#I’m resisting the urge to just post them all as is instead of finishing the thought

[iguanodont]

Another small sketch dump, this time featuring some ideas for Twowi matriarch fashion and a concept for a “sunken village”, a common architecture style in the weather-blasted inland reaches of the Twowi empire.

The trenches and subterranean rooms insulate birgs and gardens alike from the worst of temperature extremes, while light is allowed into underground spaces via glass prisms installed in the ceiling.

----

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 2

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

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

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

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: ookay here we go with this guy.

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The restaurant is buzzing with voices. It adds the disorienting ripple in your head. It feels like there’s something crawling over your scalp as you try to blink away the haziness. It’s just fatigue. That never goes away, only ebbs and flows. 

You sit on the leather cushion of the curled bench. The booth is lit by a small chandelier hanging above and the plucking of strings strums under the drone of patrons. The sconces against the wall are blurry and bright and the people all around are merely shadows. 

The server appears and doles out the food. You got the butternut squash soup with a French bread roll. With the weather turning chill, it sounded delicious. Besides, you don’t have the stomach for anything heavy. 

You glance over at Andy’s thick sirloin and your mother’s glazed chicken. Your hunger roars in your stomach. You shakily unwrap the cutlery from the cloth napkin and thank the server as your mother taps her glass. The man, in his pressed white shirt, smiles and pours her some more. Andy clicks his tongue but says nothing. 

“Anyone else?” The server offers. 

“We’re good,” Andy answers for both of you. 

You could laugh, if you had the energy. Anyone would look at you and know you shouldn’t be indulging. No, you have your lemon water and that’s good enough. 

“This looks delicious,” your mother chirps and takes a gulp of chardonnay, a hum at the flavour. “Oh, that is divine too.” 

“I hope you enjoy. Both of you,” Andy says. “I know you had a busy day.” 

His elbow touches yours, almost as if it’s intentionally. You look at his shoulder but no higher. You steady the spoon over the bowl and dip it into the soup. You lean forward to taste as your mouth jabs into one of the slices of grilled chicken. 

“Mm, the maple is nice but a bit much,” she complains after a sampling. 

Andy exhales slowly, measuring his breath as if to conceal his sigh. It’s strange. He seems annoyed by your mother more often than not and yet he takes her out for dinner and got her that fancy ring. You don’t understand relationships. Not past the shallow ones written onto the screen. You probably won’t ever know the real thing. 

You rest your spoon on the wide brim and take a piece of the bread. It’s still warm and it smells wonderful. You pinch off a morsel and dip it into the creamy broth. You nibble on it, resisting the urge to shovel it down. 

“You sure the soup’s enough?” Andy asks. Again. He questioned you when you ordered an appetizer over and entree. He even offered to get an appetizer for the table instead. 

“Oh, sweetie,” your mother swallows around her words. “You know she doesn’t eat very much. Her stomach is so sensitive. And look, that’s such a lot of soup. She probably won’t even finish the bread.” 

You nod. You could gobble it all down but you know better. You’ve been sick before from letting your appetite deceive your mind. She’s right. You’ll be full soon enough. Your stomach always starts to ache after a few bites. 

“Ah, sorry. I don’t mean to pester. I just want to make sure you have everything you like. If you wanted a piece of my steak, I think there’s a lot more than I need here,” he chuckles and cuts into the sirloin. 

“Oh, she can’t have red meat. Too heavy for her,” your mother tuts. “Really, Andrew, you are so sweet to offer though.” 

“Yes, thanks,” you murmur as you squish bread between your fingers. You’re suddenly very conscious of every bite you take. 

“So, any more doctor’s appointments?” He asks. “I could come along next time? Since we’re gonna be one big family. I’d like to help out if I can. All this work shouldn’t be on you, Danica.” 

“Oh, my,” your mother slurps more wine. “You really are a dream,” she touches his sleeve. “That would be wonderful. Nothing this week though. Just next month but she does need her script filled. If you don’t mind getting that, it would be a great help.” 

You want to shrink into a speck of dust. You hate it. You’re rarely ever included in conversation. Not for real. You’re only ever the topic of discussion, like you’re not even there. 

“Mom, I told you,” you insist and wipe soup from your oxygen tube. “I can go get it. It isn’t very far.” 

“No, no, no. I told you before. You cannot take the bus. It’s absolutely out of the question. You could get caught on something or worse, you could fall.” 

“Hm, that’s... she’s an adult, Danica, if she wanted to--” 

“Andrew, you don’t know the risks. I do.” 

He opens his mouth then shuts it. His lips thin as he holds back his retort. He saws into the steak. 

“Well,” he looks at you, “if you’d like to come along, I can always drive you.” 

“I can just do it myself,” your mom insists sharply. 

“Relax,” he warns. “She wants to do it herself, she can. She’s not entirely helpless, is she?” 

You chew your lip. Your mother has that look. The dangerous one. Andy’s never seen what it can truly lead to. 

“Whatever is less trouble,” you utter and focus on your soup. “Sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” Andy challenges, “you did nothing.” 

You nod and take another spoonful. It’s really good but you can’t truly enjoy it. You just want to go home. Away from these strangers. Home where you can be alone. Where you can put some walls between you and your mom. You know you’ve already ruined her night just by being there. 

🩷

Your mother almost finishes the bottle. That’s not unusual but since she met Andy, it’s less frequent. As you leave the restaurant, she’s leaning heavily on him, her heels click unevenly as one shoe keeps slipping loose. You follow, clutching tight the handle of your tank. 

You stop by the SUV as your mother purrs and wraps her arm around Andy. She squeezes his butt and you look away, slowing as you try not to intrude. He flinches and pushes her away, clearing his throat. 

“Danica,” he girds quietly, “please, not here. You’re drunk.” 

“I’m not, I feel good,” she slurs. 

Embarrassment scalds across your chest and down your spine. You never wanted anyone else to see her like this. You know it’s not her fault. It’s yours. She’s stressed from taking care of you and gets a little carried away trying to unwind. 

“You’re all over,” Andy gets her to the passenger door as she staggers clumsily, “come on.” 

He angles her around with one arm around her back and opens the door. He gets her into the seat as she giggles and her hand flutters down his shirt. He pulls away as he catches her hand before she can get any lower. You linger by the back of the car and act like you’re not watching. 

He mutters but you can’t make out his words. He clicks the seat belt around your mom and slams the door. You wince and the wheel of your tank squeaks. He sighs and his shadow turns to you. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he opens the backdoor, “come on. I’ll get you two home.” 

You nod and come forward, head and shoulders down. “Thanks,” you drag your tank with you, “sorry.” 

“Sorry, for?” He wonders. 

You sniff and shake your head. You don’t know how to answer. How do you explain the truth to him?

“Here,” he reaches for your tank as you say nothing. “Let me help.” 

You have to keep from crying out and reach to shove him away. You’re overly protective. You have to be. That’s what keeps you going and you’re just not used to other people touching it. He lifts it as he nudges you gently. 

You grab the side of the door and haul yourself up. You heave as you fall into the seat, light-head and he fits the tank in in front of you. He reluctantly lets it go and tickles your knee. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

You watch his hand. You nod and grab the seat belt, “fine.” 

“Hmm, I should probably look into some more accessible, huh?” 

“No, no,” you protest weakly. “I manage.” 

“Well, sweetheart, you shouldn’t have to just manage. You should be comfortable. That’s why I took your case.” He brings his hand up and surprises you as he brushes your cheek. You twitch. “You like dinner?” 

“Yes, sir,” you answer and flatten yourself to the seat. “Thank you.” 

He hums and tickles your skin before he recoils. He draws back and grabs the door. He gently shuts it as his eyes cling to you. Your heart is racing. You’re breathless yet that isn’t so unusual. 

He gets in the front seat and your mother babbles and reaches for him again. He swats her back and starts the car. She mutters and slumps into the door. 

“Danica,” he says. She doesn’t respond. He repeats it louder. She snorts. He curses under his breath. You’re happy she passed out, it’s worse when she doesn’t. 

