of many. “Mmm… So sweet baby, I could spend hours just eating you.”

You whine pathetically, shaking your head back and forth, hair clinging to your face with sweat. “C-can’t…” Joel shakes his head, laughing darkly before tapping your cheek with the pads of his fingers.

“Look at me, Sunshine.” The timber in his voice makes you obey instinctively, finding his steady gaze. He grips your chin, fingers pressing into your cheeks making your lips pout comically. “I know you’ve got one more in ya, I need to feel your cunt squeeze my cock. Think you can do that for me? Hmm?”

Joel shifts closer as he speaks, settling himself between your shaking thighs. His cock brushes against your puffy lips drawing a small whine from the back of your throat. You nod, Joel letting go of your checks as arousal washes through you once more, almost painfully so, as he rocks forward, the underside of his cock slipping easily through your damp folds, coating himself in your cream.

He hunkers over you, forcing your legs wider and rests on one elbow as he guides his cock to your opening, nudging in. “Relax darlin’, don’t wanna hurt you.”

Before you can even comprehend what is being said Joel thrusts forward, sinking in a few inches with a grovel moan. Your toes curl, eyes squeezing shut with a whine, the stretch hurting in a way you never want to stop.

“F-fuck Joel… s-so big.” A hand slips into his hair, tugging harshly causing him to gasp, a wicked smile pulling at his lips.

“You haven’t seen nothin yet, little girl.” He pins you to the mattress with his weight, thrusting until he’s fully seated inside you, heavy balls pressed to your ass. Your pussy squeezes him tightly, pain mixing with the pleasure intoxicatingly. He’s big, bigger than any man you’d been with in years, and as he pulls out only to thrust back in, the head of his cock kisses your cervix.

“Oooooh fuuuck!” You cling to his shoulders, his neck, his back, legs locking around his middle; anywhere to pull him closer as his pace evens out, fucking into you roughly. The old bed squeaks, headboard tapping the wall and above it all are the sounds leaving your lips to mix with his.

“Feel so good baby… been dreaming about this pussy.” Joel huffs out between thrusts, pressing his forehead to yours. The farther he slips into his arousal the thicker his accent gets, words dripping onto your nerves like honey.

“Wanted you to… so long Joel .” You pant, rocking your hips to match what he’s giving you. That glorious pressure building again in your body, cunt fluttering around his cock. “Don’t stop… oh fuck please don’t stop.” You can feel every ridge and vein rubbing along your walls in just the right way, his mushroom head bullying that sweet spot making your eyes roll.

“Not gonna stop, baby. Not gonna stop.” Joel groans, one hand gripping your waist to steady himself as he bullies his cock into you.

Your fingers slip between your bodies, finding your clit with a soft moan, rubbing tight circles. “I’m… im gonna cum…” you whine against his lips, noses bumping, breathing each others air.

“Come on then… cum on my cock baby, let me feel it.” Joel knows he won’t last much longer his thrust starting to turn sloppy. “Fuck… wanna fuck you full of me, watch it drip out. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Let everyone know who fucked you so good huh?” You thighs squeeze his hips in response to far gone to acknowledge him as you topple over the edge, crying his name as the pleasure blinds you momentarily.

Joel cusses burying his face in the side of your neck, your cunt sucking him in . “Fuck baby, fuck baby, fuck!” He pulls back, cock twitching and jets of cum landing on your stomach and abused lips. He fists himself, grunting against your shoulder as he comes down, body relaxing and dopamine flowing through him.

“J-Joel…” You breath, feeling his weight more and more.

“M’ Sorry…” He whispers, rolling himself onto his back, your stiff legs dropping to the mattress. You’re both panting wildly, chests heaving and sweat coating your skin.

You blink at the ceiling slowly, the neurons in your brain starting to fire again. “Well…” A small laugh bubbles out of you, Joel lazily looking over at you confused. “I’ve never been woken up like that before.”

Joel scoffs loudly and your giggle turns into a full laugh, lifting your head to look down at yourself. “Do I at least get a rag?”

“Better, ya can come get in the shower with me.” Joel groans as he sits up, giving you his hand. “Gonna need another one of those messages after that.”

[deepdisireslonging]

Cake or Cookies

A good round of sexy texting during girls’ night leads to sexy personal time when Bucky gets home.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x curvy!Reader

Warnings/Promises: food mention, descriptions of injuries (canon-level), dirty talk, sexting, SMUT, oral (both receiving), implied further smut

Word Count: 3080

Note: They can pry the Avenger Apartment/Tower from my cold dead hands. Everything’s fine, everyone is fine; what trauma? Why can’t we have nice things? I went hunting through some of my lost prompts and found a couple to squeeze together. Happy reading!

Girls’ night in the Tower was bound to be dangerous. It was usually when Natasha came up with the next round of pranks to play on the boys. And when Wanda took it upon herself to create the best pillow fort to watch movies in. Her magic made it easy to pile the couch pillows and blankets into what looked more like a cozy cave than a fort. And Maria kept track of where to find any films not already stored in Stark’s library.

You were in charge of snacks. Drinks were cozy only: tea, hot chocolate, and coffee. Alcohol parties were for other nights. Snacks ranged anywhere from home-made chips to hors d'oeuvres (fancy and simply indulgent), to the smorgasbord of mass produced favorite snacks you raided from the corner bodega. But you were stumped when it came to tonight’s desserts. The bodega’s sweet treats were present, cheap candy and the like, but you were stuck between the roll of cookie dough and a box mix for cupcakes.

Stumped, you didn’t acknowledge the warm body that ghosted up behind you until a hand slid across your waist. “It’s girls’ night. What are you still doing here?” Sitting down the treats, you turned in Bucky’s arms and scratched your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He lightly kissed your forehead. “Needed a break from Tony. Can you blame me?”

“Not at all.”

You both inhaled deeply, cheek to cheek. The last mission had been a rough one. Most of the team had come back banged up. And you still had a nasty scrape of road burn up one leg. Which is why you were wearing the equivalent of biker shorts. Pepper had gotten them for you sometime after the social media trend of those leggings ladies liked to tease their S.O’s with. They were surprisingly supportive of your form. You usually wore them underneath your gear because they were borderline indecent. But, with one of Bucky’s oversized shirts covering your figure, nobody had commented.

Except for Bucky as he slid his hands down your body to rest over the curve of your ass.

“I thought these stayed out of sight?”

You teased a glance up at him. “Usually, yes. But It’s girls’ night. We all wear the equivalent of our pajamas since you boys will be out. You are all going out, right?”

He nodded. “Yes. Eventually.” But he didn’t move. He hugged you closer, brazenly tilting your head to one side with his nose so he could kiss the underside of your jaw.

“Y/L/N!” Natasha waved from the living room. “Are we ready to go, or what?”

A smile spread across your face. You lightly pushed Bucky away, making him whine. Natasha was already starting the voting poll for the evening’s movies when you turned back to the counter. “I’ve got to bake before the party starts. Do you have a preference for what sweets you’d like to be left over? Cookies or cupcakes?”

Bucky pressed up behind you, resting his large hands on the counter on either side of you, and griding his front into your ass. “Cookies. There’s enough cake in this kitchen already.” He slapped your ass, following with both his hands taking tight squeezes of your flesh.

As you gasped, he rushed out. The wink he shot you from the door warned you that the tease would not be the evening’s last.

Fifteen minutes later, the cookies were out, the movie was in, and everyone was settled into their favorite pile of pillows.

Five minutes into the movie, the texting started.

Lover Boy <3: “How’s the movie?”

You rolled your eyes as you turned your phone on silent. If Okoye heard your phone again, you’d never get it back. “We’re watching Magic Mike. So… It’s going well.” You added a smiley face with its tongue sticking out for good measure.

Bucky’s messages popped up every few minutes. You kept your phone screen towards you to see the notification light up your screen without bothering the other women.

Lover Boy <3: “Should I be jealous?”

You: “Nah. Their gyrating doesn’t do it for me.”

Lover Boy <3: “Good to know.”

Lover Boy <3: “Is there anything in the movie that does ‘do’ it for you?”

You smothered a chuckle into your blanket. Each passing second that you took to come up with a teasing reply was surly wreaking havoc on your man.

You: “Maybe. Who wants to know?”

His reply was slow in coming. When it did, you almost fumbled your phone into the floor.

Lover Boy <3: *image incoming*

The picture you received was of Bucky’s hand resting on the top of his thigh. They were out to dinner somewhere, the edge of the table blocking your photo view from the rest of the guys. In the curve between his forefinger and thumb, his bulge was the center of attention. You stuck a sucker in your mouth to cover up your gasp. But the other ladies were too busy hooting for the first dance scene to notice.

You: “Just him? I must be slipping. Especially since I thought you really liked my shorts earlier.”

Lover Boy <3: “I like those shorts because I like taking them off. Girls night got in the way.”

You: “You’ve got to come home sometime.”

Lover Boy <3: “Then what do you have in mind?”

You turned off the flash for your camera and waited for the TV screen to illuminate your face. Sucker holding down your tongue, you sneaked the pic. Before any of the girls could see and tease you. While it sent, you sucked on the round sugar treat. You imagined Bucky’s cockhead on your tongue, as you knew he would too. His reply came in seconds.

Lover Boy <3: “Minx”

You: “And?”

Lover Boy <3: “When I do get home, I’m going to taste something sweeter. All night long.”

Lover Boy <3: “If you can handle it.”

Biting your lip, you smiled into your blanket.

You: “We both know what I can handle. But can you handle what I want to do to you?”

You: “Bet I can blow you so good you forget how to speak Russian before morning.”

You: “Actually, bet I can make you forget all your languages.”

Lover Boy <3: “An official bet?”

Now it was dangerous territory. Neither of you would wager anything that would show in public. Or bring attention from the team inside the tower. But Bucky’s winnings had a steep cost on your ability to walk the next day. Yours usually meant him taking a few days off to spend time together in some distant cabin.

You: “Do we have time to disappear to the Rockies when I win?”

Lover Boy <3: “We just finished a mission. I’m sure I can convince Steve to leave us alone… at least for several nights in a row when I win.”

It was on.

He played dirty by escaping to the bathroom to shoot you a picture of his cock. It was already thick for you, proud and flushed in his palm.

You also escaped. But the picture you sent didn’t require you to take your clothes off. All you did was tug down the front of his borrowed shirt, and splay your fingers wide between your breasts.

You: “Can’t wait to squeeze you between these.”

Lover Boy <3: “9hey now…”

Good. His texting was already stumbling.

You: *picture incoming*

All you did was rest your hand over your throat. But Bucky’s reply of a bunch of scrambled letters made you laugh. You returned to the movie.

You: “Can’t wait for you to get home. But we’ve got about 3 more hours of movies to watch. Think you can last that long?”

Lover Boy <3: “If I have to. Might have to take care of myself before then.”

Wanda looked over as you squirmed in your seat.

You: “You can’t wait for me? I’ll wait for you.”

When the movie lit up enough, you took a picture of the pillow between your thighs.

Lover Boy <3: “Promise?”

You: “Say please.”

His reply, despite the distance between text and actually hearing his voice, dripped with promise. You bit your lip, hearing his growl in your head.

Lover Boy <3: “Since when do get to make the demands around here?”

Lover Boy <3: “Please.”

You: “Since I’m home. Away from the consequences of mouthing off at you till later.”

Lover Boy <3: “You’re not sharing this conversation with the ladies are you? You’re not usually this… sassy.”

You: “This sass is rated E for everyone. But, no. This conversation is just between us.”

You: “I have to stop texting. Natasha is beginning to notice.”

Lover Boy <3: “Until I get my hands on you:”

It was several minutes until you checked your phone, waiting for the others to drop their questioning looks. When you did, you had to smother your moan. He sent one last picture of his tongue out between his fingers. A promise of delectable problems to come.

***

Somebody texted the guys when the movies were almost over. They arrived halfway through you girls cleaning up.

“How was the double feature?” Tony asked. He snagged a remaining hors d'oeuvres off the tray before Maria could stick it in the fridge.

You didn’t hear the reply. All you could focus on was how lust-blown Bucky’s eyes were as he stared you down from the other side of the room. You pressed your thighs together. If the way your chest heaved was any indication, you were in for a long night. Steve barely gave you a glance when you walked past him. Bucky gliding past made him give your departure a second look.

The hallway to your room was dark. The lights that illuminated the floor wouldn’t engage fully unless there was an emergency. Which meant that your shadow was faded against the wall. And it was fractured into several clusters of shadows at reach installation. You didn’t look back. It was part of the game. You couldn’t hear him, but sometimes you could have sworn your shadows had an extra layer.

When you reached for your door handle, another hand beat you to it. Bucky pressed up behind you, pushing you into the room and pinning you to the inside of the door as he locked it. He slid his knee between your legs. Fascinated, he enjoyed the show as you slid the apex of your thighs across the muscle he gave you. He stopped your movements with a hand on your hip, while the other lifted your wrists above your head.

“Did you actually wait, or was that a tease?” He reached into your shorts, groaning to find your slick there. While you trembled, he loudly sucked his middle finger into his mouth. “Oh, ангел, I am going to ruin you. For teasing me like you did.”

“You – you started it. Technically.”

He brought one of your hands down to rest over the front of his pants. “Maybe. But you laid down the gauntlet. How do you want to do this?”

With a grin, you wriggled out of his grasp. You walked backwards towards your bed. Bucky stalked slowly after you. Turning, you ran your hands down your sides, to your hips. And back to the curve of your ass. “Cake?” You smoothed your hands up from your rear to your breasts. “Or cookies?”

Bucky groaned. “The whole damn bakery if I can get my hands on it.” He guided you onto the bed, crawling over you in a way that stole your breath. When you tried to roll him onto his back to begin the challenge, he chuckled. “Nuh-uh. Challenger goes second.”

“But-“

He silenced you with a kiss. As he deepened it, hands kneading into your flesh and removing your clothes, your rebuttal died on your tongue. He barely pulled back enough to remove his own clothes. It wasn’t long before he was working his mouth down your body, kissing and sucking and nipping at your skin until he made it to your sex. 

Sometimes part of the challenge included a timer. Like that one gala when he dared you steal away with him during Tony’s speech, and cum before the ending round of applause. With his head buried under your dress, he won with enough time to participate in the applause for a speech you didn’t give a damn about. You didn’t find out till later that Steve had kept track of when you two disappeared and reappeared. Bucky wrote the time on your bathroom mirror as the time to beat. It had yet to be broken.

Tonight wasn’t one of those times. There was all the time in the world. All night to edge or overstimulate each other to your hearts’ content.

Breathing warm air over your sex, his grin between your thighs sent a ripple of goosebumps over your skin. You weren’t sure which was more disarming: his knowledge of your body and its sweet spots that he could make you cum in minutes, or that same knowledge used to bliss you out over hours till you couldn’t remember more than screaming his name. With his tongue, he began the challenge. As if you weren’t soaked already, he made a mess of you. Curling his fingers through your folds. Delving his tongue deep in search of the ability to taste you for days. When he scraped his teeth across your clit, the electricity tightened your fingers in his hair.

He wasn’t drawing this out. A man on a mission, Bucky was doing everything he could to bring you to the brink as fast as he could. The speed that you hurtled toward release stole your breath. That was his plan. Shock you while trying to beat his time so that you wouldn’t be able to speak. And then he’d win double the bragging rights.

And, damn him, it might just work.

Hungrily, he slurped up your pleasure. Adding a third finger to his onslaught, he curled them all to make you see stars. His metal arm flashed out to pin down your hips before you could arch away from him. The metal was cold, frigid, against your flushed skin. The difference in temperature was enough of an overload to your sparkling nerves that your eyes screwed shut. You babbled a series of sounds, making Bucky hum in delight.

But when he came up for air, gently stroking your folds to ease you down, you surprised him.

“Is that all you got, Barnes?”

“Fuck. Seriously?” He rested his cheek against the inside of your thigh.

You did your best to steady your breath. No point in revealing those six words were all you could manage. After another moment, you curled your own finger. You summoned him to hover over you, dangling his dog-tags in your face. Catching one between your teeth, you gripped and pushed his shoulders until he was on his back.

It was your turn to kiss down his body. Across his collar bone and pecs. Down that center chasm between his abs. From one hip bone, down his V, and up to the other side. As you took his length in hand, you had to smile. The poor man should have let you pleasure him first, instead of torturing himself and his cock with waiting. Gently, you circled your thumb around his tip. It dragged a groan out between his teeth. Good. The more vocal he was, the better you could track his ability to speak. Or lack thereof.

You set the challenge into the back of your mind and got to work in pleasing your man.

The first movements were gentle. And careful around how sensitive he was. Still, each touch and twist kept his voice active. He tried to watch you, but kept dropping his head back in pleasure as you quickened your movements. While he was laid back, you shifted your position.

His head snapped up, and he cursed loudly in Russian as his cock was enveloped between your breasts.

Darting out your tongue, you kitten licked the tip of his cock when it came into range. It gave you no small pleasure to watch your man, the Winter Soldier and former Commando, fall to pieces because of you. He cursed louder in English, Russian, and… was that German? But the more you jerked him between your breasts, the more his vocabulary scrambled together. You waited patiently. His metal hand twitched towards to before fisting the sheet. His flesh hand reached back for the pillows, sheets, headboard. Anything to ground himself. Then you struck. You let go of your breasts and dipped low enough to swallow him down. He roared as he bumped the back of your throat. Planting his feet on the bed, his thighs trembled with keeping himself from thrusting into your mouth.

That was fine. You moved enough for the both of you. And, just as his Russian was little more than the most strained of curses, you settled his balls into one hand, and slid the other up his torso. Your nails lightly caught his skin over his heaving breaths.

The high-pitched hiss from the depths of his lungs was your only warning before he filled your mouth.

Your ministrations slowed. You took every ounce of his pleasure, and smiled around his cock as you sucked your way off his length.

He dragged you up to bury his face in the crook of your neck. His lips trembled while trying to say something. Anything. But all he could do was pant into your skin.

You smiled. And kissed the underside of his jaw. While you both recovered, you murmured gentle reassurances between breaths.

“You cheated,” he finally managed.

“Oh? When did I manage that?”

Running his fingers through his hair, he stared you down. “Those damn shorts.”

With a laugh, you nipped at his chest. “What? You did get to take them off, like you wanted. And I can’t help it if you decided to run your hands all over me and get yourself hard. It jazzed me up too. So, in my mind, we’re even.”

“Fine.” He tilted up your face to kiss you. Mumbling against your lips, he complained, “you’re using alotta words there, ангел.”

“And you’re still capable of Russian.”

Bucky grinned. “Then I guess this challenge isn’t done.”

And it wasn’t until long into the night.

***

Ангел: angel

***

Masterlist

Marvel Masterlist 

[unclewaynemunson]

Water was wet. Nights were dark. And Steve Harrington was straight. Those were all facts. Sure, Steve could see what made a man attractive, but that merely meant he wasn't blind, not that he wasn't straight. He loved girls. He loved holding delicate hands, he loved feeling soft curves underneath his fingers, he loved the taste of lipgloss on his lips, legs sticking out of skirts, the sound of high-pitched giggling, elegant feet in high heels...

So yeah, even if he saw what made a man attractive, he was still straight. Even if he could, hypothetically, see himself being attracted to some abstract man in some abstract scenario, he was still straight. He loved girls, so who cared if every now and then, he would turn his head to stare at a strong pair of male arms or a particularly well-shaped male bum? Who cared if, by high exception, he could lose himself in some fantasies of doing certain things with a guy instead of a girl? He loved girls. He would fall in love with a girl, and she with him, and they would get married and have kids, and he would be perfectly happy with that. So he was straight. It was a fact.

Or, well, it was a fact until it wasn't. Until the most mundane afternoon possible happened. Until he was sitting on the steps in front of the Munsons' trailer, with Eddie beside him and a sixpack placed between the two of them. It was one of those early spring days, when birds chirped louder and the sun made all the colors pop out just a little bit more and life was good.

Their beer wasn't cooled properly. Their snacks were very mediocre. They weren't talking about anything remarkable. And yet, they were only one moment away from Steve's whole sense of identity changing irrevocably. They were headed right towards a moment he would remember for the rest of his life.

Maybe deep down, he knew that he had been falling for a while, but he was an expert at ignoring inconvenient things. He had been able to call it friendship, or fascination, or even annoyance when he needed to get creative. So later, whenever someone would ask him when he fell in love with Eddie, he would always go back to this particular moment.

Eddie laughed about some lame joke Steve made and took another sip of his beer. And Steve's senses zeroed in on him like he had just unlocked some higher plane of existence. He noticed everything like he had never done before. The movement of his adam's apple when he swallowed, the curve of his neck, the way his curls cascaded over his shoulders looking as soft as sheep's wool... And, when he tilted his head back and looked at Steve again, the color of his eyes when the sun hit them just right: brown as rosewood and dark chocolate and acorns. As a small piece of autumn undefeated by this early spring day.

He felt an overwhelming urge to clash his lips against Eddie's right there, to feel stubble instead of lipgloss and wrap his arms around someone who was made of sharp edges instead of soft curves, to hold a big hand adorned with rings that were anything but delicate, to hear deep laughter instead of high-pitched giggles, maybe even a low moan against his ear...

It was in that moment that he understood what it really meant to be straight – and that it wasn't what he was.

He understood that it didn't matter how much he loved girls. It didn't exempt him from loving boys, and he couldn't choose who he'd fall in love with like he thought he could. He loved this boy right in front of him, the one who was currently talking a mile a minute and didn't notice a thing about the current drastic renovation of Steve's entire brain chemistry. And if he allowed himself to keep falling, he might just end up loving boys just as much as he loved girls.

---

(idc how overdone the eddie-being-steve's-bi-revelation trope is, you can pry it from my cold dead hands. Here's yet another version of it and yes i will project my own experience on steve, no one can stop me)

[hanmaitani]

Only Us

PAIRING - Togame Jou x Reader WC - 7.5K GENRE - smut CW - implied unprotected sex, implied creampie, super possessive, um im insane and this is indulgent SYNOPSIS - togame jou had no business being acquainted with you but it was just in good fun. a game he liked to play, prying for your attention. your connection to one of bofurin's members, your best fiend, made it that much more thrilling for him.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

You were much too close to the edge of Bofurin’s territory, skirting along the line between it and another, a place your best friend had forbidden you from going. You really sucked at listening to directions. You tugged at the collar of your borrowed jacket, trying to get it to cover you more when a sudden cold wind blew through the tunnel as you arrived at it.

It’s dim in the tunnel, the underpass beneath the railroad tracks is decorated in shadows and graffiti. It’s much different than the walls just beyond it, in Bofurin territory. Emerald eyes lurk from those shadows, a dead-eyed gaze that’s shadowed further by orange sunglasses, scanning the entrance as he leans against the wall. Looking for you.

Togame Jou had no business being acquainted with you but it was just in good fun. A game he liked to play, prying for your attention. Your connection to one of Bofurin’s members, your best friend, made it that much more thrilling and dangerous for him. It was intoxicating.

You catch sight of him only a second after he does you, the orange Shishitoren jacket hanging over his broad shoulders giving him away. He’s already pushing off the wall, sauntering forward and towards you, steps that echo against the concrete breaking the otherwise silent area.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Little Miss Bofurin,” he drawls in a deep voice and it seems to rumble in your ears. There’s amusement in his tone at his own nickname for you, his eyes lingering on the green that curls around your shoulders. “You miss me?”

You scoff lightly at him but take a step into the tunnel anyways, officially out of Bofurin territory. “Now why would I ever miss the likes of you, Togame?” You try to match his amusement with your own indifference, but your voice seems to uptick slightly on the form of your final pronoun, your wandering eyes giving away your nervousness. You shouldn’t be out of Bofurin territory, and yet you’re still walking further into Shishitoren territory. Into Jou’s territory.

Jou ignores your blatant show of nerves, his eyes instead twinkling with mischief at how you try to play his game. “Because my charm and good looks are so hard for you to resist, of course,” his smirk widens as you are finally enveloped in the shadows with him. It’s a lazy sort of grace that he exhibits as he moves closer, aiming to narrow the gap between you. You don’t assist him anymore.

“I can see right through your little act, y’know,” he drawled slowly, the low rumble sending shivers down your spine as if his fingers brushed there.

“There’s no act.”

Jou only ignores you. “You’re trying to pretend you don’t care, you almost do a good job.” He chuckles and it’s a low thing that should set off your instincts to run, but it only roots you in your place. “I can see the way you look at me.”

“I don’t look at you at all, actually.” You’re lying through your teeth and you both know it. If you truly didn’t look at him then you wouldn’t be here now. You wouldn’t be watching him walk too slowly towards you right then.

“Oh?” Jou’s smirk only seems to widen more. “Is that so?” He knew it was a lie just as much as you did, but he wanted to play along. He wanted to see how far he could push those boundaries you’d put up before you chose to tear them down for him.

His eyes trail at a tantalizing pace over the curve of your body, finding a new place to focus on with every step he takes closer to you. “You are a terrible liar, y’know.” His amusement drips from his tongue as his eyes land back on your face, where you’re already burning from being under his gaze. “I can see it in those eyes,” you blink a few times as if that will rid you of the desire in them, “the way your body tunes into my voice,” as if on cue, another wave of goosebumps raise along your legs. “You can’t hide it from me.”

“I could if I wanted to.” You counter, trying to sound confident as your body basks in the heat of his gaze.

Jou is only one step away now, his proximity sending a rush of adrenaline through both of your bodies. “Is it a challenge?” His deep voice dips down to a whisper, shared only in the space between you and him. “I like my women with a little fire.” He teases as he closes the remaining distance, stopping a mere inches away and forcing you to tip your head back to see him.

His height makes him feel like he’s towering over you, broad body radiating control and intoxicating confidence. From this distance, you can see his eyes behind his sunglasses, peering over your body, inspecting you. “Should we test how well you can hide your desires?”

You hold yourself steady against his amusement. “A test?” You tease back at him. “If I wanted to be in school then I’d be there, Togame, not here.”

Jou chuckled at that, a low and rumbling sound just for you that sent a delicious feeling down your spine. “Feisty as always.” His hand reached out, slow enough that you could have swatted it away, if you wanted to. Instead, you let his calloused fingers slide beneath your chin, lifting it to fully parallel your faces. “Well you are here. So tell me,” his whisper has his warm breath mingling with your own, fanning over both your faces, “what is it you’re truly craving right now?”

You hum to give him the impression that you’re thinking of an answer. You’re trying to not smile but he can see the form of it playing on the corners of your lips in how they twitch. You’re intent on testing his boundaries for the day, to see how far he’ll let you take the teasing. “Food?”

Jou can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. He lifts his glasses to the top of his head, exposing to you the amusement in his green eyes as he raises an eyebrow at you. “Food?” He repeats your answer and you nod, telling him you were serious. He knows you’re not. “Interesting,” his lips quirk back into a smirk, “I was thinking of something…” you catch his eyes on your lips before they start to lazily drag back up, “a little bit sweeter.”

It’s your eyes that stray now, flicking down to his lips as his tongue wets his bottom lip. His movements are effortless as his lips move to hover right over yours. “Care to change your answer?” The warmth of his breath is intoxicating against your lips and you can’t seem to drag your eyes away from how his lips form the words.

You try not to let him see the blush in your cheeks as you answer him. “What were you thinking of?” Your breath is breathier than you intended it to be and you can feel your air bounce of his lips and back onto yours as you speak.

Jou leans in more, just slightly, so that if he were to purse his lips they would touch yours. He doesn’t but you swear that you can feel them as they move. “You,” the new distance forces you to look back up at his eyes, unable to watch his lips anymore, “I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice is soft, husky as it fills the space around you both.

His hand left your chin and moved to the small of your back, nestling between your shirt and your jacket to pull your body closer until it fully pressed against his. His warmth engulfed your body and it was like all the tension between you intensified.

“Admit it,” he pried, “you feel what I feel, don’t you?”

Your breath hitched at the feeling of his body flush against yours. Electricity flooded your senses as you stared up at him. “He’d kill me if I ever admitted that.” You didn’t have to clarify who ‘he’ was. Jou knew which Bofurin boy your best friend was. “Would kill you too, for that matter.”

Your information only seems to make Jou’s eyes gleam more, his smirk widening. “It’s a good thing he’s not here then,” his fingers toy with your jacket, “huh?” His hand on your back drifted lower, tracing a slow path down to your backside. “We’ll just have to keep this our little secret.” There’s a danger lurking in his words, one that you know you’ve already stepped into once you stepped into the shadows of Shishitoren territory. “Unless you’d like to risk letting him know how… captivated you are.”

“I’m not that captivated.” You try to stand your ground against him, yet even as you say it, your eyes won’t leave how his lips form his taunts, you can’t look away from him.

“Care to prove it?” It was his turn to challenge you, a seductive smirk drawing you in more. “I dare you,” he coaxes, hand sliding to graze over the curve of your ass, “to prove it.”

“I can prove it,” you don’t think before the whisper leaves you, “that I’m not affected by you.” But your eyes are half-closed, and your words don’t have the conviction you wish that they did. “Name the game and I’ll play it.”

Jou’s smirk widened into a full grin at your response. “Simple,” his voice is a soft, breathless thing as he burns with desire, “we’ll see who kisses who first. Whoever initiates, loses. You in?”

You smiled then, letting your own competitiveness take over. You pulled back just enough to watch your hands place themselves on his chest, fingers brushing along the lines of the fabric there. You drew your eyes back up to his, making sure to bat your eyelashes with a sly smile. “Only if you’re ready to lose.”

The way your fingers caressed his chest only fueled Jou’s need for you. He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Lose?” He chuckled softly, leaning into your touch. “It’s on.” He reclosed the distance that you’d made so you could breathe each other’s air again. Air thick with tension.

“So, what’s your first move?” You can’t take the heavy silence of just staring into his eyes, but when you mumble the words, you can barely keep your lips from brushing. You tilted your head, eyes trying to flick between his eyes and lips. “Since you’ll be the first one to make it, that is.”

His smirk only widens at your challenge, as he watches your eyes flicker. His movements are slow, deliberate as he leans just ever-so closer. His nose touches yours as he speaks. “You always talk such a big game sweetheart, but can you handle the heat?”

Your hands move over his chest, sliding up and over his shoulders, connecting together behind his neck. He nearly growls as he feels your fingers twitch there, moving to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m handling the heat just fine,” you breathe back, brushing your nose against his. “I haven’t broken and kissed you quite yet have I?” You let out an amused huff of air, and his lips part ever so slightly to let it in. “Can you handle the heat? Jou?”

He lets out a shaky breath as you form his given name. “I can handle the heat.” His voice is quiet, breathy and rough in your ears as he says it. You’re not sure whether to believe him or not. You can feel him smirking and you nearly roll your eyes, but you can’t tear them away from his long enough.

And then his voice drops lower, you didn’t think it was possible, but it vibrates the air and your body as it does. “Break and kiss me, I dare you to.”

Your heart starts in your chest and your legs clench at the sound, your ears focusing in on the near growl of his voice, but you stand your ground. “I’m not falling for a dare like that. I won’t surrender that easily.”

Jou’s gaze seems to turn predatory at the sound of the word. He moves quickly, nose brushing yours and you’re sure he’s going to kiss you, but he moves further, head turning to his lips graze your ear. “Don’t think of it as surrender,” he whispers it and your spine straightens out from the electricity that shoots down it, “it’s more like submission.”

His movements then are sudden, much different to the slowness he had been moving with as he changes your positions. You’re a few feet away from where you just were, his strong hand placed on the wall just next to your face, the wall where he has now pinned you firmly. Your back is all too aware of the cold, hard surface behind you, curving over your heads as Jou looms over you, emerald eyes almost glowing in the dark as he takes you in.

Your head is forcibly tilted up to him from the position, your fingers still tangled in his hair. You felt like you were shrinking under him there. “Jou…” you breathed his name, trailing off as your wide eyes looked up at him.