You sit in silence as Andy backs out of the space. He looms rigidly as you shrink as small as you can. Usually, he’s nice. He has this way about him that you assume comes from being a lawyer. He makes himself approachable. But not right now. He’s agitated. You can feel it fuming off of him. 

“I’m sorry,” you eke out as the tension strangles you. 

“You don’t need to apologise for her,” he insists with another sigh. 

“But... she drinks because of me. I know.” You say. “Because I’m sick.” 

He clucks and squeezes the wheel tighter. “No, that’s a bad excuse. She’s an adult.” 

You don’t argue. There’s no reason too. For once, someone isn’t blaming you. Besides, how far did it ever get you. 

He drives on and you turn to watch the dark buildings pass outside the window. The moon is a sliver above and the stars a speckle around the wisps of clouds. You stare up into the expanse, admiring the streaks of dark blue, black, and grey. 

As the car slows, you tear your eyes from the sky. You blink in confusion. You’re not at your house, but Andy’s. You’ve been there once before.  

He shuts the engine off then sits back and spreads his hand across his forehead, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I just realised I’m at the wrong house.” 

You stay silent. You thought your mom was asleep. He turns to look at you as he flicks on the compartment light. You squint at the sudden brightness. He means you. 

“Do you need anything at your house?” He asks. “Medicine or...” 

“It’s... in my pack,” you touch the belt bag across your stomach. “Tank’s mostly full.” 

He nods and looks you over, “I’m sorry. It’s been a long night. You don’t mind the guest room?” 

You shake your head. You don’t want to make his life any harder. And he should apologise to you. No one does that. They don’t owe you that. 

“Alright, again, I know it’s not easy for you. Probably a lot cozier at home,” he turns straight and shuts off the light. “Let me get your mom inside.” 

He unbuckles his seat belt and his keys jingle as he opens his door. You click the button on your belt and pull the handle. You push outward and the door is pulled from the other side. Andy appears in front of you. He helps get your tank to the ground and offers his hand. 

You don’t want to be rude so you let him help you down. You wheel around your tank as he shuts the door, the opens the passenger side. He ducks into the car and drags your mom out. He stands straight and shuts the door with his elbow. 

“Sorry to ask but could you unlock the door? Code is...” he gives you the numbers and you blink as you try to keep track of them. 

“Okay,” you nod and shuffle past him as he waits. You go up the walk and lift your tank up the low stone steps. You’re overly aware of him behind you. 

You get to the door and stare at the keypad. As you enter the numbers, you realise they’re familiar. It must be a coincidence. In a certain format, they would denote your birthday. The pad flashes green and the door clicks. 

You push down the lever and step back out of the way. 

“Go on,” he nods. 

“No, it’s okay,” you say. “Mom needs to lay down.” 

He looks down at the woman in his arms then at you. Even in the dark, you see his disappointment. Again, you can’t help but wonder why he puts up with her. You have no choice, as she has no choice in taking care of you, but he does. 

“You’re a good daughter,” he says as he slowly steps past you. 

You trail after him, your tank bouncing through the door, and you shut it behind you. You stand on the mat and roll your wheels back and forth, trying to get the excess dirty from them. Then you sit to take off your shoes. 

“You can turn on a light,” Andy chuckles as his shadow looms over you.  

You stare up at his silhouette. He’s close. He must not realise it in the dark. You turn and flip the switch.  

He smiles as he keeps a hold of your mom, “I’ll put her on the couch for now,” he says, “then I’ll get you settled.” 

You nod and bend to move your shoes onto the rack. You don’t look up again. You’re hot. Very hot, even though cool air flows from the vent just across from you. It’s just because you’re used to being at home. That’s it. 

[noxturnalpascal]

Mutual

Steve Murphy x F!Reader (3.6k)

Summary: You and Steve spend some late nights in the office together, finding a new way to work off some of the frustrations of the never-ending hunt for the narcos.

Warnings: Basically all smut (and a big ole cock). Infidelity (only if your name is Connie).

A/N: A gift for one of my favorite - and long time - mutuals, @toxicanonymity. Thanks for everything you do for this community and for always being there whenever I need anything. Love you lots!!

You walk into the mostly-empty office holding two styrofoam cups of coffee and wearing a beleaguered expression. Immediately your eyes are drawn to Murphy’s hands, his elongated fingers, stained purple and red beneath the skin, cuts still oozing at his knuckles. You watch him stand up, take off his jacket and loosen his tie, then resume sitting behind his desk, completely ignoring your entrance. 

“You’re here late,” Peña offers.

“Yeah, well some of us can’t get away with doing whatever we want,” you quip back.

Peña’s hand flies to his chest and pouts his lower lip as if your words have wounded him. You roll your eyes. You look back towards Murphy and can’t help but notice that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. You wonder why. He still hasn’t looked up, busy flipping through paperwork, making notes in the margins.

“Seriously though, why are you here so late? I bet your boyfriend doesn’t like that,” Peña teases.

“I’ve told you several times that I don’t have a boyfriend, Peña.”

“And I’ve told you several times to call me Javi,” he coos. You resist the urge to roll your eyes again as he maintains eye contact. “Besides, if you’re single, why don’t I ever see you going on dates?”

“Because I’m here, working through dinner with you cowboys!” 

Steve huffs a laugh at that and when you look at him he’s finally looking your way, eyebrows raised and pointing to one of the steaming cups in your hand. You hand it over, his long, bruised fingers brushing over yours during the exchange, and then offer the other cup to his partner. He doesn’t reach for it.

“Actually ma’am,” Peña says in a mock accent as he tips an invisible cowboy hat to you, “this ole cowboy has a late dinner date.” He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, hastily shoves his arms into it, gives a wink to you, and heads out without another word.

“Don’t mind him,” Murphy says, “a ‘late dinner date’ is just code for hooker.”

Now it’s your turn to chuckle. Why isn’t he wearing his wedding ring tonight? Maybe he took it off earlier when he was washing the blood from his hands but… No, you don’t remember seeing it then either. You realize he’s looking at you, watching you stare at his fucking hands. He’s gotta know you like his hands, right? It’s not awkward. He’s gotta know.

“That looks painful,” you don’t look away from them. “Was it worth it?”

“I dunno yet,” he goes back to flipping through his papers. “Ask me tomorrow.”

Murphy’s little stunt earlier didn’t just mean his hands were a cut-up mess, it also meant he’d have pulled the short straw to finish the paperwork needed to try and sweep it under the rug. If all went well, and they’d put the right amount of money into the right people’s pockets, he could get away with having beat that snarky reporter’s face in and no one around here would be asking too many questions in the morning. It’s going to be a long night. 

You grab the papers off Peña’s desk, carry them to the far end of the office, not your normal desk, and begin typing up his notes into a formal report. Your normal desk was upstairs outside the Ambassador’s office, being one of his attachés meant you traveled with him in-country and helped during his posting at his discretion. You were one of his favorite attachés and that came with a lot of perks; always flying with him and his family in the private jet instead of slumming it in commercial, a plant-covered, sun-lit desk by the window, and always being trusted with the most confidential of orders. 

Unfortunately for you, lately, his orders had you spending long-nights with the feckless DEA agents trying to make orderly, lawful reports of their chaotic and illicit methods to catch the narcos. The ambassador trusted few else but you to spin their lawless nonsense into cohesive accounts with diplomatically-acceptable language. You knew your long hours were appreciated - by the Ambassador if by no one else - and you really didn’t have much of a life outside of work, so it wasn’t the worst problem to have. Besides, working late came with its own set of perks.

---

You’re not sure how much time has passed but as you wrap up typing Peña’s chicken-scratch, you look up to see if Murphy is anywhere close to being done only to find him not at his desk. You wait a few minutes and when he still hasn’t returned you get up and walk past it. His desk is more centrally located than the one you were using and from here you can see the whole office. The coffee cup sits empty, the ashtray overflowing, his coat hanging limply from his chair. But no Murphy. You walk towards the main entrance, pass the department secretary’s desk, call out his name, and receive no answer in return. 

Just as you’re about to turn and go back to your work, you see just a fraction of movement out of the corner of your eye. The blinds in Messina’s office just beyond the secretarial desk are all closed except the ones covering the window on the door, which are raised just a fraction. 