His breath hitches at the sound of his name so breathless on your lips. His hand, previously on your back, drifts up to find your face. Calloused fingers graze your cheekbone and a possessive growl slips from his throat as your face subconsciously presses into his touch, seeking his warmth.

“What are you going to do now? Hm?” His question registers somewhere in your mind, but you’re dizzy. Your lips sigh, your chest heaving a bit in anticipation. Your fingers tighten lightly in his hair and he responds with an involuntary moan.

His hand on your face leaves, falling to the wall on the other side of your face, effectively caging you in. A swirl of passion and danger swims behind the green of his eyes as he leans in slowly, voice low and intoxicating. “I should warn you,” he murmurs, bringing his lips close to yours again, “I’m not a patient man.”

You chuckle softly in response, your lips brushing his as they part to do so, “Aren’t you all about taking things slowly, Jo? You’re nothing but patience.” Your tongue pokes out to wet your lips as you hold his eye contact, touching his lips subtly as you do so.

Jou’s breath hitches again as he feels your tongue brush against his lips. His fingers flex against the wall, restraint slipping. “You think I have an endless supply of patience?” His breath is warm on your skin and you swear you can see his eyes darkening in the shadows, pupils widening as he stares at you. “I’m not immune to temptation.” The cadence of his voice sets heat to your core as he burns into you. “You test my limits.”

“Isn’t that the point of this game?” You tease him. “To test limits. Make it impossible for the other to resist anymore?” Your nails scratch lightly at the base of his neck, trying to break him before he breaks you.

The sensation of your nails sends shivers down Jou’s spine, his resolve crumbling. He tries to maintain his composure, hands tightening against the wall. “You will be the death of me.” His breathing is ragged as he confesses it. “But damn, if that isn’t the sweetest way to die.”

He steals your breath as he finally closes the remaining distance between you, capturing your lips with his own. You pull back with a gasp, enough to mumble a taunt against his lips.

“I believe this is a loss for you, Jou.”

Jou’s laugh is husky and deep, his voice matches as he brushes his lips to yours again. “This is no loss for me sweetheart.” A small growl escapes him again as his fingers tangle in the hair at the back of your head, pulling you back in for a deeper kiss. He was showing you that he was still in control of your game. That regardless of the rules previously set, it was still going on.

You whimpered at his grip on you as his tongue brushed your lips. You grant him the access he wants without hesitation, welcoming the intensity as his tongue eagerly explores your mouth. The taste of him is intoxicating, dangerously sweet and it makes heat pool up in your abdomen.

Your hands left his hair, clutching at his shoulders, fingers pressing into the muscles there as you tried to keep yourself steady between him and the wall, your knees feeling weak. You didn’t expect him to be as all-consuming as he was, so utterly addicting. You could feel more of your control slipping the more he kissed you.

You wanted more. More of his kisses. More of his hands in your hair. More of how his tongue brushed against yours. More of him.

“Jou.” You whimpered his name into his mouth, the form of it slurred from refusing to keep your lips from his anymore.

The sound of it, breathy and pleading, seemed to only fuel Jou’s desire. He pressed his body closer to you, erasing any space between you. His tongue danced with yours, fingers tugging on your hair harder, body pinning you against the wall. Everything done with the heat of a possessive claim.

He broke the kiss, but only for a moment so his lips could find somewhere else to touch you. His lips now traced a heated path down your neck, claiming you there too. “Take this off.” The green fabric belonging to your best friend fluttered to the floor before you registered that his hands had even pulled the jacket off of you. His tongue against your neck distracted you from any protests you might have had. “Mine,” he growled possessively against your skin.

The word sets something off inside of you. Your eyes close in serenity, in surrender, focusing only on how his lips feel against your skin. “Say it again, please.”

His voice rumbles in your ear as his lips leave trails of electrifying heat. He answers your plea. “Mine.” The possessive word surrounds you. “You’re mine. To consume. To claim.” Each word is paired with his teeth grazing your skin. Exhilarating and overwhelming as he stakes his claim. “Now say it back,” he demands quietly, breathing ragged, “tell me.”

You’re panting, your heart rate irregular as he claims you with his mouth, his hands, his words. “I’m yours, Jou.” Every touch was setting your nerves alight. “You can claim me. I’m yours.”

Jou pulls back to take in the look on your face, your flushed cheeks and heaving chest. His feral grin widens at the sight and he curses softly. “Good girl,” he praises you, approval coating his lips as they find yours again, hungry for you. His hands are on your hips now, tugging them closer, claiming you with explosive heat in the middle of the cold tunnel.

“Mine,” he mumbles it against your lips and you seem to feel it more there, the air thick with his possessiveness over you. “Say it again.” It was nearly a beg as he groaned around it.

“Yours.” You moaned the word into his mouth, letting his body press into yours against the wall, knowing you were still out of sight from any possible prying eyes. “I’m yours,” you gasped them this time as his grip tightened. The gasp turned into a small moan as your body reacted to him, lifting onto your toes to get closer.

He reacts to every one of your reactions. A growl escaping in response to your moans. Grip tightening in your hair and on your hip in response to you lifting up to him. He’d known he wanted you but he hadn’t expected his desire to feel so intense when he finally had you.

He had to break the kiss for a moment, if not to just breathe. His eyes locked with yours, filled with need. “You know what you’re doing to me right? I can’t resist you when you moan like that.”

You were trying to catch your breath too, your thoughts focusing on how his hand ran up and down over the curve of your hip. “I thought we stopped trying to resist each other.”

“You’re right.” His lips found yours again, stealing away the breath you’d just caught. “Resisting you is a lost cause and I don’t want to anymore.” His hand trailed from your hip, across your back, to your other hip so he could grab you and keep you pinned to him rather than just the wall. “I want you. All of you.”

You whined against his lips, pressing into the kiss more to try and muffle the sound. “You have me. All of me.” You repeated his words back to him, fingers again finding the hair at the base of his neck, letting your nails scrape against his scalp as you tugged on the strands. “All you have to do is take me.”

The combined feeling of your nails and your words sent a jolt of electric possessiveness coursing through Jou’s veins. He effortlessly lifted you up, pinning you to the wall again as your legs instinctively wrapped around him. His hands explored your curves with a new sense of urgency, as if wanting to claim every inch of you right here and now.

The feeling of your hips pressed so tightly down onto his had your breath shuddering. “Don’t hold back anymore, Jou,” you encouraged.

He was still holding on to that last sliver of self-control as his grip found your thighs and tightened. “You’re playing a dangerous game, now.” It was a warning, that he didn’t want to hold back anymore, that he was ready to take what he wanted if you gave your consent. “You know what happens if I stop holding back, right?”

Your teeth nipped at his lower lip and he growled in response. “Tell me then.” You knew you were playing with fire, you just didn’t mind getting burned if it came from him.

Something carnal flashed behind his eyes as his grip tightened even more, leaving a delicious stinging sensation in the soft flesh of your thighs. “I’ll devour you.” It sent shivers down your spin. What a way to go. “No holding back, no hesitation. Intense and insatiable. I won’t stop until I’ve had my fill of you.”

You moaned softly, pulling at his lower lip again. “Do you fantasize about me, Jou? About this?” You scrape your nails along the back of his neck, reveling in the shaky groan he gives you before you brush them back into his hair to tug softly. “Do you have images of this in your head when you try to sleep at night?”

His heart is racing, his voice escaping in a needy whisper, “yes.” His admittance is filled with desire as he drinks in your attention. “I fantasize about this. About you. The things we could do together. When I sleep, I see you in my dreams. I crave you, raw and unfiltered.”

You reclose the gap between your lips, groaning into his mouth as you tug on his hair again, craving another one of his reactions. “I want you to tell me every thought. Every raw and unfiltered way you need me. Intense and insatiable.” You repeat his phrases back to him and can see him let go of that last sliver. “I hope you never get your fill of me.”

Jou’s lips move to graze your ear as he delivers what you ask. “I want you in every way possible. To worship you with my hands and my mouth. To explore every inch of your body. I want to make you feel things no one else could even dream of making you feel. Want you to scream my name until it’s the only word you remember.” Possessiveness, desire, need. It all flowed out of his words and into your ear, filling you with the same heat he was feeling. “I’ll never get my fill of you, sweetheart.”

“Jou?” You kissed him again. “Make your name the only thing I remember.”

His resolve shattered like glass. The green jacket you’d worn into the tunnel lay abandoned on the ground - sure to cause problems later - as he dragged you from the shadows and deeper into Shishitoren territory. He paused every few blocks to press you into another wall and kiss you, hands scraping against your skin as he led you to the Ori.

You’re unfamiliar with the area he’s led you to, a small room hidden out of sight that he’s seemed to make into his private room. Only a bed and a dresser in the room, but private and off limits to anyone else.

“Let’s see if you can handle what I have in store for you.” He teases, hands brushing along your waist.

“I can handle anything that you give me,” you challenge. “Make me forget everything else.” You cling to him, keeping your body pressed completely to his. “Nothing matters but you.”

He kicks the door shut without looking, the lock clicking to seal you both into a world where only you and he existed. A sanctuary to forget and let go of everything else.

“Prove it.” He sets you down on the bed, breath ragged as he towers over you. He pushes his glasses off his head and the clatter to the floor somewhere.

“Touch me, Jou,” you command, pulling him closer with a grip on his jacket, “and don’t stop.”

His body ached at your demand, lest overtaking him as he captured your lips in a feral kiss that made your head spin. His hands roamed your body urgently as your hands stripped him of his jacket. He tossed the fabric aside, forgetting it instantly as he focused on you and you alone.

His kisses trailed down your neck, teeth nipping at your skin and marking it as his. He left trails of desire in his wake that seeped into your skin. His hands worshiped your curves, memorizing the shape of you beneath his fingers. Your breathing stuttering and hitching, whines leaving your lips and filling the air every time that he left another mark on the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I want all of you Jou, all of you.”

His breath was hot against your skin as he possessively traced the curve of your waist. “Are you sure? There will be no more going back.”

You grabbed his hand and guided his fingers lower, to the bare skin of your torso, just under the hem of your shirt. “I won’t ask to go back.”

Carnal need flashed in his eyes as he felt your bare skin, cold against the heat and desire of his fingertips. “You asked for it,” he breathed, a reminder. Deliberate slowness propelled his movements, beginning his exploration of you. His fingertips traced along your curves under your shirt this time, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

His kisses became more fervent, more passionate, his tongue darting out to taste and savor you. He was deliberate in how he stripped your clothes from your body, gaze never breaking away so he could drink in every new inch of your exposed form.

Your skin heated under his every touch and gaze, a flash flood of insecurity and embarrassment flooding your system as you laid bare in front of him. Your chest still heaved, panting as need for the man hovering above you coursed through your body.

It was like Jou could sense your underlying insecurity and hesitation, so he took a moment, to really study you. You waited anxiously but his gaze only filled with an adoration that chased away your shadows of doubt. “You are beautiful.” Genuine admiration coated his tongue as his hands brushed over the expanse of your torso. “Every inch of you is stunning.”

His touch was gentle but insistent as he brushed over every dip and curve, eyes looking at you like you were a feast laid out just for him. “Let me explore you, let me worship you with every fiber of my being.” His lips curve under your jaw to press a kiss, hearing you gasp as his fingers trail the curve of your breast.

“I’m always so conscious of every move I make around you.” Your confession comes as your eyes flutter shut, your body canting up and into every touch on your skin. “How I look, how I talk. If I breathe the wrong way.”

He listens dutifully to your confession, his lips trailing the side of your neck as he makes a path to your ear. “There is nothing wrong with you,” he mumbles the reassurance, “you’re beautiful inside and out. Your every move, every breath, every word. All of it is perfect.” His touches become more tender, hands trailing down your body with reverence. “Let me show you how I adore every part of you.”

Your breath hitches and your back arches off the bed, your bare chest pressing to his as you wind your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as his compliments ring in your ears. “Show me, please.”

Jou’s own breath staggers at the way your body arches into his and your breath turns ragged. Desire and possessiveness for you intensifies and he wastes no time in fulfilling your request. His touches become ravenous, lips trailing your neck with a growl as his hands grip at your curves you with a newfound urgency, pulling your body impossibly closer, eager to worship and consume each part of you.

“You have no idea,” he growled against your skin between kisses, raw desire slipping through the cracks in his voice, “the things I want to do to you.”

“Do them,” you encourage him, “leave marks down my neck, down my body, so they all know I’m yours.” You tug on his hair again, redirecting his mouth to yours so you can kiss him deeply, moaning your final request into his mouth. “I’m yours, show me how you make me yours.”

His eyes flashed with desire, hands roaming lower. An animalistic groan rumbled out of him as his kisses grew rougher, teeth nipping at your skin again. He left possessive marks in his wake as his hands teased and caressed, tracing intricate patterns along your sensitive skin. “As you wish, I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

His lips trailed over your cheeks, your jaw, your neck and your collarbone. Light kisses and rough bites, sloppily sucking skin between his lips. The mix of feelings sent shivers down your spine. Every mark left a whispered word of desire and devotion to fill your ears, “Mine,” he murmured, “all mine.”

All you could do was parrot the words back each time he made the claim, “all yours, Jou.” Whines and pleas mixed into your panting breaths as he moved across your body, lips attaching to your chest now. Every moan from you set Jou’s control further away.

“You’re mine,” he said again, “every inch of you belongs to me.”

“Every single inch,” you confirmed. “Jou,” you breathed his name, your own needs surfacing, “tell me you’re mine too. Please.”

He pauses for a moment, head lifting so his eyes can lock onto yours. “I’m yours.” It’s said with a sincerity that leaves no doubt behind it. “Every part of me belongs to you.” He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer keeping your body flush with his. “You own me, heart and soul,” his lips brush against your ear as he whispers it, pairing the confession with a soft scrape of his teeth against the lobe of your ear, “and I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Tenderness and adoration, a shared ownership of each other.

You squirmed at the intensity of his words, whining when his clothes rubbed roughly against your bare skin. “Every part of you.” It was your turn to let your lips wander. Kissing along his jaw, you suckled a bit of skin just under it to leave a small mark of your own on his skin. “Heart, body, and soul.”

A low, primal sound echoed out of Jou’s throat at the feel of your mark on his skin. One hand quickly gripped your chin as he brought your lips back to yours. He possessively claimed another kiss from you as his hands fumbled to remove the rest of his clothing, wanting nothing more than to be even closer to you. To feel you, skin on skin.

“I’m yours,” he whispered, voice heavy with desire as he pressed you back into the mattress, “all of me.” His desire to proclaim himself as yours was nearly as great as his desire to claim you as his.

Your lips left his to attach to another section of his neck, marking there too as your nails raked down his neck, past his shoulders and to his biceps where they found home in his flesh. “I’m yours, Jou. Have me.”

His body responded to your touch readily, leaning into the marks you left, a low groan escaping at the feel of your nails digging into his arms. “I will,” the sound sounding like both a promise and a plea.

He made true to his word, hands worshiping your body, pinching and groping in all the right places as they travel to where you need him the most. His chest swells with pride and possessiveness as he feels how wet you are for him, your gasps only fueling him more.

“You’re mine,” he growls again, thoughts gone from his clouded mind as all he can focus on is you, you, you. His need only escalated as he reached for himself, guiding himself into you in a single, swift, fluid motion.

The roughness of his thrust and sudden stretch had your brain going fuzzy. All that surrounded you was the possessive growl of “mine” filling your ears once more.

You could feel the press of his lips onto yours again, feral and ravenous as he devoured the gasps and moans you released into his mouth. Pure ecstasy flowed between you as he pulled back only to cant his hips forward again.

Devotion poured from him into you. “Mine always.” He murmured, barely keeping his voice intelligible.

“Yours,” you promised back when you found your voice again through your pants and whines, “always yours, Jou.”

His thrusts picked up in response, rougher and more passionate. A growl came from his chest as his grip on your hips tightened, bringing you up to meet his thrusts. He caught your eye contact and locked onto it. “Mine, I’ll never let anyone else have you.” His pace quickened, breath coming in ragged gasps as he moved inside you. "I will never let you go."

“Promise it to me,” you begged, gasping for air as one of your hands traveled lower down his arm, towards his hand, needing it in your own, “promise you won’t let me go.” 