Is he? Again? He must like this more than you thought. 

You make your way to the DEA lead’s office door and test the knob - unlocked - just like you knew it would be. Pushing the door open slowly and flipping on the lights has you greeted with a groan. It’s Murphy, sitting on his boss’s leather office couch, cock in hand. 

“When we say you DEA boys do nothing but sit around all day with your dicks in your hands, this isn’t what we mean,” you tease. He doesn’t even try to cover himself, doesn’t make a move to hide what he’s doing. This is definitely part of it. He likes this. You’ll have to play your part. “What kind of a man has to jerk off at work? Things really that bad at home?” 

He groans again, and you watch his big right hand squeezing himself at the base of his thick cock. You’re not sure how long he’s been in here but he’s apparently just been edging himself, if the ruddy head and pearlescent beads leaking from his tip are any indication. Just based on the size of him you always thought he might have a respectable dick, but the fact that it still looks massive, even in his giant fucking hands, is even more impressive. 

“Sorry you had to catch me like this,” he grumbles, as if he didn’t orchestrate this entire scenario for that very reason. He hasn’t resumed touching himself, he just holds it - enormous and erect - like an obelisk of flesh. 

“I don’t think you are sorry, you filthy pervert.” You close the door behind you and walk to Messina’s desk, sitting on the edge of it facing him. “I think you fucking love getting caught with that big cock out, don’t you?”

He sucks air and squeezes even tighter as you watch the clear precum flowing out of his slit and running over his flushed head.

“C’mon, Murphy,” you begin to slowly unbutton your blouse. “You’d better get it over with before more people walk in here and see that big, fat cock of yours.”

Almost like he was waiting for your permission, he begins pumping himself, using the viscous liquid running down his shaft to lubricate his strokes. You untuck your blouse and pull it off completely, folding it next to you on the desk while you watch him - completely dressed - jerking off. Aside from his loosened tie thrown over his shoulder, he’s still wearing the same outfit he came to work in, not even the blood-spattered sleeves of his rumpled white dress shirt have been rolled up. Just like last time, and each time before that, the only skin he’s showing you are his hands, wrapped around his dick and balls. 

You pull your eyes away from what his hands are doing and make eye contact with him, seeing him break away to watch you undo your bra, letting it fall slowly down your arms to reveal your breasts to him. You set it next to you on the desk and sit back on your hands, sticking your chest to the sky. He doesn’t take his eyes off you when he speaks.

“Gonna take more than that, honey. Do it like last time.” And there it is, the first time he’s acknowledged that this is a repeat occurrence.

Like last time. You’d thought last time might have gone too far, thought maybe you’d scared him off, especially since it was weeks ago that it’d happened. But apparently not. Apparently it wasn’t too much. Apparently it was just enough… and he’s been thinking about it happening again.

You stand up off the desk, slowly pulling down on the zipper at the back of your skirt, letting your breasts push forwards while your hands work behind you. You watch as he licks his lips, tugging slowly up and down his shaft, gently squeezing his balls with his left hand. You pull your skirt down your legs, folding it and placing it with your other clothes next to you. You stick your fingers in the waistband of your pantyhose and underwear - the only clothes you have left on - and watch him slowly nod his head, eyes glued to your center, ready and waiting.

You slowly pull down your remaining garments, feeling the relative chill of the office air hitting your bare cunt as you bend forward. Once the hose is at your ankles you turn around to brace yourself on the desk, giving him the view you were just denying him. He moans, lowly. You bend forward, a hand on the desk, and slip off each shoe one by one, pulling the hose and your underwear over each foot. You finally stand to place them on the desk with everything else and then turn back to face the couch.

He’s slowed down so much his hand is barely moving now, just brushing languidly over the head of his cock, smearing the steady flow leaking out. You sit back on the desk and slowly, so slowly, spread your legs open. You hear him growl a yeahhh in response. “This what you wanted, Murphy?” You tease.

“You know what I want,” he whines through clenched teeth, “so give it to me.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to give me orders, you fuckin’ creep,” you snap, knowing it goes straight to his cock by the way his left hand tightens on his balls.

You oblige him anyways, knowing you need this just as badly as he does at this point. You take the middle finger of your dominant hand and run it up and down your slit, lips parting easily since you’re already so wet. You’ve probably been wet since you noticed he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring earlier. Maybe the rumors about Connie leaving the country were true, maybe his marriage is actually over. So if that’s his excuse for being a horny pervert, what was yours?

You tease your finger over your hole, spreading your legs wider so he can see every slick movement you make. You drag your wetness up to your clit and part your folds with your other hand, drawing smooth circles around your sensitive bud. 

“You’d better hurry up, you disgusting deviant, because I’m leaving the second I come,” you command.

You don’t bother to wait for him to look you in the eye to measure your sincerity, you just increase the pace and pressure of your finger and throw your head back, moaning in ecstasy. You can hear him speed up his movements, can hear the sound of skin on skin schlocking quicker as he chases his release. Last time didn’t take long. Last time you got a few circles over your clit and he was coming all over his pale-yellow dress shirt. Last time you had to finish yourself at home, reduced to fantasizing about his cock while you cried out alone in your bed.

The thought has you changing course. Maybe you can actually come this time, if not before him at least the sound of his grunting orgasm could push you over the edge. It won’t be too much, right? He’s gonna get off - again - so why shouldn't you? You drag your fingers back to your hole, leaking wetness down your thighs. He makes a sharp intake of breath. Your head is still thrown back but he’s clearly watching you. You slowly insert two fingers, coating them with your wetness and then pumping them faster in and out.

The sounds of your fingers squelching in and out of your wet hole fill the room now, drowning out his pistoning hand and huffing breaths. It’s probably why you don’t hear him get off the couch, don’t hear him walk to the desk, don't hear him panting right in front of you. You don’t even know he’s there until the heat of his left hand is spanning across the inside of your thigh, halfway between your knee and your core.

You lift your head quickly, a sharp intake of breath instead of a scream, and see his nearly-black eyes watching your faltering hand with rapt attention.

“Can you fit a third?” he rasped. “I bet you can.” Your pussy clenches around your fingers.

You know a snappy quip wouldn’t go amiss but for some reason - with the heat of his hand matching the heat of his gaze - you can’t seem to get one past your lips. You drag your fingers out slowly and line up a third with the other two, already soaked and dripping. Steadily, you insert them back in your greedy hole as he squeezes your thigh - his massive grip taking up an obscene amount of real estate on your leg - and brings himself so close that you can feel his moving knuckles wafting cool air over your wet lips.

His dick is so fucking close. It would be so easy for him to just fucking stick it inside you. But he’s married. That’s what he’d made sure to say the first time… and the second. I’m married, as if it meant anything to you. Just help me out, he’d begged, and you were more than willing. Just a married guy needing a pretty, eager girl to look at. You’d been dreaming about Steve Murphy’s dick since he wore a tight pair of jeans his second week here, and you got a glimpse of the massive bulge he had hidden in them. Well, it was hard to hide, and now you know why.

But then you remember - eyes darting to his left hand, still hot on your skin - he’s not wearing his wedding ring. 

“You ever fuck a woman with that cock, Murphy? Or just your hand?”

The sound that comes out of his mouth can only be described as a whimper. He moves his hand up your thigh, closer to where you want it, and squeezes your flesh again. His fist is making practiced moves over his length, starting mid-shaft where his girth widens and pushing up over his crown with fluttering fingers. He’s giving himself pressure on the underside where he’s most sensitive, then gathering the constant stream spilling down his cockhead and over his knuckles, and spreading it out on his downstroke. You feel him press in closer, so close, his eyes not wavering from your fingers plunging in and out of your sopping hole. 

Then, it happens.

He’s moved so close that his knuckles graze along your spread lips, hitting right at your clit - four in a row - like the brief kiss of a vibrator. You almost scream. And Murphy notices. Oh, does he notice. Your movements have come to a halt, as have his, and you both wait to see what the other does next. A sly grin settles across his face.

“I thought you were in a hurry?” He taunts.