His grip on you tightened immediately, his thrusts pausing so his hand could find yours, the one you needed to hold. He intertwined your fingers tightly, devotion leaving his lips as he pressed them to the tips of your fingers. “No one, nothing,” he kissed gently, eyes staying on yours, “will come between us, I promise you.” You melted under his touch and his gaze. “You’re mine and I’m yours.” He resumed his previous pace and intensity, showing just how deeply he meant it.

Your eyes fluttered shut, hand gripping onto his tightly to ground yourself. Your leg wrapped around his waist, hips lifting to give him more access. Your free hand found his cheek, guiding his lips back to yours, intent on swallowing every sound he made and having him swallow yours.

Jo groaned into the kiss, his movements leaving you breathless. His own grip on your hand tightened as his need grew more intense. Shared sounds of your pleasure and need filled the air of the small room. “I’ve wanted you so badly.”

“You have me.”You couldn’t tell whose breaths were whose now, each of you breathing in the air of the other. You were dizzy and enveloped by only him. The soft sheets of his bed beneath you. The hard press of his body above you. His hand in yours. His body merging with his. “You have me, Jou.”

His breath hitched, hearing the words leave your lips. His movements grew more eager, fingers finding your hair, curling into it as he pressed his forehead to yours, no longer able to keep up with the kissing. You both panted into each other’s mouths as his eyes coaxed yours to make contact again.

You whined when his hand tugged on your hair again, your lips whispering prayers of his name as you looked into his eyes. You wanted to look away, the intensity too much for you, but you couldn’t. You wanted to bathe in his attention.

Jou revels in the reaction his gaze has on you, taking advantage of how your head tilts, exposing your neck to him again. He breaks your gaze to kiss at your neck, hot breath against your skin, sloppily trailing kisses and love bites down the scorching line of your throat. He relished in the sound of your whimpers and prayers, lips falling to your chest, marking every inch of skin he could reach.

Every brush of his lips held another affirmation of his love, “you’re so beautiful.” He groaned praises in between kisses, moans of your name accompanying it. You panted and gasped in response, his own name continuing to fall from your lips in desperation, breathy sighs and ecstasy that only spurred him on.

He touched you with adoration, every new noise he drew from you creating an addictive symphony that sent electricity down his body. His body picked up pace, moving against yours in a deadly rhythm that matched the wild pounding of your heartbeats. Both of your breathing was ragged, needy as you teetered on the edge of ecstasy.

His urgency only grew, intoxicating as his fingers delved back into your hair, tilting your head further, opening your neck to him more. His grip tightened slightly, the right amount of pressure as he pressed your body close to his, lips exploring more of the skin on your neck.

Every thrust was a new claim on you. He owned every part of you already in this moment, and you were helpless to do anything but surrender to him. Every utterance of adoration making you fall deeper into him. He captured your lips again, possessive and ardent. “So beautiful,” he murmured against your lips, breath hot in your mouth, “so perfect.” His kisses peppered against your jaw. “And all mine.”

His whispered words of love and devotion were filled with desire and admiration. Passion and worship. Every shared breath and touch set your soul on fire. His name on your lips only fueled him more, answering your please with fervent movements.

Jou’s hand tightened in your hair again, reconnecting your lips and sucking in your gasps. “I love you,” he whispered into your mouth, “I love you, I’ll never let you go.”

Your body seized, his praise and confession making you dizzy, gasping for breath you couldn’t find. You were truly drowning in him. “My beautiful girl.” You felt yourself clench around him at the sound and he smirked into your mouth. “You like being praised, don’t you?”

You shuddered but nodded and his movements became more deliberate, leaving you feeling boneless as he thrust repeatedly into the same delicious spot. “You like it when I tell you how perfect you are?” His teeth rolled over your bottom lips. “How beautiful you are?” He soaked in every gasp and moan that escaped your lips. “And how you’re all mine?” You whined and squeezed his hand, nails digging in unintentionally. “I could praise you forever to get these reactions from you.” His teeth found your neck again, nipping roughly at a spot before using his tongue to soothe it.

Your body couldn’t help but arch up into his at the prospect of forever. “I love when you talk like this.” Your hand left his bicep, finding his neck again, scraping along the nape of it as you pressed your hips into his.

Jou groaned as your nails scraping over his skin. His breathing grew ragged, softly growling at your words, his grip falling to your hips, almost bruising as his movements became more possessive, frantic. He pressed his body closer lost in the pleasure and intimacy, craving more of you.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, voice hoarse from his own broken moans, “the way you react to my words, to my touches,” he grazed up your side to emphasize and you gasped, “those tiny noises you make…” he groaned as you squeaked from the way he thrust into you harder, rougher. “It drives me insane.”

“I adore you.” His tone changed just as fast, his kisses getting sloppy as his hips stuttered. “I could spend forever worshiping you.”

“Then keep me forever,” you whisper back, moaning as your body begged for more and more of him.

“Forever,” he repeated, a growl against your lips, “I’ll keep you forever.” His pace was ferocious, the bed shaking from it as he claimed you. “I’ll never let you go,” he promised, mouth covering yours in another searing kiss. “You’re all mine now and no one else will ever have you.” His voice sounds thick, heavy with desire and a feral possessiveness.

“You’re mine forever, to worship, to adore, to claim for eternity.” Every phrase is punctuated with another thrust, another kiss. “My beautiful, perfect girl. This isn’t just some mindless fling. I’m going to keep you, make you mine in every way.”

“In every way.” You repeated back, frantically nodding your consent for him to do so, to do whatever he pleased with you. “However you want, whatever you want, Jou.”

Your words seemed to ignite something under his skin, Jou’s body shuddering above you as he took in your words and the desire behind them. He growled against your skin at your eager consent, body responding to your words and his mind reeling from your submission. His grip on your hip moved to your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh there. He left another mark on your collarbone as he whispered another promise into your skin.

“You’re so willing to give yourself over to me. It’s intoxicating.” He said it as if in awe, marveling over how you so willingly put yourself at his mercy. “I intend to take advantage of that,” he warned, his eyes staring at you with raw desire and adoration. “I’m going to make you mine, claim you so thoroughly that you’ll forget anyone else ever existed before me.”

“No-” you shook your head, “no one existed before you.” You moaned loudly in his ear as your nails found his shoulders again. “No one but you Jou.” Your insides twisted up. “No one else when there’s you.”

Jou reacted viscerally to your words, deep guttural groans escaping his lips as he buried his face in your neck, panting. His pace bordered on frenzied and you felt yourself crumbling. “Damn right,” he growled, “no one else for you. Only me. You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”

His groan into your neck morphed into broken moans from his pace. The idea of nothing but the two of you mattering had ecstasy shattering over both of you. Your lips formed broken moans of ‘only you’ as your body fell into release.

As you both shattered together, Jo’s body tensed and then trembled above you, his own climax hitting him hard and leaving him breathless. You could feel his ragged pants against the clammy skin of your neck, his body shuddering as he struggled to catch his breath, to come down.

His grip on your hip and your hand loosened, fingers tracing gentle, soothing circles on your skin in a sharp contrast to the wildness of his previous touches. He barely kept himself held above you as you both were consumed in your own world. His voice was still rough but soft with affection for you as he whispered again.

“Only me, only you,” he kissed you deeply, “only us.”

a/n "only us" and the shishitoren boys who are about to show up at the ori and not let you be able to sneak out unseen... and your best friend who may just find his abandoned jacket in that tunnel and fear the worst...

TAGLIST

@qichun @starlitsawamura @oooohno @albakugo @yisxn

@toria175 @tsukiran

[sassycheesecake]

It’s a beautiful day during the fall season, the different pretty colors of the leaves that have been changed after summer was over, fall into the cold ground.

Two individuals, one man, with hair as dark as the midnight sky and a woman, drop-dead gorgeous, rest underneath a Japanese Maple tree. But they are not just any individuals.

The 6'3 tall man named Kiyoomi Sakusa, is secretly a yakuza member of the Jackals, one of the most feared mafia groups in Japan. The woman however, is a mere citizen but also the lover of said man. Sakusa took some time off his job to spend it with you instead, Meian thankfully granting him the request.

Collecting bounties and income, smashing a few heads and breaking some bones here and there, Sakusa is a ruthless, cold-blooded hunter when it comes to his position in the yakuza. To you however, he is the most sweet and softest puppy dog.

Sakusa is just relaxing with his head on your lap with his eyes closed, when he felt a very light weight on his head.

Opening one of his dark orbs, he sees that you placed something upon his dark curls, adjusting it as you focus highly on your task.

"What did you put on my head, my love?" He asks you, opening his other eye now as he looks at you with a breathtaking smile.

You’re quiet for a few seconds, when you gaze back into his dark eyes.

"A gift. Now you look even more handsome." You gush at him, blushing slightly at seeing his one-in-a-million-smile that just you get to see.

Sakusa chuckles lightly at your words, reaching up to find out what you placed on his dark curls only to get his tattooed hand slapped away from you.

"Ow. Why did you slap my hand away?" He pouts as he rubs his hand over the one you slapped, even though it barely hurt him.

"I just spent an eternity making you a magnificent flower crown and placed it on your unruly, complicated black curls, if you even move a single millimeter you will ruin my perfect placement." You scold him while waving a finger in his face.

"I didn’t know an eternity in your language means five minutes."

Sakusa snatches your hand and brings it to his face, pretending to bite it.

You screech in fear while quickly pulling your hand out of his and the ravenette chuckles darkly at your action.

"That’s what you get for trying to bark orders at me, you little germ." His hand finds yours again, intertwining your fingers with his big, slender ones. And you remember, that these fingers carry lots of blood on them, yet you don’t care. If anything, it makes Sakusa even hotter than he already is. And he is yours alone, as much as you are his.

"What? I can’t bark orders at you but Meian can?" You arch in eyebrow in annoyance.

"Yes." He bluntly states as he continues to look up at you.

"And why’s that?" You pry further.

"Because Meian pays my bills and he is my boss." Sakusa explains as if he’s talking to a toddler.

"What if I were your boss? Would you listen to me then?" You make a cute face, batting your eyelashes at him.

"No." Your lover disagrees.

"WHAT?!"

"I wouldn’t be able to take you seriously. And I don’t think any of the guys would. You’re too cute and you have the face of an angry wet kitten whenever you are mad at me." Sakusa explains with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

"Also. I know that Miya and Joffe keep eyeing you whenever they think I am not looking. And I could smash their skulls through the nearest wall whenever I see them do that. You’re already a distraction to me. Imagine the chaos if you have more guys than me thirsting after you." Sakusa adds with a grumble, as he crosses his arms across his chest.

"Awww look at you, Mr.Big-Bad-I-Beat-Up-People-For-A-Living-Kiyoomi Sakusa. What will those poor people think of you when they find out you’re a big fat softie underneath all those tattoos and that mean scowl of yours?" You tease him, laughing at his scowl that’s directed at you.

"Don’t call me a big fat softie in front of the others. They won’t live to tell the tale." Sakusa closes his eyes again, snuggling more into your thighs.

"Not even Miya?" He can almost hear the grin in your voice.

"Especially not Miya." The man mumbles as he starts to drift off.

[everythingelseisextra]

Those Nights

Request: No. Description: On clear nights, you choose to leave your bed with Tommy and watch the stars. A miscommunication is made, and a new routine is born from it. Warnings: Language, sexual implications Word Count: 1356 Author's Note: Loosely inspired by @dearshelby's post on historical characters not being particularly Therapized(tm). I wanted to write a quiet fic about how Tommy might react to a small conflict. Of course, I made the reader character the world's best communicator, which I hope isn't too irritating.

You don’t sleep anymore. Not on clear nights like this. 

The balcony opens onto ink, speckled with light, a midnight city pulled into the obscure blush of gray and black and faint yellows and oranges. Smog clears and suddenly you’re drowning in the ocean of a blackened world overgrown with pinpricks of light. You lean your head back and stare up, and you melt into the endless. Souls echo the world around them, and yours, on nights like these, feels like the day you fell in love. Clear and bright and hopeful, like anything is possible. 

You wonder about the tunnels. About cave ins and claustrophobia, about the constant stench of stagnant water and the rot of feet stepping through it. About the ache of his back as he crouches to slowly kick clay, trying desperately to make it out alive, to survive another night. You wonder if it was overwhelming to finally breathe fresh air, to look up at an open world and know that, soon, he'll have to go back under. You wonder if the dead fear the sky. 

As if on cue, the door to the bedroom behind you opens. You sense him before you see him. Exhaustion radiates off of him, so tired it feels as though he’s eating himself trying to rest, cannibalistic desperation. You close your eyes and feel his presence move next to you. He’s warm. Hot, even, as though he’d been sweating. 

Silence hovers between you, perfect, cool and untouchable. It’s a quiet you have had to learn how to break over time, because he never will. So brave, and yet too timid to reach out, to seek some form of comfort or help, that you’re always the one to ask.

“Another nightmare?”

“Yep.” A pause. Still with your eyes closed, you feel him shift away from you, step aside on the balcony. The precipice of vulnerability. The space between you looms. “You were out here.”

“Enjoying the night,” you confirm, and open your eyes to look at him. Your heart sinks. He’s pale, even more so than usual, and the shadows under his eyes sink deep into his skin. Though he’s steady, face set in a neutral expression, you know better. There’s a slight puffiness to his eyes that tell you he’s been crying. More than a nightmare. 

He nods. His jaw tightens, then relaxes. When he looks up, the stars reflect in his eyes, like sparks through the ice, burning despite the cold. 

You decide to ask, to try to coax something like an explanation from him, to at least show him that you know him. “What else happened?”

“Nothing,” he answers immediately. 

“No, not nothing. There’s something. I can see it.” You hesitate, then place a hand on the balcony railing between you, an offer. “I can feel it.”

“Always the empath, aren’t you?” His voice hardens, his eyes flick down to the city around you. Defending himself from your prying, shutting you down, tightening the hatches. You know this game, after years of being with him. And, although it’s a strange way of thinking, you know how to win it. 

“I just know you.” You leave your hand there, holding onto the wood of the railing, fingers gently tracing the grain. “Not an empath. Just your partner.”

“None of your fucking business.” 

“Tom, you sound like a child.” You hide a smile. It’s a good thing his pettiness and asshole tendencies make you laugh. Your relationship would have ended years ago if they didn’t. “It is my business if you’re going to sulk for days because I didn’t read your mind.”

He scoffs, then sobers. Quiet for a moment, staring down at his crossed arms, the fluff of his hair falling over his eyes. “I wake up from a tunnel and you aren’t there.”

Oh. You take a deep breath and stare out at the city lights, the little glints of heat in the Birmingham cold. You are fluent in his language, and it’s your job to translate him, put into words what he likely never will be able to. 

“You felt abandoned by me because you were alone when you woke up.”

“Sounds fucking pathetic.” 

“Sounds human. You’re human, remember?” You nudge his shoulder, trying to coax a smile from him and failing. 

Again, his jaw tightens. There’s still something he’s holding onto. 

“And… It scares you. Being alone in the dark again.” You shrug. “It makes sense. I’m sorry. I get wrapped up in the world.”

“I’m not scared of the dark.” 

“I know you’re not. I think you are scared of being left alone again. After Grace.” 

That was the last straw, apparently. He turns and starts back towards the bedroom, arms still crossed, walking with that hunter’s walk he’s developed over the years. You follow him and grab his arm, stopping him.

“Look, you need to talk to me. It doesn’t need to be much.” You pull his arm so he turns to face you. Blue eyes stare defiantly into yours, almost childlike in their anger. “Haven’t I earned that much from you?”

“You’re right. You’re always bloody right.” He almost spits the words, then calms, taking a huffing breath. “We made a promise. We said we’d be there.”

Defensiveness spikes in you, makes you open your mouth to retort, but you hesitate, think it through. When you do speak, the words land softly. You can’t engage with him, can’t fall to his level of accusations and insults. “I know. Sometimes I won’t be able to be there. I can learn, though. I can listen to you. I won’t leave you alone at night, then. I’ll just open the windows so I can feel the air. Is that an okay compromise?” 