He pushes his left hand down into your thigh - spreading you open to your limit - and takes his right hand off his dick. He grabs your hand by the wrist, pulling your fingers out of you with a wet, suctioning noise. You watch him put your hand onto his dick, covering it with his much larger hand, and spread your own shocking wetness down and back up his shaft. He lets your hand go but before it can resume its place inside you, he’s closed the gap, pushing his pelvis forward, bouncing his cock against your hooded clit, causing you to twitch at the sensation. 

“You’d better hurry up and come, honey, before Javi comes back to see you spread eagle like this.”

“Fuck you,” you manage to choke, hating how he thinks he has the upper hand now.

He stops tapping his rounded head on your sensitive bud and instead rubs himself left to right, the change in movement hitting you like a lightning bolt. 

“You’d better come before I do, naughty girl,” he continues to tease, echoing your earlier demand.

“So give it to me,” you answer, echoing his. 

He pushes forward, cock held tightly in his fist, and fits his wide head into your hole, making you gasp. You brace for the rest of it - the stretch, the sting - but it never comes. You wiggle your hips, even tilt your pelvis towards him the little bit you can from your position on the desk, and all you feel is his fist hitting your sticky lips.

“Murphy.”

His stupid fucking grin. Hmmmm? He’s watching you struggle.

“Quit playing around,” you whine.

“Quit playin’ around,” he repeats. He lifts his dick upwards, popping it out of its shallow entry, then slowly lines it back up, bumping around clumsily - on purpose - before putting just the tip back inside you.

“Fuck you, Murphy,” you hiss.

“Fuck me?” He repeats the motion of popping himself out, poking around, and then giving you just a fraction of what you know he could be giving you.

“Fuck me, Murphy, fuck me.” You throw your head back as he goes through the motions a third time. “Please, Murphy. Please fuck me.”

He lines himself up again at your weeping hole, but this time you feel both of his hands grabbing at the meat of your hips. He pulls you down onto him and pushes himself up into you in equal measure, slowly but steadily filling you up. You hear him groaning, hear yourself whining, high-pitched and strung-out. You feel the sting, you feel the stretch, you feel the weight of him pressing into you until his pelvis bumps yours. You’re both watching where he’s disappeared into you, the silence stretching on.

“You ready for this big fuckin’ cock, honey?”

“I’ve had bigger,” you lie.

He pulls back quickly and slams forward into you, rocking the desk you lie on, and knocking over a cup of pencils. You both ignore them clattering onto the floor as he pounds into you relentlessly. The wet smacking noise of your bodies clapping together, the huffing groans coming out of both your mouths, the smell of sweat and sex and coffee. He fills you up so perfectly, hitting every place deep inside you that you never even knew existed. It’s so much better than it was in your fantasies. You reach down to touch your clit and this time it’s you that comes after only a few circles around it.

You can’t fucking help yourself. His bloody knuckles turned white with their tight grip at your hips, his furrowed brow and utter concentration - pupils blown large - staring at himself fucking your cunt, his grunts of pleasure as he finally finally gives you his fat fucking cock. You cry out his name, feeling yourself clench around his length, flooding him with your release, hearing the sounds change from lewd to obscene. And you watch his face go from focused to downright pained. 

He pulls himself out of you with a snarl and pumps his cock overtop you - coming immediately - white ropes covering your belly. He groans through it, continuing to cover you with a surprising amount, then leans over you and with his cock in hand, rubbing it into your skin with his dick. He rubs his cock back and forth, pumping it lazily, rubbing his sensitive head against your sticky skin and continuing to shudder from the overstimulation. Once he’s squeezed the last of his climax out, he steps back and tucks his dick away into his pants.

---

“Sorry again,” he mumbles, running his hand through his hair as you redress on shaky legs. “I really oughta stop doin’ this shit at work. It’s inappropriate, like you said.”

“Uh huhhh,” you answer, unconvinced. 

You wish you had it in you to continue this little charade but you’ve just orgasmed all over someone’s desk and your cock-drunk little mind is having difficulty making sense of anything right now. You reach down to slip on a shoe and although you were bracing yourself on the desk, you still begin to tip over. Murphy catches you with a gentle but firm grip, his huge hand curling around your arm and settling you upright. His hand remains holding you, the heat of it burning you through your blouse.

“Maybe next time we can just go to my place,” he purrs, meeting your surprised look with a wink.

.

(other stories in the Mutual Universe if you're interested - the prequel to Mutual is The First Taste, & there's also Saturday Steve for some Solo Steve Murphy action)

.

Boyd Tax: handsssss

[possexed]

𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐲

━━━━━━ ━━━━━━

content warning : somnophilia, markings/love bites, afab reader, cockwarming, orgasm denial, somewhat dom/sub, established relationships, consent off screen, porn no plot.

synopsis : who doesn’t want to be woken up being dicked down? because I sure do. not really somno cuz half of it you’re awake but still 🤷‍♀️

but, here’s your one kinktober post lmfao. 18+ ofc, but I’m not responsible if you’re not and you read it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you opened your eyes droopily, you had felt quick and quiet but stimulating sensations around your body which had caused you to wake up from your dreamless sleep.

you felt a weird but familiar feeling in your lower body and as the dark spots from your vision cleared it appeared to you that the familiar feeling was the feeling of feeling so full.

you felt a weird but familiar feeling in your lower body and as the dark spots from your vision cleared it appeared to you that the familiar feeling was the feeling of feeling so full.

what was memorable the most was how toby was holding your waist from behind, he was cockwarming you as you slept. his other hand was tweaking with your nipple which caused you to whimper at all the sensations coming down all at once from your slowly functioning body.

“I-i’m sorry, I couldn’t- couldn’t resist my u-urges,” toby started, noticing your awakening.

“I-i’m sorry, I couldn’t- couldn’t resist my u-urges,” toby started, noticing your awakening.

“-but you did give m-me permission, ‘m just using i-it. you f-feel- feel s’good.”

you were about to reply but he bucked up instinctively, a yelp leaving your mouth instead.

“it’s okay baby,” you yawned, your hand slowly moving to your stomach to feel just how full you were.

toby’s mouth moved to your neck, sucking and biting the skin leaving purple marks that were sure to show through the following morning.

mewling in response, you wiggled in his lap to indulge more in the euphoric feelings you felt in this moment.

still sucking on all of your exposed flesh from your tanktop that had been pulled down, toby started to thrust into you softly.

all you could hear in the room was the sound of skin slapping skin and the lewdly wet sound of toby sucking on your skin.

you were so tired, of course, but it felt so good. and when toby had hit that one spot you clamped down on him, tears forming in your eyes.

toby was groaning into your skin, as if he couldn’t get enough of how you tasted and how good you felt on him.

“t-toby,” you cried, the feelings becoming all too much as the knot just kept tightening in your stomach. all you wanted in this moment was the sweet feeling of release, the cherry on top to the perfect way of being woken up.

just as you were going to let go, toby had stopped moving.

“mnfh, why’d you stop?” you whined softly, moving your head to look at him and get him to stop the assault on your neck.

“because this i-isn’t the way- way I want to finish off.” he stated, removing himself from you.

“what?” you questioned, now turning your body to look at him. “what do you mean?”

he towered over you pushing you flat onto the bed, taking your legs and putting them over his shoulders. “I didn’t want to- to finish like t-that.”

he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to him, lining his cock up to your warm and welcoming hole and pushing in.

the feeling of being full reappearing back instantly shushed you, it was like you were molded just for him, that you were made for eachother.

toby only wasted a fraction of a second before continuously thrusting into you, pulling your body towards his hips.

the room felt so sinful. the downright lewd sound of skin against skin and the smell of sex could be seen and heard from a mile away but all you— all you and toby could think about was how good it all felt.

how your gummy walls felt so soft but so good when he dragged his cock against it, the walls clamping down on him just right and fitting him inside of you.

or how his cock was filling you just right, hitting that one spot over and over so deeply that you could be turned into mush if you were pushed over ever so slightly more.

toby’s thrusts became sloppier, messier, your juices combined leaking onto the bed and making it messier than it had been before. had anyone walked in on you, they would’ve passed out then and there.