His eyes flick around you, taking in the nocturnal grandeur around you, the natural and unnatural starlight, the faint gray haze of the coming dawn. Finally, they land back on you, and he gives a slight shake of his head. “Wake me.”

“What?”

“On nights like this. Wake me. No need for a compromise.” 

You smile a little. “You’d sacrifice your precious sleep for me?”

His expression turns sly, the closest he gets to flirty these days. His head tilts and he looks at you sideways, matching your smile.  “Haven’t I already?”

You take him by the wrist and pull him towards you. “Yes. Would you consider wasting some more time with me tonight?”

His eyes drift, slowly moving their way down your body, drinking you in, and the cool night air flows around you, chilling your bones and contrasting to the faint heat on your cheeks. He pulls you in and gently, so gently, kisses you. You smile against him, one hand reaching up to hold him, the other resting on his hip. You sway there, then, when you can’t stand the earnestness of the moment, you gently push him back towards the bedroom. 

“We can have some fun.” You smile at him, toying with the hem of your shirt, then the waistline of your pants. “Be good and go lie down for me, won’t you?”

Falling into the usual routine of him, for once in his life, letting go of some control, he steps back, eyes stuck on yours. “Yes, love.” 

From then on, when the nights clear out and the moon shines through the cracks in the shutters, you roll onto your side and stare over at him. Eyelashes long, eyes moving beneath pale eyelids, dreaming, breathing slow and steady. The old tattoo on his shoulder that you consider the mark of a tragedy. Sometimes, you choose to let him sleep, curling into his side and drifting back off. But, mostly, you crawl on top of him, straddling him and slowly letting your weight grind down on him until he wakes. It’s gentle, and his sleep is deep, but when his eyes blink open, he looks up at you, and you watch his pupils slowly expand.

“One of those nights?” He murmurs, resting his hands on your hips, slipping his thumbs beneath your shirt. 

“One of those nights,” you confirm, and lean down to kiss him.

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 7: Trust

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

cw: dark themes, *pls read at your own discretion*

word count: 3.8k (everything in italics is a flashback)

[<<<< chapter 6]

You still feel the faintest tremble in your fingers, your cheeks ruddy from the cold night air that breezes over your skin and through your hair. The world seems so bright, even in the darkness- like you could see every wonderful, beautiful thing in a way you simply couldn’t before. Like you were lighter than the winds, and higher than the sky. You feel like you could be flying.

And if you had known just how good being dead feels, you certainly wouldn’t have waited so long-

+++

“What?!”

Simon places a finger over his lips, silently shushing you; and you know better, immediately regretting the outburst, no matter the shock that lingers in your system, discretion was still paramount—

Your clandestine meetings had been growing more frequent; waiting for the moment he would be relieved for the night and your handmaids had flitted away to their own rooms, their own lives- so that you could slip behind the heavy wool tapestry that now hangs over the entrance to the tunnels.

You always meet in the same spot, making your way to the small adjoined alcove where you would find him waiting- either toying with his daggers or simply staring ahead, lost in thoughts you so desperately wished to hear until he heard your muffled footsteps, the sound of fabric rustling, that alerted him to your presence.

He would usually still be in his armor, his helmet sat carefully to the side- but this night, well, you couldn’t help but to admire the way he looks for a bit longer than you’re proud of.

Instead of black steel, he was covered in warm linens and rich leathers, still dark in nature, with a riding cloak over his shoulders and most of his face concealed under a heavy cowl. But when he saw you, you could see how his whole demeanor shifted. You watched his shoulders relax and the tension bleed away from his expression- watched his eyes flicker and glow in the candle light as he reached out for you, pulling you into his arms just as he did nearly every night now-

But, you weren’t in his arms anymore, no, you were pacing fervently- one hand propped on your hip and the other tangled in your hair,

“Simon, are you sure? I mean- this- this is ludicrous-”, your voice is quiet again, but each word feels labored and breathless, your lungs unable to fill themselves properly, “What you’re suggesting-”

Tentatively, he steps forward, capturing your arm easily, your name spoken so softly, in a way that conveys patience and gentility while still demanding your attention, “Breathe, My Queen.. C’mere-”

He wraps you into a tight hug, letting you bury your face in his tunic, and gods- the way his scent fills your senses, his overwhelming heat, the mass of his arms caging you in, protecting you from yourself. And when he speaks again, you lean in even more just to feel the baritone reverberate through is chest and right into yours,

“There is no other way.” Simon starts, “None that would assure that they’ll never come searchin’ for you.”

The moment he feels your breathing settle to an acceptable rate, he steps back, but only far enough to frame your face in his hands- those damned eyes prying you open; not in a destructive way, no, but in a way that reassures you, that tells you he can see your trepidation, your apprehension. A look that tells you he only wishes to open you up so that he might take them all away, let your burdens rest on his shoulders-

“Do you trust me?”

Your answer comes without pause, because it’s not one you have to give a second thought to as you turn to kiss the inside of his palm, your lips brushing against the rough skin, “Of course.”

And there must be something about the conviction in your voice, or the sincerity beaming in your eyes, because Simon sweeps you into a burning kiss so suddenly, your mind has to catch up to your body as you pull yourself closer to him- enjoying how exposed the feel of his torso is to you in these thinner layers. You swear you can feel the delicious bulk of his muscle flexing against you, your hands venturing over the breadth of his chest, reveling in how it heaves with each breath.

“I want you..” You whine into his mouth, your back now pressed into the frigid stone wall, one of his hands still tenderly cupping your jaw as the other holds your waist.

Most every meeting you have with him of late devolves into this; into feverish kisses and eager touches, you know he craves you just as much you hunger for him- more than that, you yearned for him. But, no matter what you do, or how far it goes, his self-control and willpower seem to far surpass your own, and it always ends with him holding you still- pressing sweet kisses against your forehead and your hair, his voice so kind and soft that it could bring tears to your eyes,

“I know, sweet girl..” He whispers, still kissing you, though you feel his hands tensing- ready to put a halt to it if he feels even the slightest slip in his control, “You already have me- m’yours. Only yours. But not like this-”

This time when you whimper out his name, fighting vainly to push his hand lower, your aching core so desperate for his touch, he groans; it’s a low, gravelly noise, his lips pulling up into something resembling a snarl just before you watch his head roll back.

He pulls in a deep, drawn out breath, inhaling through his nose and exhaling just the same- once, and twice. And you realize now, just how close he had let himself get to breaking his own self-enforced oath if he was having to fight it this hard.

Taking one more deep breath, he finally meets your eyes again, moving slowly and cautiously to tuck a stray bit of hair behind your ear. You let him fawn over you for a moment, your head tilted back to rest against the wall and your own gaze nearly as dark as his,

“No. You deserve more than this, love..”, he traces your bottom lip, eyes focused on the plump, pink skin there before flitting up, “When I have you, I don’t want it to be in some dark, musty tunnel.”, he pauses again, tilting his head to the side, “And I won’t have our first time be tainted by the memory of another man’s bed-”

Your breath shudders when Simon leans in again, nuzzling gently against your cheek- the tip of his nose grazing over the flush peak before he plants a kiss in the same spot, speaking again as he repeats the motion,

“No, little queen.. I want to take my time with you. I want to taste every part of you, starting here-”, a sharp gasp fills the void around you at the sensation of his tongue just above your pulse point, still hot and wet when he kisses it with a smirk on his lips, “and here..”

He gently pushes your hair out of the way, exposing your shoulder so that he could mirror the action there as well, drawing yet another breathy little whine from you,

“Stop it, you insufferable brute..” You speak the words through clenched teeth, and yet, your hands pushing down on his shoulders give an entirely different story- but he does stop, standing again to tower over you, completely unfazed by the daggers in your eyes.

And the cocky grin on his lips turns into something much warmer, his eyes not so ravenous anymore, “Believe me,” he savors your name, letting it sit in the air between you before continuing, “when I say I intend to replace every memory of him, or anyone else, I mean it. I want to show you what it’s supposed to feel like, in every way.”

+++

You pull back on the reins to come to a stop at Simon’s side. The horses’ breaths are hard and fast, much like your own, a cloudy mist of hot air dissipating as fast as it comes with each heavy snort. The castle is far below you now, just a speck in the distance, the valley it’s settled in perfectly illuminated under the dazzling full moon,

“Still think we have ‘til mornin’?” Johnny’s voice breaks the silence, his red stallion giving a tired chuff as it hooves at the cold dirt below.

Simon turns back to answer with a shrug- though his eyes land on you first, searching for your nod of approval before glancing to where the Scot waits, “Should. But, we won’t stop yet, the horses can go for a bit longer-”

You dig your heel in just enough to prompt your mare forward. The dark beast is familiar to you- chosen because she’s one of the fastest the king owns, owned, and it shows as you quickly catch up to Simon, taking your place just on his right flank, with Johnny bringing up the rear.

The plan was to ride as far as the horses could go, hopefully putting you outside of the borders of the kingdom before the alarm is raised, before whatever poor soul unwittingly discovers your treacherous crimes-

No.. don’t think like that. It had to be done.

Against the wind, you focus on Simon’s hulking form before turning your head long enough to catch Johnny’s eye. And you hate how sad he still looks, hate the grim set of his lips, and the consistent knit in his brow- there’s been no bright smiles this time, no boisterous banter, or snarky quips. He was still angry with you, and yet, he couldn’t stop watching you like you might vanish if he blinked too long.

But, you don’t blame him. How could you-

+++

Tap-tap … Tap-tap-tap

The world comes into focus again at the sound of your guard’s beckoning- you’re back in the Grand Hall, sitting on the throne, the weight of your crown perched on your head pulls uncomfortably at your scalp as the man in front of you rambles on and on. Something about the year’s bountiful harvest, and you can’t be sure what else, but gods, his voice feels like it grating against your eardrums.

You just can’t be bothered to focus on such trivial things, not when your mind wanders to the promise Simon had made to you- to take you away, to save you. Though, you suppose he’s already saved you in so many ways, more than you could ever make up to him, but you swear to yourself that’ll spend the rest of your life trying-

Hiding the exasperation in your tone, you raise your hand, “Very well, Lord Barclay. Thank you, for your time, and your very thorough survey.”

Simon’s arm is placed under your hand before you’ve even attempted to stand, it’s not an unusual or uncomely gesture, he had done it many times before, but holding onto to him like this now feels too intimate. Because you know how warm his skin is beneath yours, how firm the muscle is under the cold steel and unforgiving leather of his gauntlet-

“Thank you, Ser.” You say evenly, only sparing the most fleeting glance upward to find his eyes already on you.

It sends a shock through your system, and yet, there’s an odd sense of pride that trickles through you as well. Knowing your deception, knowing you can hold him as such, and he can look at you like that, with those around you none the wiser of your indecencies, your unbecoming thoughts-

And it’s only a matter of seconds, from the moment your fingers are settled over his forearm to the time you’re standing, but it’s enough to reignite the ever present burn you feel for him,

“‘Course, My Queen.” Simon bows his head as customary, but just like the first time you met, he doesn’t avert his eyes, and his coy expression does nothing but stoke the flame within you. But, you have a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and that he quite enjoys playing with fire.

—--

By the time you get back to your rooms, the sun had nearly set, the once brightly lit hallways now glowed warmly with candlelight and the remnants of dusk as you stop outside your door.

Simon opens it for you, ushering you inside before relieving the other guard. He would be there all night tonight, which meant you wouldn’t see him until morning- and while the thought of him still being close, guarding your rooms, is comforting as it always has been; you already find yourself missing his touch, his warmth, and it had only been a week’s time since you got your first taste-

Gods, you’re hopeless. And never have you felt more like a spoiled brat than you do in this moment, giving Simon one last pitiful look before the heavy door clicks shut.

The candles in your entryway were already lit, but you find it odd when you round the corner to see your bedchamber still dark, save for the milky light filtering through the windows. Which is the only reason you see the odd shadow hunched over on your dressing bench, and a strangled sort of gasp lodges itself in your throat when it moves- slowly, at first, lifting its head to face the dim light.

“Johnny?”

You turn to grab the nearest candle stick, not registering how the hot wax splashes onto your hand as you set it down again. But, now that you have it, you’re not sure the light helps or only makes it worse, because now you can see just how disheveled he is- his hair is a mess, from the wind or from him running his hand through it, you don’t know. And his eyes.. he’s looking back at you with a wild gleam, his lips parting as if he might say something before they clamp shut again. The ties on his tunic are loose, the fabric hanging open, exposing the tan skin underneath and small chain hanging around his neck-

“Johnny- I.. What are you doing here?” You step closer, seeing the familiar paper in his hand, his fingers creating wrinkles and indentations from how hard he grips it, like he’s afraid to let go of it, but it almost seems to pain him at the same time.

And you know exactly what it is. It’s your letter, the one you wrote to confess your intentions, your plan to die. A morbid living will-

“Oh, Johnny.. I’m- I sent a raven-”

“Shut up.” He growls, and it stuns you, hearing the anger in his voice directed at you. He moves to stand then, not to get any closer- but to just look at you. Eyes lingering on your crown, and over your face, searching for something you can’t see or understand as he takes a small step forward, his mouth twisted into a thin line and his throat bobbing.

Seeing him like this is unlike anything you’ve felt, you think. Seeing your immutable Johnny on the verge of tears, his usually bright eyes, dark and stormy- your chest feels like it’s cracking open the longer the silence fills the space, until your own tears spill over, staining the rug in perfect little droplets. But what can you say?

‘Oh, I’m sorry you thought I was dead- but surprise! I’m not.’?

What could you possibly say to make it better-

“How dare you..” When he finally speaks, you hear the syrupy rasp in his voice, one tear rolling down his cheek- and then another, tangling in his unkempt facial hair, “You selfish, stupid girl! Why would ye write this? Huh?”

He doesn’t shout, but you can tell it’s taking everything in him not to- the restraint shows in the red flush of his skin and the rigid set in his shoulders, the rage in his eyes as he looks down at you before shoving the letter into your hands. Your own tears haven’t stopped, and you feel frozen in place, wracked with guilt and anguish and frustration,

“I’m sorr-”

Johnny huffs out a sarcastic laugh cutting you off, running a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots,

“I thought you were dead.. DEAD, Sunny. And you’re sorry? That’s all you got?”

It’s the way he waves his hand at you that causes you to flinch, and that terrible frustration blooms into full blown anger when he turns his back on you. You crumple the paper in your hand, forming it into a deformed sort of ball so that you could chuck it as hard as you can, aiming right for the back of his head,

“Selfish? I’m selfish?” You hiss, watching with satisfaction as the paper ball hits its target, bouncing off his head and rolling somewhere you can’t see, “My whole life has been serving others- and I’m the one who’s selfish? How rich coming from you, MacTavish.”

He turns on his heel, a look of heated confusion on his face, “What’s tha’ s’pose to mean? Like I haven’t served? Who do y’think is out there fightin’ your wars, your highness?”

With a short scoff, you turn away from- wiping the moisture from your face and yanking the crown from your head so you can toss it on the bed, “Oh, enough of that! What happened to ‘not a lord or a queen’? Are we not just us, anymore? Is that all you see?”, you gesture back to the crown, “Because that’s not me- that isn’t all I am-”

Just as quickly as it had come, your anger fizzles out, the flashfire smothered with a sadness so deep, so profound, you’re not sure what do with it,

“I was tired, Johnny. Weary, down to my marrow-”, a broken sob tumbles out as you wrap your arms around yourself in a lame attempt to find comfort, “I never meant for it to be selfish, I only thought I was doing a favor. For myself, for you. I can’t explain it..”

You watch his own flame die out with your words, watch the furious glint in his eyes settle- and when he steps forward, you don’t try to stop him, you don’t stop him when he pulls you into his arms, or when he presses a long kiss to the top of your head,

“I know, I know- I’m so sorry.. I dinnae mean a word of it, I know you’re not selfish. Hells, you’re probably the most selfless person I’ve ever known. But, Sunny..”, he pulls your face up, wiping the tears and mucus away, looking down at you with a softness you weren’t expecting, his big hands cupping your cheeks and jaw, “When I- When I thought you were..”