“I-I’m not holding on any- any longer,” he warned you, his pace becoming even faster as he chased his own release, “d-don’t blame me I-if something happens- happens.”

all you could do was whine, the only thing prominent things on your mind were toby filling you so well, how each drag of his hips was able to bring out a high pitched moan or how you so desperately wanted your own release.

you weakly moved one of your hands to your clit, rubbing circles in order to loosen the knot in your stomach that was so tight and holding you back from release.

“g-go on, show me just just how good I-I make you feel,” was a sentence from toby that immediately drew out a long moan from you, your back arching even more than it had previously and you clamped down on him, your juices covering the both of you and the sheets below you.

it wasn’t too long before toby himself followed along, how could he not? with the most angelic sounds coming from your mouth he wouldn’t be sure if he’d be even more crazy not cumming from that.

he rode out his high inside of you, only stopping to pull out once he was finished and layed beside you.

you put your head on his chest and an arm around his figure, trying to listen to a heartbeat that you weren’t even sure was there.

he hugged you back, one of his hands on your waist and the other in your hair, and decided from there that after you woke up that he could take care of this mess then.

[alexblakeisgay]

Cope With Me

Ship: Emily Prentiss/Derek Morgan

Summary: A rewrite of my long-ago fic: Healing. Post Retaliation. In the aftermath of the case, all Derek wants is to take care of her. All Emily wants is to feel something.

Word Count: 3143

Author's Note: This fills the Bruises square on my @cmkinkbingo2024 card.

Now that the case was over and the adrenaline was wearing off, the pain of her injuries was really starting to hit her. Derek had spent the entire case at her side, to the point that it was really starting to piss her off (as was their love language). It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to see her vulnerable – as weak – so much as it was everyone else...and now that they were alone, she no longer had the energy to resist him, so she let him support her as she hobbled towards their hotel room.

Once he kicked the door shut behind them and they were closed off from the rest of the world, he swept her into his arms, holding her tight to his chest for so long that she wasn’t sure he was ever going to let go. (Normally, she might not have indulged him so completely, but she had a feeling he needed it. And, though she’d probably never admit it, she needed it too.)

At length, he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed, setting her down gently so as not to cause her more pain that she was already experiencing. Then, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, saying far more without words than anyone should be able; it was a skill they’d perfected over the years, the wordless conversation.

“Did the doctor give you any painkillers?” he asked, crossing the room to dig in her go bag for her pyjamas.

“I wish,” she said dryly, propping herself up on her elbows, “He said over-the-counter Ibuprofen should be fine. I have some in the...”

“In the mini-pharmacy you carry with you,” he finished for her, “Be prepared or whatever the Girl Scouts say.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hey, I’m a mom,” she said with a shrug.

“A damn good one,” he said, returning to her side and kissing her quickly, then tipped two pills into her palm, waited for her to pop them in her mouth, then passed her a bottle of water. “Do you want to get undressed and go to sleep?”

She shook her head. “No, I need a shower – I feel gross.” A beat. “But first...” She paused, tongue flicking out over her lip. “Could you...just...hold me for a bit?” She stared up at him almost pleadingly, as if he could ever deny her anything.

Normally, he might’ve made a joke, but he could tell she was feeling raw and vulnerable after the day’s events, so he held it back and climbed onto the bed next to her, pulling her into his side. He’d lost track of how many times they’d done this dance over the past three years, how many times they’d held each other during their most vulnerable moments, times they might normally have pushed everyone away for fear of seeming weak, instead letting each other in and finding a safe space in their arms.

He kissed her temple softly. “I was really worried about you,” he whispered, feeling reassured just to have her in his arms.

Her reply was muffled by his chest, but the words didn’t really matter. She was just grateful for the human contact, the feeling of his protective embrace and the sound of his heart beating softly. It was a sound that grounded her, that made her feel safe...it had from that first moment she’d rested her head on his chest years ago and had known that she was falling too hard, too fast, in a way she never had before. The accident had shaken her up far more than she cared to admit – in those moments as the car was rolling, she’d realized how very close she came to losing everything, how close she came to leaving their daughter without a mother.

Feeling her grip on the back of his shirt tighten, he kissed her temple again, murmuring against her skin, “You okay?”

“I just...” She trailed off, shaking her head. She didn’t know how to continue, why she felt this inexplicable urge to cry. For his part, he didn’t say anything when he felt her tears soaking the fabric of his shirt, he just held her tighter, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear as she cried.

She spent so much of her life trying to prevent people from seeing her as anything other than completely composed and confident, but he’d changed that. He’d broken down her defences and the walls she’d built up over the years to keep people out and, as surprising as it was, she found she didn’t really mind... She loved him and trusted him enough to let him see the real her. She let herself run into his arms when she needed comfort and warmth.

When her tears started to subside, she sniffled, pulled back from his chest to wipe away her tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling guilty without really knowing why.

He cupped her tear-stained face in his hands and gently wiped away the tears with his thumbs. Staring into her eyes – and still finding them breathtakingly beautiful, even as they shone with tears – he saw the fear and pain glinting there and he felt his heart break just a little all over again. “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. Let’s get you in the shower so you can get a good night’s rest,” he suggested.

She nodded, smiled faintly, grateful for the change of subject, though she didn’t say as much. When she attempted to stand from the bed, though, she winced, groaned, and fell back slightly. Instantly, he was at her side, helping her to stand. Reluctant though she was to admit it, she mumbled, “I can’t do it alone...”

Unable to resist teasing her just a little, he said, “Are you asking me to get wet and naked with you?”

She rolled her eyes, but barked out a laugh all the same. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You love it,” he retorted as he helped her limp to the bathroom. She settled on the edge of the bathtub and he proceeded to ease her shirt over her head and tossed it aside, but before he could unbutton her pants, she cupped his face in her hands, pulling him closer to her so their lips could meet in a tender kiss. He indulged her a moment or two, then pulled away, eliciting a little whine of disappointment form her. “I love you,” he told her in a quiet murmur to ease the sting.

His touch was soft and gentle, almost timidly so, as if afraid she would break were he too rough. At the same time, though, the careful way he undressed her was tender and affectionate in a way that only he could manage, a way that showed no matter how much he might want her, he would keep this chaste out of concern for her injuries.

The part of her that, in the aftermath of the accident, longed for human contact, to feel close to him, almost wished that he weren’t such a gentleman; the way he loved her always left her feeling loved and needed.

As he eased off her bra, she could feel his gaze wander across her skin – and not in the way he usually looked at her: full of lust, barely able to contain himself – and it took her a few moments to realize why... Her skin was mottled purple with slowly forming bruises; the diagonal line across her body from the seatbelt was going to pain her black and blue for weeks, that much was already apparent.

“Baby...” he murmured, then dropped a kiss to her shoulder. Then another lower down. Another lower still.

As chaste and sweet as his kisses were, they sent a shiver down her spine and her head lolled back a little as her breath hitched. If he didn’t stop kissing her like that, she was going to really want him in the shower and she knew it wouldn’t come without additional pain. “Get undressed,” she commanded once she’d managed to marshal her concentration enough to form speech.

“Wh-what?” he stammered, clearly taken aback by the command.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt. “If you’re going to help me shower, you’re going to need to be naked...” she pointed out. And, if she let her eyes wander as he tugged off his pants and boxer-briefs in one motion, well...she didn’t think anyone could fault her for that. (Afterall, the Bureau rumour mill – which wasn’t particularly known for its factual accuracy – had managed to get one thing right when it came to the size of his cock...)

Once they were both standing under the spray of warm water, Emily let out a little contented sigh as the water massaged out the knots that had tangled themselves into her muscles over the events of the day. She buried her face in Derek’s chest and he held her close, letting the water wash over them and wash away the fear and pain of it all.

At length, he gently turned her so that her back was against his chest and he proceeded to wash her hair for her, massaging shampoo through her hair, massaging her scalp as he did so. “Did I ever tell you that you have very talented hands?” she whispered, eyes falling shut as he languished in the feel of his fingers on her scalp.