He bites his lip, breathing through the word on his tongue- not wanting to say it out loud anymore than he already had, “I thought I lost you..”

It comes out in a whisper, his eyes, still brimmed with tears, so steady on yours it makes your breath shorten- because he had never looked at you like that, and you had never seen him the way you see him now, had never given a thought to the idea of wanting him to hold you like he is now, wanting him to look at you-

No, no- he’s Johnny. Just Johnny.. Your best friend, you had grown up together, seen every stage of each other- from kids to scrawny pre-teens, awkward teenagers at best, you had both seen the other at their worst. So, why are you so surprised to look at him now, and see how handsome he’s become, how tall he’s gotten, and how well he fills out his clothes-

Stop, just stop- you admonish your own thoughts, he’s still just Johnny.. He’s not Simon.

“I know..”, you say, blinking away the tears and wrapping your hands around his wrists, “But, never again. I promise, Johnny.”

That seems to break his hypnosis, focusing on your words, on the feel of your skin on his- he shakes his head, releasing you gently and clearing his throat, the tension that had been there only moments ago gone dormant, “What changed?”

You glance over your shoulder, looking towards the entryway, wishing you could see Simon for just a second, “Well.. we’re hoping you can help with something.”

“We?”

+++

Simon’s path takes you deep through the forests, and as soon as you reach the river, you follow its meandering trail for the better part of the night- guided by the moon and stars, your trio traverses land that you had never seen, much less touched. And you only wish for a chance to see it in the sun, hear the birds singing, and the breeze rustling through the boughs; watch the water babble and flow, glittering in the sunlight.

But, there is something otherworldly about experiencing it at night. You hadn’t been outside the castle walls after dark, ever, now that you think about it- never mind on horseback.

And never mind the fact that you’re doing it to run away from your life, your identity left behind.. everything you’ve ever known..

So, why aren’t you afraid? Why have you never felt more content, more safe, than you do right now? Through the soreness and discomfort, the adrenaline still teeming in your mind and body, all it takes to settle your thoughts is meeting Simon’s gaze- still so steadfast and assured.

Or feeling Johnny’s calming presence next to you, warm enough to cut through the chill. Even if things aren’t as natural between you as they used to be, you know you could still lean on each other, that he would be there for you, and you for him.

But there’s something about the odd tension that still lingers when he looks at you, like invisible tendrils that bind you, pulling and stretching. But you don’t understand it, you only feel the strain, like a warning or an omen, something threatening to snap. But it won’t just yet.. not now-

Simon comes to a slow stop, you and Johnny following his lead up the high ridge. And faintly, you hear the crashing of waves, the wind picking up wildly as you break the treeline.

The cliffs, ones you had only seen as a child, glow brilliantly in the sunrise. It’s enough to steal your breath, and make your head spin. They had brought you home.

You’re so entranced by the glorious sight in front of you, by the sting of your hair whipping across your chapped cheeks, that the feel of Simon’s hand on your leg almost startles you,

“We’ll stop here for the day.. eat and rest.”

He lifts you from the saddle, keeping his hands stretched over your waist until he’s sure you're steady on your feet, “Are you all right, my queen?”

Johnny watches from your peripheral, meeting your eye for a split second before you answer, a tired smile on your lips,

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon..”

[chapter 8>>>>]

taglist: @spxctorsslxt @ssc7514

[deathnguts]

I know the hunger games AU is owned by Jegulus or whatever because of crimson rivers but I’m gonna different and make it about Bartylus because no one can stop me so here’s a detailed summary/play by play of major events of the AU please give it a chance it’s eaten my brain

No trigger warnings under the cut besides yknow mentions of murder but it’s not graphic, there’s only a cut because it’s long as shit

(not inspired by crimson rivers really at all because I never read it) ((also implied trans regulus at the end because eveyrone that isn’t Sirius or Barty doesn’t know regulus is a man because transphobia and closets and stuff and you can pry trans regulus out of my cold dead hands))

Ok so I imagine that the pure blooded families would be from career districts, like district one (luxury goods) I imagine. And Regulus, per the rules of the game, has never been allowed to participate because Sirius already competed and won when he was sixteen and regulus was eleven. This leads to regulus becoming disillusioned to the glory of the games early on since his beloved brother did come home with the honor but he was completely changed and traumatized and claimed he only came home with his life. Regulus sees the games for the horrific blood bath they are as he grows older due to taking on being his brother’s caretaker since no one else would and Sirius completely let himself go in the throes of depression, making regulus see what the games do to even their winners first hand.

Barty, on the other hand, does not see the games for what they are and he wants nothing more than to go and to win. He’s always believed in the ideology that winning the hunger games is the ultimate honor and playing them is the ultimate rush. I imagine, in the context of this universe, his father would probably be influential enough to be involved in the inner workings of the games. And unlike any other parent involved in the planning of the games, he doesn’t rig it so his son won’t be a participant, he rigs it so he will. Knowing this, every moment that isn’t spent with regulus at Sirius’ winners home or somewhere more comfortable like in town or something, Barty is training for when he’s selected for the games (since the careers have it rigged and all.)

Regulus tries to live in denial about the fact Barty will certainly go and may not come back or maybe come back like Sirius did up until the reaping day that changes everything. Him and Barty are sixteen, just like Sirius was, when they both hear his full name get called. Barty is beaming with pride as he’s pushed up the steps and regulus can barely contain a sob. (He only does because he knows it would be out of place for a career district civilian like himself to mourn such a thing, and he doesn’t want his family thinking he’s a rebel or something.)

Regulus rushes to see Barty before he’s taken away immediately. He’s crying in Barty’s arms and holding him like there’s no tomorrow because there truly might not be. Barty is less brash and loud with his pride obviously, the love of his life is crying in his arms, but he’s not swayed enough to truly be nervous. He simply holds regulus tight and tips his chin up, smiles and tells him he shouldn’t worry because if he’s not just coming home for honor, he’s coming home to marry regulus. They’ll be together forever when Barty gets back, it’ll all be ok. Regulus tries to believe that and gives Barty his favorite of his rings off his finger as Barty’s token from home. Barty puts it on the chain he always wears as a necklace since he knows he’ll be using his hands a lot in the arena.

Once Barty’s on the quick train ride to the capitol (since district one is so close) his smile fades to an even determination and he holds the ring in his clenched fist to his lips the whole way. The other careers will poke fun at it later, seeing as how there’s no way a simple silver ring on an even simpler chain can be weaponized, but what they think doesn’t matter because Barty’s going to kill them.

Barty optimizes on his wild card persona for his training, fashion statements, and marketing himself since he knows the crowd loves a winner who gets their hands dirty. And during his interview, he speaks of how he’s going home to the love of his life and shows off his ring to get real about his near proposal to get the crowd to love him even more. Everyone loves a romance. Regulus watches from home, alone since Sirius would rather die than watch anything to do with the games. He’s shaking from his fetal position on the ground and he can only pray Barty will be right in the end.

Before anyone really knows it, the games begin. Barty gets exactly what he wanted from the blood bath (sadistic violence and securing of the cornucopia. He even takes out his ‘partner’ from district one while the other careers are busy. Because he only has one partner from district one, and he’s not in the arena.) and regulus watches with his heart beating out of his chest.

The games go on swimmingly at first. Regulus is itching to help, to send any gift Barty may need at a moments notice, but Barty truly doesn’t need anything from him since he’s monopolized all the materials. He feel useless and he’s so terrified every second of the day he curses the editors of the broadcast every time his love isn’t on the screen because what’s happening when they pan to anyone else?! Barty’s doing mostly fine for himself since the lower districts are keeping to themselves and the other careers aren’t down to the wire enough to start back stabbing yet. Until they are.

Barty sees it as luck that he’s the youngest career here, halfway naive to the extent of the rigging the games have in favor of his idealization of them. The others single him out in their heads immediately due to his age and his whole ‘lover boy’ show at the interviews. They all agreed without having to discuss that he’s the first to go the second it’s convenient.

The next week or so is spent with the careers staking out the arena and then doing organized hunts for other tributes. They all go off well, the careers always win though not without any fighting back obviously. They lose the girl from four and the guy from three, girl from three gets injured but not enough to sit out and ugh Barty’s annoyed that he has to care about any of them. The guy from two is always sending him off on his own, claiming it’s because Barty’s a ‘crazy fucker’ and it’s like sending a rabid dog to some sheep and he’s certain Barty will come back panting like one with the blood of his win on him (secretly hoping he fails and doesn’t come back at all soon.) But he does, every single time. Barty thinks it’s because he was judged right, everyone else slowly gets more wary of him when they realize he’s not the easy pickings they imagined and he may actually be a problem down the road.

With only a few stragglers from lower districts left, the other careers decide to put him down before they run out of numbers. They go for him when they think he’s asleep, but he’s not an idiot and he knows they have it out for him and he wouldn’t dare to trust them enough to sleep around them. He actually hasn’t slept in days because of it. (Regulus hasn’t either, desperately afraid that he’ll miss even a single second of what’s happening to Barty.) He’s loopy, deranged from all the sadistic heavy lifting he’s been doing. He feels like a rabid dog now more than ever as he’s literally clawing and biting his former teammates when they manage to disarm him after he fatally wounds the girl from two and she fades away without him even looking twice. He takes out the injured girl from four, no was it two? No he just killed girl from two, it had to be… one? Yeah, one. She’s easy pickings and guy from… four, seems mad about it. It’s him and two guys, four and two, and they seem pissed. It’s funny, Barty can’t stop laughing. They really think they can beat him. Hilarious.

Regulus watches in horror and Sirius jolts from his sleep four rooms down when he hears his brother scream because in Barty’s insomnia and shock induced delusions, he gets snuck up on from a boy from five that’d been with them, one Barty hadn’t even noticed. He’s stabbed literally in the back, low and a few inches from his spine with the knife they’d taken away from him earlier.

Barty freezes, but not for long before he feels the knife twist and get pulled out. He practically howls at the pain when he whips around and kicks the guy down. God damn ghost, didn’t he kill him already? He takes his knife back and some other guys come in for the kill but they’re stupid because they’re getting close to Barty and he has his knife back. Barty doesn’t clearly remember what happened next, just that three bodies fell, he got cut again in his thigh and in both his arms, and then he passed out in the pool of blood he’d created.

Drones come ti pick up three bodies, Barty isn’t one of them. He wakes up to the movement around him and he feels like hell. He’s bleeding out, fuck why hadn’t he wrapped himself up before laying down? He did lay down, right? There’s an another drone that comes in and it’s medical supplies. A lot of them. Surely from a very concerned and very wealthy donor. He uses them graciously and waits out a day, maybe two, or was it three actually? for the hurt to subside enough to hunt again. It doesn’t.

He’s drifting in and out of consciousness and he’s not even fully functioning when he’s awake. He keeps getting drones with more medical supplies and he realizes with barely half a mind they’re coming from regulus. He can barely stay awake long enough to use them and keep himself alive with the little control he has and he realizes in this lethargic time that regulus was right. He feels awful, on so many levels. What he had to do, what he did for fun, what got him here, wasn’t worth it. He wants to go home. He hopes his mind will stop being foggy and loud when he gets home.

There someone standing by him, they don’t even have a weapon. They’re looking at him with fear in their eyes, but they’re stepping closer. They’re going to kill him. Barty spits, they’re going to try. His mind is loud and his blood is louder when he’s in another scuffle with whatever stupid fucking lower district tribute the old group missed while policing the arena. Theyre rolling on the ground for any hint of an upper hand. But the tribute’s weak, clearly malnourished and too scared to be calculated because Barty gets on top easy. He has his hands around their neck for just a moment before their long ass nails are digging into his fingers- no, they’re gloves, with razors at the tips. Fuck. He involuntarily pulls back with a hiss and they’re on top of him again. He’s not going out like this.

He kicks them on their back with his good leg and they gasp from the air knocking out of them on impact. He doesn’t have time to get their gloves off before they get their breath back, but he does have time to yank his necklace over his head and over theirs. They struggle and he flips them over to get his thighs on their upper arms to stop their death hands. Their razor fingers are digging into every inch of him they can and he barely feels the pain. Their movements slow and their eyes tear up as silver wrings out their last breath. Barty’s declared the winner. Was that really the last tribute?

It must have been, because he’s hauled out of the arena and into the capitol. Or at least, tried to, because he distantly remembers the terror and adrenaline in him not subsiding soon enough for him to trust the capital people come to retrieve him and he has to be put to sleep because he lunges at one of them. He wakes up and they’ve healed him completely with their capital tech and he wants to go home. There’s the after game interview he can’t hear over the buzzing in his ears and he tells them he wants to go home. He sees his father shortly after since he oversees things like the interviews and Barty tells him he wants to go home.

When he finally does, he could cry from just the sight of his regulus waiting for him right when the train doors open. And he does when he finally has him in his arms again. The two sob together on the ground and they hold each other like lifelines. It takes hours for them to calm down enough to even walk to the car to go home, and they do so pressed close with their hands intertwined. They huddle together in the car, and then they huddle together in bed the second their home. Regulus tells Barty he was right, Barty tells regulus he was right.

They’re both beyond shaken and traumatized from the games, Barty on behalf of eveyrthing he did and what was done to him and regulus because he had to watch. But they’re together now, and there’s never a moment in the future the public will ever them not. They’re shaken and attached at the hip at all times, agoraphobic and terrified of other people in case theyre a threat.

But the capital waits for none and they want a wedding. There was a buzz about it ever since Barty was in the top two for four days. And then when the crowd saw the psycho lover boy choking the last tribute in his way with his ‘wedding’ ring? Oh, now they can’t be stopped. The pair are rushed to the capital again and they cling to each other for dear life. Their wedding is completely planned already when they arrive, surely by game orchestrators and excited producers like their marriage is just an after party for the games. The overly eager crowd of make up artists and designers try to rush them apart for dressing and Barty nearly bites them, so they forgo the tradition of making the groom wait to see the bride in ‘her’ gown.

The crowd isn’t too upset because the display is a testaments to the capital’s newest favorite couples’ unconditional, inseparable love that defied every odd. And that’s the theme of the night. Hundreds of guests neither of the lovers know swarming them with praises and questions about how sad it was to watch their lover almost die and how sweet it was he didn’t and are they going to have children soon and wow double immunity for the baby when it does come with the Black and Crouch winners as uncle and father and-

It takes a near breaking point, luck, and a distraction from Sirius (who’s been itching to fuck with the crowd all night after being forced to be here) for the couple to get away for just a moment to breathe. It’s all so jarring, Barty was dying just two days ago and he got regulus back only a little after that and it’s all so much, too much and it’s so loud. But they’re married now, which he wanted; he’s alive, which he wanted; he’s home in regulus’ presence, which he desperately wanted.

Regulus looks beautiful in the sparkling white dress Barty’s games designer made for him, Barty apologizes that he has to be seen by so many people in it. Regulus says it was inevitable, Barty says it’s still not right. Regulus asks what is. Barty doesn’t answer for a moment. They sigh and hug each other close like they’d been doing non stop every chance they could for the past twenty eight hours. Barty murmurs that in everything that’s happened, in everything he’s done, the only thing that’s remained right since the start is regulus, his love for him more specifically. Regulus snorts a little and teases that he sounds like he’s going to propose. Barty doesnt respond for a moment. Then he’s pulling away from the embrace and regulus almost jumps but Barty doesn’t go far when he gets on one knee and pulls his token necklace from under his suit and over his head and smiles up at Regulus’s dumbfounded face.

Regulus Black, love of my life, my only light in the dark, would you do me the honor-

Yes.

He’s crying, they’re both crying. But it’s better. Everything’s better. Barty’s home, he made it home. They’ll be safe and sound at home.