“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble if you keep talking like that, Em,” he said with a laugh.

“I’m okay with that,” she replied, a mischievous smile crossing her lips. The way he was so lovingly taking care of her and the feel of his body pressed against hers made her willing to forget the pain in favour of a little more intimacy.

He almost laughed, thinking her joking, glad to see that her sense of humour remained intact. But, when she turned and looked into his eyes, he saw no hint of levity and quickly realized that she was completely serious. “Baby,” he said gently, trying to find the right words to soften the blow, “You know that’s not a good idea...”

Her face fell a little, a quick flash of sadness in her eyes, though she tried hard to hide it. Immediately, he felt bad, even though he knew he wasn’t wrong.

He remembered the time he’d been knocked unconscious by Foyet when he’d pushed him through the plate-glass window; he remembered the following night, wanting nothing more than to not feel so alone, to replace the horror and depravity with the warmth and closeness of being loved by someone he cared about.

“I don’t want to hurt you...” he whispered, hoping she’d understand that he was only refusing because he cared about her, rather than any lack of enthusiasm.

“You won’t,” she was quick to insist in reply.

He liked the fact that she trusted him enough to believe that he would never do anything to hurt her. “Baby,” he whispered again, kissing her gently, “I don’t want to take a chance. I don’t want to see you in pain again.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but didn’t get a chance to say anything because his lips found hers in that moment, kissing her deeply. He indulged her for several long moments before he eased out of the kiss, grinning to himself when she huffed petulantly. He could tell that he wasn’t going to win this one (not that he won all that much to begin with, to be quite honest), so with a sigh of concession, he said, “You have to promise you’ll tell me if I hurt you even a little.”

She nodded, quick to agree, though she had absolutely no intention of stopping once they got started. She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

He moved to once again kiss the path of her bruises down her shoulder, between her breasts, across her belly until he was on his knees before her. He pressed a soft kiss to her clit and she gasped, her hand finding the back of his head.

He worked his tongue through her folds with delicate precision, having done this more than enough times to know exactly what it was Emily liked. He dipped his tongue inside her, tasting her juices, before once again renewing his efforts to make her see stars.

He could tell that he was effecting her by the way her nails slowly started digging into his scalp, the way her breathing became quick and ragged, the way she had to brace herself against the wall to keep herself upright. That’s when his tongue found her clit...

“Derek!” she gasped, “Derek, I want...”

He chuckled. “What do you want, Princess?” he asked, as if he really had no idea.

“More,” she said breathlessly, “I want your cock...”

“What my Princess wants, she gets,” he said, pausing to drop kisses along her hips where the lapbelt had left its imprint. Then, he stood, found her lips once again, swallowing her moan as he guided himself into her in one smooth motion.

He paused then, giving her a moment to adjust to the intrusion, resting his forehead against hers. “You alright?” she murmured, kissing him softly.

“I should be asking you that...”

Rather than answer that directly, she grabbed his ass, pulling him closer so he was forced deeper inside her and she let out a little moan. He knew then that he wasn’t going to last long if she kept going this way...and he knew her well enough to know that she absolutely would.

As he began to move, he did his best to be gentle, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on her hips where the lapbelt had lacerated. It took tremendous effort on his part to maintain his cautious pace, the feel of her throbbing around his cock making him want to lose all control.

Her arm wrapped around his neck anchored her as he thrust into her and it was all she could to do keep kissing him in silent encouragement. She arched against him, taking him deeper, wanting – needing – to feel more of him. She hummed in pleasure as he brushed the sweet spot inside her, all thoughts of her pain slipping away.

His fingers were delicate, tracing along her bruises, but she didn’t want delicate... She grabbed his hand, guiding it to her breast, cupping it with his palm and hoping he’d get the message. He quickly took over, rolling her pebbled nipple between his fingers and repeating the motion to coax each and every delicious sound from her lips.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

She opened her eyes, following his gaze, watching his hand slide down her water-slicked skin, gently caressing the cuts, bruises, and abrasions on her ivory skin until his hand reached her clit. She watched for a moment as he toyed with the sensitive bud, then shut her eyes again, the sight of him moving within her and his hand touching her was too much; she didn’t want to come undone so quickly.

“Look at me,” he commanded a second time.

This time, when she opened her eyes, it was to meet his gaze and, in that moment, it all became too much and she felt her orgasm flooding through her. She cried out as she came, feeling his thrusts slow as he languished in the feel of her cunt spasming around his cock.

When she came down from her high, she found his lips again, murmuring into the kiss, “Come with me this time.” She took it to mean agreement when he began to trail open-mouthed kisses down her throat, knowing that never failed to drive her wild.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his thrusts a little more wild, less controlled. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer...how could he when she was so wet and so tight around him?

“Derek...right there,” she moaned as he hit just the right spot, making her see stars. She was making it very difficult for him to keep things slow and tender the way he’d intended. She was eager, moving against him, matching each thrust so their hips bumped into each others’ sharply.

He fought an internal battle between wanting to be gentle as he’d planned and wanting to take her hard and fast, railing into her over and over until she forgot her own name.

“Baby...” she panted, “Baby, harder...”

He groaned aloud at her request. The last thing he needed was her egging him on like that, knowing he should be gentle with her after the events of the past twenty-four hours. Knowing that he’d hate himself if he caused her any more pain than she was already experiencing.

“Can’t do that,” he murmured between kisses. He tenderly stroked her cheek, looking deep into her eyes, needing her to see that he wasn’t refusing for any lack of desire. “Don’t make me do that, Em. I can’t hurt you. Don’t make me regret this...”

“Please,” she begged. “I can handle the pain. I want the pain...” He raised an eyebrow at that, but she was desperate and willing to beg. “Please...I need this.”

She was doing a good job of breaking down his best intentions – he wanted to give in to her, really, he did...and the way she was clamping down on his dick only made it that much harder to resist. Almost apologetically, he said, “I can’t give you what you want tonight.” He lifted a finger to her lips when she whimpered. “Shh. I promise you this will be good.”

She sighed in defeat, knowing that he was only resisting because he cared so much about her. He hadn’t even wanted to do this in the first place, only relenting because she begged him and because she’d promised they’d take things slowly and avoid the roughness that they weren’t altogether unfamiliar with.

“Emily...” he murmured, kissing his way back up her neck to her ear before finally meeting her lips once again. “So close...” he husked against her lips, thrusts growing erratic, his moans ragged. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “Come with me, Baby,” he urged, his eyes boring into hers, watching the way they seemed to glaze over with passion.

The sensation was too much for her: the feel of his lips showering kisses on her flushed skin, his trigger-calloused finger rubbing sharply on her clit, his cock hitting all the right spots inside her... With a final breathy shudder, she reached her climax once again and he hungrily drank in the sight – the way her lips parted, her skin flushing, her entire body trembling as she arched against him. She’d never looked more beautiful to him than she did in that moment, bruises and all.

[kauenelikha]

Dazai Birthday Week

The world did not want to let me finish this today aah but it's here!!! This is my 2nd and last entry for @dazaibirthdayweek2024 I had a ton of fun with both of them. They'll be cleaned up and posted to my ao3 some time soon.

Prompts: Romance + Birthday

Pairing: Skk

Warnings: None! Just tooth rotting fluff

Enjoy!!!!

Low humming melodies and lulling yellow lights weren't ever things he'd have considered home. 

There never was home but now it’s multiple places, nestling into his heart and taking more space than he can begin to make. Awe fills his head everyday at this life he’s been given, this life he’s made with his own two hands. This life he gets to hold on to.

Chuuya is warm and solid in his embrace, face buried in his chest as Dazai’s is in his hair. Cool wind blows through their windows. It rained somewhere in the city, blessing them with peaceful weather.

They’re supposed to be dancing, though it’s more swaying in place and basking in the other’s presence. There’s music, that counts. 

In the end, the soft light and gentle breeze don’t ask more of them, content in their contentment.

He eyes their coats both hung up on the hooks by the door. It’s all they shed before gravitating to each other, relaxing after a long day of work in their apartment. The thought still has him giddy months later.

The last of the music fades until it’s just him and his Chibi, arms around each other, swaying in the middle of the room.