[punkinspice]

it is one again thinking about Shadow and Rouge hours and getting Emotional and Sad over them and their relationship and just how theres so much there and i aaaaaaaasdhfjklaghaklfghlkahgfkjlhgfkl

[methoughtsphantom]

plot bunnies about an idea i don’t have enough motivation juice to write. red hood identity reveal variety

smol jason

So, Red Hood reclutantly working alongside the Bat to take down a child trafficking ring when he is hit with a de-aging spell. It even isn’t the first time Batman encountered the end of this particular spell so he already knows the victim would have no recollection of their memories, so he protects the now child (he guessing 11 estimate age) and guides him through the panic of not being able to take off the Red Hood helmet. the one that canonically has a bomb in it (cause older Jason is a dramatic bitchTM) so like, Batman catches the child’s prying fingers and takes them away from the latches because Hood has implied the existence of a bomb and that’s enough for dread to set in his gut. Bruce gently coaxes the child to let him confirm this with a device he takes out of his belt and raises it eye level to the kid’s head. It beeps. And B feels the ground sweep out under him. Because indeed this child has a bomb to his head. (and he’s suddenly hearing another bomb go off in the distance and a warehouse and —)

anyways, B ends up taking (read kidnapping) this twelve year old to the Batcave so they can pry off the helmet and I can only picture the ANGST because this is Jason and Bruce each unaware of who the other is. Jason still lives in the streets in his mind according to him and well, according to B, he’s dead. So they start bonding, kinda awkwardly at first cuz of the helmet’s voice modulator, but Jay at that age (at any rlly) was a spitfire and like he genuinely makes B forget this is a crime lord for a second (kinda difficult to that when the kid is stuck in the helmet) but whatever. I can only see Jason being his cautious self but kinda being at ends here because he kinda does need Batman’s help to get this thing off him, so he can only, just like narrow his eyes when the Bat approaches him for a blood sample. (“Need to check for magic residue, lad.”)

(Jason’s only allows this because he has a knife he found in the clothes he’d was drowning in earlier)

As u can guess, Bruce was obviously lying and wanted to run the blood sample to see if it matched any from his database (as the Red Hood has also implied that they have met before)

Anyways Bruce just gets the alert that the blood reading was finished almost at the same time they can pry the helmet off, and because he got a little attached, he just wants to see the face of this lively if wary teenager that has the same name as his (dead) son. (he managed to pry it from him earlier, how, i dunno) It’s literally Bruce’s martyr and huge guilt-complex that goes like ‘ah yes let me see the face of a child that was failed so throughly by the people who should’ve taken care of him’. So they pry off the helmet and then Bruce feels like he’s been doused by cold water. it’s like he’s staring at the ghost of his dead son again, the image completed with ruffled hair, slightly upturned lips and blue guarded eyes that look up to him with recognition but not recognition.

Bruce immediately hardens, shuts down any hope he can feel rushing in and desperately tries to close the dam and let his confusion and rage turn into anguish. “Who are you?”

The boy—the imposter quickly tracks the 180 demeanor change and immediately goes defensive. A painfully familiar scowl appears in his face.

“I’m Jason, I already told you that, what, your old age catching up to you?”

Batman stalks closer and then the boy’s taking two steps back for every one the Bat takes. He tracks the loose outline of a hand closing in tightly around the hilt of a knife in the boy wearing his son’s face and he can only think how dare he.

“Lies! You’re not my son! Who are you?”

Heart in throat, Jason struggles to keep distance between him and the towering black shadow that’s so angry he can sense it in his very bones. He doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t.

“I-I my name’s Jason. Jason Todd. My father is Willis Todd, not—not, Batman.”

And there’s that for the little snippet. Sorry this is so disjointed😭. After that’s just the mental image of Dick cutting in with Zatanna trailing closely behind him and being all “Hey I got your message about a de-aging spell and—“ and just stopping at the scene.

Because that’s Batman towering over a clearly scared kid. Said kid using the distraction to try and stab Batman. The action clearly enraging Batman—that doesn’t make any sense?! B would never— Dick immediately sprints into action and steps in between the two.

like Dick just giving his back to the kid and not seeing. Batman clearly shaking his head in denial and snarling, treating the kid like his crime lord self and Dick not understanding. Having to receive help from Zatanna to get the kid the hell out of here (but like where would they even take him? The manor??)

Zatanna just takes them to the other side of the cave and takes note of the teenager. How he has a dead grip on a red helmet and his gaze is stuck upon it.

Meanwhile Dick has to physically restrain Batman from going after the kid and he raises his voice just enough to demand what the hell is happening?? Why is there a kid in the Batcave? …Batman??? Report. As he is demanding answers Dick had slowly loosen his grip on his dad only to now found him staring at his gauntlet’s data hologram.

The information displayed? 99.98% Match confirmed to Jason Peter Todd.

So as this is clearly pure angst, I want Jason to lash out, sticking only to Zatanna only to realize she’s the magic user that’ll quote on quote will return him back to normal.

Jason is just like on really uneven ground here, even though he doesn’t think he’s ready to retur. But then Batman is just like “Jaylad” … “Jay…” and taking off his cowl and reaching up to him and looking at him like he knows him, like he’s something fragile and precious. Which is sooo fucking jarring you can understand. Jason internally is all what the fuck

Jason just wants them to back off. Jason is an overwhelmed bean. He looks up to Nightwing for help but the man is also mirroring the Bat, domino off and eyes suspiciously bright.

Zatanna is literally the only person in the room not emotionally compromised. She’s with Jay in the ??? train.

Suddenly she looks down and there’s the little boy whose eyes are pleading in helpless confusion. Eyes practically conveying the question you can return me back to normal right?? he pointedly doesn’t rip his eyes from hers as Zatanna puts a hand on his shoulder, pretending she doesn’t notice how he trembles and wordlessly asks if he’s sure.

cut scene

Bruce interrupts because information overload and he can’t compartmentalize this is too important and he and Dick stop Zatanna to which she too is ?? because that was literally what she was called for here. Dick is no help.

Dick is torn.

[qierxing]

Painting the Roses Red

Commissioned by the delightful rainbowsillz Yan!Riddle x F! OC | Continuation of this TW/CW: Non///Con, Oral Sex, Manipulation, attempted murder, unhealthy relationships

And many a tear we shed Because we know They'll cease to grow In fact, they'll soon be dead

Her fingertips are oily.

It’s a gross thing to fixate on, but she can’t help it. For the past few days, she has been running her fingers through her hair out of an instinctive habit. Yuu keeps hoping that her fingers will snag on silk and the familiar tug of a hair strand will happen, but to no avail. Instead, her fingers only get stuck on tangled curls and greasy strands of unwashed hair. 

Automatically, her hands drop to her collarbone, but reality is still cruel. All her prized possessions are gone no matter how much she wishes for it. Perhaps if she closed her eyes, she’ll be able to find them in her dreams.

Three hollow knocks echo through the house.

Her stomach twists in on itself. She knows it’s silly to be so afraid. If she must get morbid, then she would know better than anyone that he would not be the one waiting on the other side of the door. No, in the end, it most likely will be her succumbing out of desperation. At least that’s what the writer in her mutters bitterly.

And yet, she pauses before the main doors of Ramshackle.

What if it is him? Then what will she do? Her eyes slide to the side of the door to the shoe rack before stopping at the umbrella leaning next to it. For a moment, she wonders if it’ll be enough if it’s used as a bludgeon. Yuu quickly snaps her gaze away, shaking her head. How crazy has she become these days?

When she opens the door, a familiar figure greets her eyes and she almost collapses from relief. 

“Can I come in?” Trey asks, head tilted in a weary smile while carrying a tin of cookies.

–

The cookies pair extremely well with the cheap tea bags Yuu got from Sam’s store.

“Sorry to disturb you like this out of the blue.” Trey is so polite, letting her snack on most of the lemon cookies he brought over. He’s barely even touched his cup of tea, which is a shame, because the tea and cookies are quite tasty together.

“No, no, you’re fine, Clover-senpai.” She says. “Is something the matter?”

Trey gives that sheepish looking smile again, meanwhile rubbing his hand over his neck. It’s a nervous tick that she’s familiar with. After spending so much time in Heartslabyul, it’s nearly impossible to miss it. 

“The thing is…” He starts slowly. “The dorm’s fine and all, but the mood’s been off these past few days.”

Cold chills run down her back.

“Ever since the tea party, Riddle’s been a bit…tense.” Trey sighs, finally meeting her eyes again. “Did…you guys have an argument or something?”

An argument. Despite the dread and nausea curling in her gut, she refrains from giving a sharp laugh. She settles on saying, “That’s one way to put it.”

There’s a pause while Trey purses his lips while clasping his hands.

“I don’t want to pry, and it’s not any of my business,” Trey finally says, breathing out a heavy sigh. “But Riddle is my friend and I don't want to see you two go through this.”

Her fingers are already shakily combing through her hair (she should really wash it soon). Another silence goes on. Trey clears his throat, fiddling with the teacup in front of him.

“…also Riddle wanted me to tell you that he has your hair ribbons and brooch.” Crushed flowers and grass flashes in her vision and the urge to vomit rises within her throat. How despicable. Knowing full well what those items meant to her and holding it above her head can only be a childish tyrant’s actions. Still, he has her right in the palm of his hand. It’s a subtle ultimatum that already speaks for itself.

“…will a letter suffice?” Humiliating defeat. Blood roars through her ears, and yet she can only manage a pitiful response. 

It’s obvious Trey is taken back, but after looking at the expression on her face, he drops his eyes and nods. “I can make sure it gets to him.”

Her lips curl into a cracked, sharp grin. If she couldn’t have the honor of saying what she wants to the culprit himself, then she can make sure the words written in smooth cursive will carry all the fire and spite she harbors.

“Wonderful.”

—

“You’re back.” 

Trey nods uneasily at Riddle’s greeting. His housewarden doesn’t have to say anything else, merely holding out a waiting hand. There’s a small pause, a questioning whether Trey should really do this, but it’s gone the moment Riddle’s eyes narrow in impatience, and the letter is in his gloved hand without another word.

Trey watches apprehensively as Riddle slices open the envelope with a letter opener. Bronze handle, with the blade being a sturdy iron. It’s a little thing that escapes most people’s notice, but he remembers. The gift is something Riddle cherishes deeply ever since he received it. After all, only two people send letters to Riddle: his mother, and the Ramshackle prefect.

Trey waits. Riddle’s eyes scan over the papers in his hands. He’s not sure what is going through Riddle’s head right now. He wasn’t privy to what Yuu wrote in her letter nor did he want to be nosy. But he remembers her face. That alone itself is enough for reservations.

Riddle laughs, jarring Trey from his train of thoughts. Trey watches in intrepidation as his housewarden chuckles as if he’s been told the funniest joke of them all.

“Yuu has quite a sense of humor.” Riddle’s laughs finally die down to amused chortles, still reading the paper as fondly as one would read a love letter. However, Trey is quite sure that the contents within that paper are not professments of affection. 

“Trey.” The vice housewarden straightens out of habit at Riddle calling him. His tone indicates an order to be bestowed. “Prepare for another tea party.”

The fifth day of the month has passed a week ago. There’s no Unbirthday parties scheduled in the near future. It’s evident this tea party will not be a public one. But what can he do now? He is only a subject under Riddle’s iron hand—and it is his duty to serve his Queen.

“Of course, Housewarden.”

—

Yuu arrived five minutes early, to account for unexpected matters.

Things such as being stopped for holding a cast iron pan and a dark expression. Thankfully, it seems that other Heartslabyul students knew better than to stop the Ramshackle prefect, and especially not when she’s mad. They quickly slink to the side as they side eye her walking past, casually swinging the pan back and forth in time with her steps. 

She’s sure at the very least it will give Riddle some pause, even if it’s suspicious. It’s not like she has any magic to defend herself with. So he must give some lenience where due.

Trey is waiting for her by the door to the garden. His gold eyes drop to the pan in her hands for a quick second before meeting hers again. He nods in gentle encouragement.

“Go on in. Everything’s set up already.”

Yuu still isn’t really prepared when she steps through the door. She thought the pan in her hand would give enough courage to get through the freezing fear of seeing red. It’s not the same setup as before. There’s no whimsical decorations. Just a simple table with refreshments. And yet, her grip on the pan almost loosens at the sight of the boy sitting at the table.

“You’re on time, for once.” He smiles over his cup of tea, not caring at how her face twists in instinctive disgust. If he’s noticed what’s in her right hand, he gives no indication. “Come, sit.”

Still, Yuu is annoyed–she should be the one driving this conversation, not him. She makes a point by deliberately setting the pan on the quaint table, right next to her teacup. Riddle finally acknowledges the action with a frustratingly fond smile that has Yuu’s blood boiling. She huffs, and allows Riddle to pour her tea.

“Where’s my brooch and ribbons.” It’s not a question. She doesn’t really care for where he has them, all that’s needed is for him to do his part and hand them over. That was part of the deal they made. She hoped that that rigid, upright part of him would still be somewhat intact, even after everything.

Riddle clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “Patience, my love.” The nickname is enough to have her gripping her teacup too tightly. She’s starting to reach for her pan when thankfully, he reaches within his overcoat and brings out her precious items. They bear no sign of being under duress, all sparkling clean within his palm. Yuu pushes away the thought of how it was like the perfect crime scene; unblemished with no traces to the culprit.

But when Yuu reaches out desperately to grab the accessories, Riddle curls his fingers around them and pulls them out of her reach. Like a cliffhanger, she is left exclaiming in barely contained rage and confusion. 

“Give them back! You–” She has to stop herself, remind herself where she is on this precarious slope. “Riddle. Please. You promised to give them back if I came here.”

“I did.” Riddle once again raises his tea cup to take another agonizing long sip. “I’m simply adding some terms before I do.”

The urge to bash his head in comes back in a violent rush. Who does he think he is?

“And what exactly are those terms?” Yuu asks, curling her fingers once again around the pan next to her. Riddle’s steely eyes only glint in amusement. 

“First, you are not to associate yourself with those underclassmen ruffians anymore.” The verdict is delivered as a death sentence: cold, unfeeling, and absolutely unreasonable. Before Yuu could even try to protest, he continues without even pausing.

“Second, you are to stay by my side as often as possible.” This term has her stopping in her tracks. Ironically, it was more reasonable than the first one. But this is not a contractual term. No, it’s one of his beloved rules-meant to uphold the core of his world.

“My world does not revolve around you, and yours shouldn’t revolve around mine.” Yuu spits the words in choked frustration. “Even if you’re my friend, you’re going way too far.”

Riddle only stares, iron hues boring through her. Yuu feels like she’s being chipped away, slowly but surely against her will. Heartslabyul’s housewarden has always been noted to be headstrong and stubborn. These traits are what won him his throne, after all.

“To correct you, we’re not friends,” Riddle closes his eyes while taking another sip. “How can we be friends, after sharing such an intimate moment together?”

He’s not listening. Of course he isn’t. Why would a Queen deign to listen to a puny subject’s pathetic cries? It doesn’t make her any less angry though. 

“You’re crazy, “ she seethes. Riddle laughs, stern face breaking into a hauntingly delighted smile.

“Am I? I must say, you’re crazier for thinking you can just walk away from me.” His chilling words don’t match his smug face at all. 

She doesn’t hesitate or pause, yet by the time she’s grabbing the pan and bringing it over her head, Riddle’s eyes flash and she’s restrained by some unknown force. It digs into her wrist, making her release the iron pan by instinct and it clangs upon the ground, sliding away a good few feet. Damn him, she couldn’t even see how he activated his magic–his magical pen is nowhere to be found. 

“Oh dear, you weren’t going to resort to violence, were you?” Yuu snarls at Riddle’s condescending chuckle. “It would be most unladylike. Besides, I think you’re forgetting that I’m one of the more powerful mages at this school.”

“Spare me the lecture,” she hisses, tugging at her wrists, desperately trying to dislodge whatever is pinning her in place. Sadistic bastard. 

“There wouldn’t be a need for a lecture in the first place if you would just listen.” Yuu doesn’t miss the sharp edge to his scolding. She finally realizes something about this unknown force purposely digging into her skin, pinpointing her veins and nerves—it reminds her of curved rose thorns, sharp and unforgiving, and completely nasty to remove.

She had walked into a trap.

—

In a way, Yuu was glad to be inside. There were many outdoor elements she would not be fond of at the moment. 

She would still rather it not happen at all. The unknown force had returned at full power and dug into the junction of her wrist and waist when Trey asks her if she is okay. Yuu can only smile as pain flares from nerves being stretched to their limits, assuring him she’s fine. Riddle only took advantage of her inability to speak more to override her completely, sweeping her away to his bedroom with the excuse that she needed rest. 

He’s gotten better, she notes. As she lays upon velvet covers with hair and clothes fanned around her like a halo, it’s the only thing that she can really think of without wanting to vomit. A high pitched moan echoes in the room and Yuu realizes through groggy dizziness that it was from her. The realization is snuffed by another bolt of pleasure wracking through her body, making her arch her back and scream.

Riddle rises above her spread legs, ironed shirt and blazer discarded, humming in satisfaction. A lithe pink tongue peeks out and swipes away shiny liquids coating the lower half of his face. He runs a careless hand to push back his hair, smirking down at her boneless form and glazed eyes. 

“Good girl.” Shame floods her as more cum drools out of her hole in response, a deep seated wanting burning through her body. Gritting her teeth, she can barely even push herself up on a pillow in an attempt to orient herself when Riddle traps her with his arms on the headboard.

“Now, now,” he coos. “We’re not finished here.”

Her breath is stolen away in a single, feral thrust that has her scrabbling for hold on Riddle’s shoulders. 

—

Something shiny draws her eye from the nightstand. When she strains her neck to see what it is, her chest tightens. 

The antique letter opener was one of the most expensive items she had bought when she arrived in this world. Yuu would never have bought it, even for herself. It would’ve been a waste of madol and she could not afford to, what with caring for Grim and their living expenses. As much as she would have enjoyed it as an avid novelist, there simply would have been no point to, especially when she would be returning to her own world.

The circumstances just happened to line up. Riddle’s birthday was nearing, and she had been out for a lark in the town square. A quaint little antique shop had caught her eye, and despite Grim’s bored protests, she dragged her companion to the store’s door eagerly. She had only meant to be window shopping—but the letter opener was too beautiful to pass by. 

The storekeeper chirped something about it being a perfect gift for a significant other when ringing up the purchase. Something about how the creator first carved the symbols of roses around the handle for his wife (for those were her favorite flowers) and gifted it to her, so she would always remember him when she used it. At the time, Yuu only blushed and politely thanked her, and left the establishment with swirling feelings. She thought it preposterous that Riddle and her could ever have such a relationship.

It’s sitting askew on the nightstand, next to an opened letter. She knew whose it was without even looking. Who else sends him letters besides his mother? Yuu only wishes she could reach further and tear that paper to shreds, burn it all to ashes. Riddle stirs, face still buried in her bare chest, soft breaths tickling damp skin. 

She thought of how delighted she was that she had a pen pal in this world. Even if their letters were mostly nonsensical past times, Yuu thought she knew the Riddle everyone else was afraid of. 

Thankfully, Riddle doesn’t stir when she wriggles an arm free of the sheets, slowly, cautiously reaching out towards the nightstand. Her fingers brush against cold metal, barely able to tilt the handle enough to make it slide towards her opened palm. Yuu just barely is able to catch it, the awkward position making the sharp part dig into her flesh. 

Adjusting her hold, she raises the blade above her head. For a moment, she’s frozen in place as her eyes examine the sleeping body laying upon her. Not in hesitation(she is long past morality at this point)—but to figure out where best to strike.

The head is viable, but the blade might be too dull to do any real damage. If she aims just right, she could try going for the heart through his pale shoulder blades. But she’s a novelist, not a mad scientist. The chances she actually manages to pierce his heart is too low and risky (as much as she would love to try). 

His throat, however…

She swears he was sleeping. His eyes were closed, and his breathing slow and steady. But somehow, her aim still misses, just barely slicing skin and missing important nerves to be a fatal blow. Her wrist is caught in a tight grip as Riddle looks up at her with a wry smile.

“Using your gift against me? Rather rude, don’t you think?” His sleepy voice dances with mirth even though his neck bleeds little droplets of crimson. Her eyes follow the trail down his Adam's apple, down his collarbone, and finally, it trickles down and stains the white bedsheets a bright scarlet tint that reminds her of the roses that symbolize the dorm. 

“I’ll kill you.” The words are murmured with quiet conviction. A promise.

The Queen of Hearts laughs.

“Good luck, then, my dear.”

[writing-for-the-gays]

ermm i have another request to make :3c if thats ok :3c

billy loomis and stu macher (both of em, in the poly way :3c) x reader with all of the specifications i had in my last request with uhmmmm :3c knife play :3c and predator/prey dynamics :3c

again, reader being fat nd hairy being central to the story :3c

also again, do whatever format and length you want ^_^

-🐛 anon

'Can I get a kiss? And can you make it last forever?'

Billy Loomis x trans male! Stu macher x trans male! hairy! reader

Again with these things being self indulgent, reader is a disk jockey and a radio host who spreads misinformation Abt the lads so they can fuck two serial killers for a lil longer .

Brought to you by ovulation and weed.

I'm a Stu fucker so Billy is a little neglected.

I read hairy and ran with it.

You can pry my trans male stu hc out of my cold dead hands.

I wasn't sure how to end it but I did it.

Up to my usual bullshit

- You were supposed to be a victim, a little bit of a trial run before everyone else.

- you were a generally quiet guy, they didn't think that anyone would really notice you disappeared. Save for the fact the news station would have to get a new host, but who even really listened to it. Billy and Stu definitely didn't listen to it.

-they probably should've though. Desensitize each other to it. But they didn't.

- so when they called you Stu's face instantly turned red and he hung up. Which confused the hell out of Billy. ("Stu, what the hell was that?!" "His voice, man! It's making my fucking head foggy-!" "Fine I'll fucking do it!")

- Billy wasn't any better, but at least he was talking to you unlike Stu.

- he's palming himself through his jeans just listening to you try to tell him off for calling, but then he starts talking about fucking you with a knife to your throat and you go quite.

- he keeps going and he hears you panting on the other end, and he doesn't assume you're touching yourself at first.

- but then you fully moan while listening to him talk about fucking you balls deep and he's not dumb so he can put 2+2 together.

- he asks what room you're in and you give it too easy (he knows where you are, he can see your shadow from the window.)

-and soon you have two strangers fucking you so hard you can't think!

- Stu finds out you're trans too and starts rubbing your t-dicks together, and Billy fucks into Stu's hand, and you watch as they make out and-

- you cum so hard you literally pass out.

- Stu thinks he's killed you, and honestly, if he had you would've died happy, but he didn't and so you wake up to a very concerned Stu and a cackling Billy.

- You're fine obviously. But Stu still tries to be gentle with you, Billy keeps teasing your t-dick though, more fascinated with it than anything else, it's different than Stu's bc he's gotten surgery to make it appear bigger so he's just seeing how it's different, and he finds out you're significantly more sensitive!

- you three become semi regular fuck buddies, and when the official killings start you pretend you have no idea who's doing them, you pretend that when stu and Billy come over covered in blood to fuck your brain out you don't almost cum in your pants.

- then fuck buddies become something more. Somewhere in-between that first call and being bent over the bed as stu pegged you and Billy fucked your mouth 6 months lster you'd fallen in love with them.

- in the heat of the moment as you come moaning their names you say it.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Fuckfuckfuck! Fuck right- right there please right there- Stu " your fingers sink into the sheets as you pull away from Billy, whose cum you'd just finished swallowing; mouth finally free to beg like the good boy you where.

"so good- so good Stu it's- ngh- haah please please more, need you to touch my cock~." The double ended dildo you were oh so familiar with fucked into you.

"Gonna cum- Please Please- Please-"

Normally you would fake it with penetration, there wasn't that much pressure in it... but with Stu- oh Stu was special, he knew exactly what to do with it, what to do to make your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

He denied your request with a simple scoff.

"No- not yet, I'm not even close, you can cum when I cum got it?"

You nod desperately, needing to submit to the look in his eyes. Filled with hunger, the urge to hunt. His hands travel up your body to your neck, resting on your Adam's apple.

Gently pressing down and cutting off your air Stu lets out an airy chuckle. "You don't even put up a fight... Fuck- don't even get the thrill of the chase with you, I just fuck you so good you forget that you're rubbing dicks with the big bad Ghostface..."

He grinds his hips, the dildo inside of you lets out a wet noise that makes your eyes squeeze shut and face go bright red.

"Fuck-! Pretty boy you're so wet, Jesus, it's the prettiest fuckin thing I've every seen, just glistenin' and shit-"

His free hand goes to your thigh, massaging the flesh and playing with some of the dark coarse hair that covered it.

He places his hand flat and plays with the fat on your thighs, watching as it jiggles with every harsh thrust he gives you. He admires the way they look powerful, dark hair covering your body, he admires the way you look different from him.

The way your body was covered in thick hair, starting from your face (a light stubble, and the starting of an already well maintained moustache)

to your chest (dark hair covering two mounds of mouth wateringly hot flesh, softer and bigger version of Billy's pecs.)

to your cunt (fuck the way your hairy cunt rubbed against his clean shaven one made him weak, he didn't know something like that could even turn him on that much.)

to your legs (You wore a pair of shorts mid summer once and both Billy and Stu couldn't keep their eyes off your legs).

Stu was thin and almost totally hairless, what hair he had was sparse and blonde, it hadn't changed with T for him, and he wasn't mad. He generally likes being hairless, a preference.

He was always at least trimmed if not fully shaved down there. (To show off his t-dick, that surgery was expensive. Wasn't as expensive as full Phalloplasty tho.)

A Twink in all regards making his big handsome bear fall apart on some silicone, it made his dick throb, twitching in-between his folds.

He locks eyes with Billy who's staring at you intently, focusing on the way you seem completely out of it, face flushed, mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed closed in concentration. Trying not to cum until you where told.

Your cunt flutters helplessly against the dildo in you, It's slick, not just with your juices but his as well, the double ended dildo didn't have any barrier to prevent your juices from mixing, or your t-dicks from grinding together with each thrust.

Billy's once softening cock perks right back up when stu brings his hand in-between your bodies to rub at both of your cocks. finally.

Your mouth hangs open and Billy doesn't hesitate to take the opportunity to thrust into your mouth, leaning over you to capture Stus lips in a heated kiss, tongues sloppily rubbing against each other as they use you. Billy's hands rests on your chest, running his fingers over the thick dark hair and massaging your boobs while playing with your nipples. He's not in your mouth long, mind you, still overly sensitive. He jerks off slow and steady as he watches you two.

Then you're cumming, eyes rolling back mouth hanging open. It's like your body is lit on fire, thighs jolting and quivering

you babble "Fuck! Fuck I love you- I love you your cock is so big- your so fucking hot, both of you, need-need both of you-!" Your hips are rolling wildly, right against Stu's clit. Which sends him over the edge face scrunching up before it relaxes and his mouth hangs open.

Billy comes on your face with a low growling noise slumping over as his cum decorates your cheeks his cock twitching with every shot of jizz.

After a moment Billy lets out a soft chuckle, breath heaving.

"Stu... I told you they'd say it first."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

- you three are basically inseparable.

- the girls think you're just best friends, and considering the fact you're a disk jockey with the school radio station they don't put if past the boys to just be using you to play their favorite songs more often.

- you also did the morning news, and you always reported on the ghost face killings. Billy would sit under the desk and suck particularly hard on your dick if you said something that would throw the investigation off.

- Billy loves playing with your ass, he's such an ass man it's almost funny.

- he gets hard just watching you walk away. Especially if you have a particularly large ass. (His nickname for you is booty.)

- he just grabs a handful of your ass.

- both of them are constantly horny have fun trying to keep their hands off of you.

- y'all's sex playlist is mostly disco

[scribeofmorpheus]

Harellan - another excerpt!

READ ON AO3

CHAPTER 3. Dead Waters and Heavy Lungs

His fingers had felt frosted as they traced faint lines along the contours of her back. He applied the balm gently, in repeated patterns of comfort. The spearmint had a strong smell, and the ointment's effects were instantaneous.

Lavellan felt the knots in her muscles begin to relent, and a noise of strange pleasure trilled through her.

Solas’ motions stalled for the span of three breaths as if the resounding quiet was a question.

“Your fingers are cold,” she tried to mask her actions with a reasonable excuse.

“Ah,” she heard him rub his fingers together. Faint sparks of magic flickered in her periphery before he returned his hands to her back, warmed, “Sorry, I can never seem to warm them.”

“No, it was nice. Soothing almost.”

In truth, from all the rare times they’d shared touch, Solas’ fingers had always been cold, yet she’d never heard his teeth chatter or saw his toes turn blue. It was ethereally strange. Magic, she’d assumed. What a breathless well of mana he must have had. Such impressive stamina to keep the body warm with magic always.

The light behind her ebbed away, and the feel of his cool fingers returned.

“Better?” he asked.

“Familiar,” she replied, touched by his tendency to accommodate so easily for her. Not even her past lovers had been as thoughtful.

Solas had a way with small gestures, a maddening way of knowing just how to help without needing to ask. She thought of how he’d shown her how to use her anchor, how he’d studied her while she slept after Adamant—cared for her too. He was far gentler than she’d expected of a strange, clanless apostate.

“It was sweet of you, to offer to do this for me,” she said.

“I’m simply taking a page out of your book, Inquisitor. I’ve seen the care you take with those close to you, this felt only natural. The barest of gestures on my part.”

Always ‘Inquisitor’ when there were prying eyes or fixed ears about. Lethal’lan was rare, and usually shared in the rotunda. ‘Ma Vhen’an had not yet come to be. But there was a gravitas to ‘Inquisitor’ when it fell from his lips, unlike the others, he said it not as a title, but as a caress. Here they’d toiled for an unbearable stretch, feigning a respectful closeness as if they weren’t aching to grow into something more, torturing the other with pleasantries when both kept being pulled back into the Fade, to the kiss.

She couldn’t help but tease, “So, we’re close, are we?”

He cleared his throat, his hands stalling their works once more, “It was…”

“Another figure of speech?” she peeked over her bare shoulder, more aware than ever that she was partially in the nude, her modesty kept in place by the thin fabric of her undershirt. “You know, Vivienne has noticed some… lingering looks pass between us. Whatever shall I tell her?”

[generalthirst]

Bringing Hux to Thanksgiving

I'm bored AF today let's have some fun.

Idk man I like forcing this awkward military man into wholesome domestic situations. You can pry it from my cold dead fingers.

Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate it today!

I'm gonna guess they don't have space Thanksgiving so please clue him in

Doesn't get it. At all. A holiday for giving thanks? Pointless in his eyes. He would greatly benefit from a home cooked meal but he won't acknowledge it

Drag his ass to dinner for his own good. He'll bitch and moan the whole way about how 'he's busy' and 'doesn't have time for this'. Ignore him

He's great in crowds typically. Knows how to make polite conversation and not let things get awkward. But I think meeting your family would intimidate him a bit and he'd really try his best to make a good impression on them. Hold his hand and he'll feel a bit better

Also keep an eye out if you got funky relatives. Hux will smile and nod but he's staring with 'help me' eyes the entire time your uncle is grilling him about football

He'll probably keep away from the kids as much as possible. I don't think his skills with crowds translate well to children at all. He'd probably attempt to smile and wave at a baby and it would cry. Either that or kids would magically love him and he's helpless as to what to do about it

When the dinner bell finally rings he walks into the dining room he's actually in awe. He's never seen such a spread of food. He doesn't know what half the dishes are but it smells so good, he doesn't care. He doesn't know the protocols here so just dish him up a little scoop of everything to try

He likes Thanksgiving food more than he anticipated. The staples like turkey and gravy and stuffing and mashed potatoes suit him just fine. I don't think he'd be a big fan or cranberry sauce. The tartness and extra sugar seems like something he'd be unused to. But he'd still finish everything on his plate, not wanting to seem rude. Grill him on what he likes afterwards!

You'll catch him afterwards helping out in the kitchen. It's an odd sight really. Seeing him in civilian clothes for one thing, but sleeves rolled up, elbow deep in soapy water washing dishes while making pleasant conversation with one of your family. It seems so weird for him to be in such a position but something about the domesticity of it warms your heart

He's very thankful you made him go after all. And thankful your mom sent you both home with lots of leftovers. He can't wait to eat more of that pie