Dazai doesn’t mind. Not one bit.

Chuuya nuzzles into his chest, ear resting over his heart. Dazai can only stare at the slope of his nose, the lashes of his eyes, his beautiful beautiful hair. 

They don’t speak for a while.

“Dazai?” Chuuya says, low and rumbling.

“Hmm?”

“I have something to tell you.”

He looks up at him, grin bright and cheeks flushed. Dazai didn’t see him drink any wine, the unopened bottle for the night stands on the kitchen counter where his partner left it.

He looks adorable. Dazai resists the urge to leave a peck on his nose, forehead, cheeks.

Instead he smiles a soft smile back. “And what might that be?”

Eyes wide and sparkling, he says with reverence, “I’m happy.”

Dazai stops.

Chuuya pulls back a little, hands still on his waist. “I’m so fuckin’ happy it aches, Dazai. God, it’s good, I feel good. I feel great.” He laughs a little and hugs Dazai again.

Dazai has stopped.

Happy?

His Chibi is happy? With him?

He brings his right hand to Chuuya’s cheek, cupping it and lifting his face back up. Chuuya’s features have blurred for some reason.

“Chuuya is happy? he asks.

“Yes.”

And maybe for the first time in his life, he says with childish ease and truly means it.

“I’m happy too.”

Then he’s bending down to capture Chuuya’s lips in a kiss. Chuuya’s arms come up to wrap around his neck as Dazai’s other arm wraps around his waist.

It’s short and sweet and sends his brain into overdrive. They pull away only to rest their foreheads together.

“I’m happy, Chibi.” Dazai’s voice wavers because there’s tears in his eyes, spilling over. He gives a small laugh, eyes crinkling in a smile. “I’m happy.”

Chuuya kisses the tears away as they come, murmuring gentle nothings while petting his hair. 

Once he’s calmed down, Chuuya untangles them until only their fingers are interlaced, pulling him towards the inside of the house.

“Come on. We can watch that new movie to celebrate. But we bathe first.”

“Okay,” Dazai agrees. 

As he starts to walk, Dazai pulls him back, holding his face and kissing him again. Chuuya melts into it with a sigh. 

When they part, Chuuya steps out of Dazai’s range. At his pout he says, “Lemme get the wine, it’s definitely a good night for it. Then we can have some fun later.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Dazai snorts.

God he’s so fucking happy.

[anincompletelist]

5 fics under 500 tag! :D

OKAY here we go - thank you to @happiness-of-the-pursuit for creating such a lovely idea and way to share the love! thank you to @inexplicablymine for tagging me to do the challenge, and thank you to @kiwiana-writes and @read-and-write- for including me in your recs! I appreciate ALL of you guys so much and I hope you're doing well! <3

as for the fics --

I've carried this song in my mind | @kiwiana-writes | T+ | 2k

Henry lays eyes on Alex Claremont-Diaz for the first time in Rio, and it sends such a shockwave of longing and terror into the universe that Arthur feels it.

Or, five times Arthur tries to get Alex and Henry together from beyond the grave, and one time two times his intervention isn’t needed.

--

Henry Fox, All-American Hero | @tintagel-or-cockleshells | T+ | 6k

Henry Fox, normal grad student enjoying the American life, indirectly foils an attempt on the President's life. Naturally, the world falls in love with him. Naturally, Henry wants things to go back to normal. And they will after this medal-and-dinner deal, right? Where the President's extremely hot son is hitting on him?

--

(I know I've already recc'd this next one but I can't NOT include it)

the rubble or our sins | weather_stained | E | 14k

As the Emperor's grandson, Henry despises the gladiator games and resents being forced to attend them — that is, until he sees Alexander fight. 

It's a romance doomed from the very beginning, as Henry's family is already pressuring him into joining the army and finding a wife, but he falls hard for Alex nonetheless. Will Henry find a way to be with him, or will he spend the rest of his life looking back on their time together?

--

covered in you | @hypnostheory | E | 10k | part of this series

Alex blinks at him, tilting his head to the side. Sometimes Alex looks at him like he’s trying to figure out some strange riddle. “Can I ask you a personal question?” Henry switches to the other boot, nodding for Alex to continue. “Do you have a thing for leather?”

Henry blinks. “Erm, no?” He finishes working the leather conditioner in, letting it set. He wipes his hands off on his microfiber cloth, resisting the urge to smell the clean pine tar of the conditioner before he does. “I mean, doesn’t everyone like how leather smells?”

Alex stares at him for a few painful seconds. “Do you just like how it smells?”

--

never be so polite (you forget your power) | Standinginmoonlight | M | 6k

The one where Arthur Fox leaves letters for his children.

--

(and another because I couldn't narrow them down)

I'd hold you as the water rushes in | anonymous | M | 11k

“—lex. Alex.”

Fuck. Where had his mind gone? Alex snaps his eyes to Henry’s, forcing his attention back from where it had drifted. “I’m listening, I’m listening. What were you saying?”

Anyone else would probably be offended, or would just laugh at the clearly conflicting statements that had flown thoughtlessly out of his mouth. Instead, Henry’s brow crinkles, lips downturning as he scans Alex’s face. “Are you alright? You’ve been acting strange all night.”

Those blue eyes are much easier to deal with through FaceTime. Alex has to look away from them, less he caves and spills everything to Henry. He pastes a smile on, “Fantastic, Your Highness. All this bubbly is going to my head, the sugar’ll get me in the morning.”

-

Or, Alex drops on New Year's Eve

+

that's all for now! I was really surprised to find only a few fics with under 500 kudos in my bookmarks (which all deserve SO much more love) but I've saved all of the 5 under 500 posts I've seen floating around and I'm looking forward to reading them and hopefully collecting some more!

happy reading, and remember to be kind! :D

-- anincompletelist / sarah

[bobateaboo]

saw this post by @feralmoonlight and it gave me a bunch of inspiration!! I'm also posting it here on ao3 if you'd rather look at it there! Enjoy!!

It had taken an embarrassingly long time to realize that your new roommate wasn’t human.

Like, ok, how freakishly tall and thin he was and with the amount he covered up, you’d think it’d be obvious, but when you’d asked he’d explained he had a few genetic conditions and wasn’t exactly comfortable going more in depth about them. And what kind of asshole roommate would push him on that??

It did mean, though, that last night you had strolled into his room to ask if he wanted to do a movie night, to find him hunched up over his own arm, muttering, exposed wires and circuitboards visible through a panel of removed metal, making him twitch in what looked like pain as he sautered a broken wire back together.

You had left before he had seen you.

Which may have been a mistake because now you’re really not sure how to bring it up.

I mean, how do you start that conversation?? “Hey, I saw you broke your arm and not in the normal way”? “Hey I keep finding loose screws in the living room and I think you need them”? “I kind of know how to fix a stalled engine if you need help”???

You sighed, gently bonking your forehead to the countertop. You had finished the dishes an hour ago, but you were still here in the kitchen, having an internal debate as rain battered against the windows.

Do you handle it like you do when you know someone’s gay?? Can you safely “Not to say you’re a robot but I would still care about and love you the same if you were” without giving yourself away??

By that analogy, maybe it was better to let him come out on his own terms probably? But oh no, what if he’s doing something super uncomfortable to hide because he thinks you’ll be mad at him?

You groan, sliding back across the cupboards. You were never made to make adult descisions. At least the thunder was comforting. You’d be lucky if the power didn’t go out.

“Um, Sunshine? I can’t help but notice you’ve been in here for a while, are you feeling ok…?”

You resist the urge to climb into the cabinet under the sink at the sound of Sun’s voice, instead dragging one hand over your face and giving an exhausted thumbs up. “Mhmmmmmmnnnn”

In hindsight, with Sun’s mama bird tendencies, it probably would have been smarter to go for the cabinet. In less time than would be possible in anything other than his long strides, Sun was in front of you, lifting you up by the armpits to set you on your feet, checking your forehead.

“Oh dear! Do you have a headache? Fever? Migraine? Do you need me to make you soup??”

“Sun- Sun, I’m Fine-” you bat at his hands as he tries to check your face over like you’re an injured little kid or something. “Seriously, I-”

The lights flicker.

Underneath his hood and the scarf wrapped around his head, you can see Sun’s eyes shrink to pinpricks. 

All of a sudden he’s gone from filling your sphere of vision to stumbling back as if he’d been burnt, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.

“Sun? What-”

Thunder crashed.

And the lights went out.

With the dim streetlights filtering through the windows, there logically had to have been enough light to see by, if not just barely. But in that moment your senses were swarmed by the clang of metal on metal as Sun backed into the trash can, the clunking of gears, and most of all the scream that pierced through the air as Sun clutched his face as if it was scalding him, lowering in pitch and dying out as you stepped back, red light filling your vision.

And zeroing in on you.

“Hidey… Hide Away…..”

Layers of fabric you’d never seen Sun without were pulled free, dropping to the floor like discarded toys. You could barely make out the silhouette, but it was too thin. Almost skeletal, if you ignored the blatant space in the torso where ribs would not have covered. You could hear the cricking as whatever was in Sun’s place moved its fingers, almost experimentally. Red irises focused in on you, like a camera lens focusing.

And then they were closer.

You yelped, tumbling back. The thing bending at odd angles to crouch around you, encompassing you, one hand on the ground above your head, the other held closer to his chest with metallic claws clinting in the dim light.

“It’s past your bedtime…”

The free hand was starting to reach for you. You were panicking. This thing was Sun, or at least it was in Sun’s place. What would get through to Sun??

“Myheadhurts!!!”

The thing paused.

A metallic crik crik crik filled the air as it flexed its fingers, otherwise frozen in place, head spinning around like a dinner plate.

“M-my head hurts. I don’t feel well.” you spoke more slowly this time, a shake plaguing your voice. “I-I need to get rest.”

And suddenly you were up, much higher off the ground than you’d prefer to be, held in the arms of Not-Sun as it whisked to your room, swiftly tucking you in so tight you could barely move.

It chuckled as it left your room, scuttling backwards like some sort of demented spider.

“Nighty Night….”

….

…You weren’t going to get any sleep tonight.

[ivygrowingsideways]

20 and 29?

20. What’s a favorite title for a fic you’ve written?

probably “take me out of the wild”. i always use song lyrics for titles because i can never come up with them on my own, and sometimes i just pick a line that Feels Right, even if the song (or the line) isn’t actually relevant to the fic. but in this case the line is from Basia Bulat’s song Wires, which is one of the songs on my Thorn/Ophelia playlist and is - IMO - one of the most fitting songs on there. i also like the implication of the verso dimension as “the wild”, because there is the implication that when people are stuck there, they revert to their most basic instincts or habits.

alternatively, “your love’s a bunny snare”. the sound of that song (Glen Hansard’s You Be Me, I’ll Be You) is perfect mood music for the fic, and i love the phrase bunny snare. it’s my cellar door.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post.

im not sure this is the strongest piece of this fic but it is the most succinct. i still love the idea, but my IT brainrot has really left me and i have a hard time imagining finishing it… so this is from the IT Pushing Daisies AU i started ages ago. i wrote 6000 words of it and it will probably never see the light of day lol. but if you like it and want to read more, it never hurts to let me know. maybe i can turn it into a one shot instead of the longer piece i had planned.

Richie gave him the rundown, standing in his bathroom with his back to the curtain as Eddie used his shower to get the blood off. Eddie was back, his life exchanged for Bowers’, cosmic tradesies. And he would stay back, basically forever, as long as he and Richie never touched again.

“This is ridiculous. It‘s like something out of the world’s most fucked up fairytale,” Eddie said. “I’m back, but I’m not… I’m a fucking zombie. You can make zombies.”

“Please don’t use that word,” Richie said, pained.

“What word should I use, dipshit? I’m undead.”

Richie dragged a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to turn around, like seeing the shape of Eddie through the curtain would inspire him to come up with the right word for what he was. There had to be one; a word that didn’t make Richie feel like his insides were being put through a meat grinder. “Something nicer. Re-alived.”

“But I’m not alive. I’m just here. Moving and talking and shit, but there’s no…”

“Risen,” Richie suggested, his voice cracking.

“As in, He is?” Eddie asked dryly.

“As in bread,” Richie said, which was nonsense.

“How long have you been able to do this?”

“Since the deadlights,” Richie said. “When we were kids.”

There was a moment of silence. Just the sound of water hitting the fiberglass tub. Richie imagined it getting clearer, the pink swirling down the drain as the last of Eddie’s lifeblood sloughed away from his cooling body. “It did this to you.”

“I don’t know.” Richie propped his elbows on the windowsill and looked down at the parking lot. He’d need to give Eddie some warning if another Loser pulled in. Bowers’ car was still parked there, and it was a lousy parking job. He was taking up a quarter of the next spot over. “I don’t know if It did this on purpose, or if it was just a side effect. I mean, I don’t think It meant to give Bev visions of the future. Maybe fucked up things just happen to people that get caught in the deadlights.”

Eddie paused. Richie heard the squirt of the miniature shampoo bottle, almost out of shampoo. “Maybe. I kind of can’t believe you kept this from all of us. Bev told us about her visions.”

“Yeah, well, this is different. It’s goes-against-all-the-laws-of-nature fucked up. And I was hoping if I ignored it, it would just go away.”

“Seems like that worked out really well.”

“Fuck you. I never use it, Eds. I swore I wouldn’t ever do it again. I just couldn’t let you stay dead.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said, sounding strangely hollow. “I think.”

Outside, a raven landed on a streetlamp - or maybe a crow. Richie could never remember the difference. Stan would have been able to tell him.

[134340am]

sweet yuuuuuna !! ur event looks so lovely ( and the post is so PWETTIE ! ) may i request . . #9 or #11 wif tobio >~< ( no gender preference :> ) luv u lots n lots 🧸🤍 !!

kageyama tobio x gn!reader, 0.9k words, suggestive + cw razor blades  part of my 500 frens celebration!

9. forehead kisses but it’s the f/o being kissed on the forehead

“oi, stay still, tobio! or i’m gonna cut you—”

“a little hard to stay still when you have a knife near my face, babe.”

“it’s not a knife!” you huff, exasperated, and sit back on his hips. your boyfriend stares back up at you, equally pissed and equally anxious while he brings a hand up to his face to rub at his eyebrows, checking if they were still there. 

you had half a mind to lecture him about having faith in your partner when they trim your eyebrows and why this trust is essential in any relationship but you decide against it, instead focusing on wiping down your razor with the wet tissue you have in hand. 

“this one feels much shorter than the other,” tobio muttered. he casts you a suspicious look and you resist the urge to physically hiss at him.

“that’s because you wouldn’t let me finish the other one—ugh, i’m not even hurting you! i’m just trimming away all the sparse hairs, which shouldn’t hurt because it’s like a haircut for your stupid eyebrows.”

“my eyebrows aren’t stupid!”

“well, they are now, since they’re unbalanced and all.”

tobio sighs, hands falling back down to your hips. he gives them a good squeeze, a borderline grumpy pout still pulling at his lips, and you feel your exasperation fade away at how adorable he looks. it took a lot of convincing for him to even get here—lying stiffly on your bed, toes curled in apprehension while you approach him with your little blue blade.

“thanks for letting me do your brows, tobio,” you had said excitedly just five minutes ago, carefully pushing back his floppy bangs with a big fluffy headband. “i can’t wait to make you look all clean and pretty.”

“careful, or i’ll end up looking too pretty,” he snorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “you don’t like when girls stare at me, right?” 

“nah, i’m just worried that you’ll end up prettier than me.”

tobio scoffs—an airy sound that’s his version of a laugh. “not possible, babe.” 

and now, five minutes later, your boyfriend has dropped the sweet and smitten act in favour of protecting his eyebrows, and by extension his public image. damn it, you missed when tobio couldn’t care less about whether his fringe was parted in two or three sections.

“make it right.” he demands, pointing at his undone eyebrow.

you still. “say please?”

“please make it right, my love.” you turn your nose up at him, preferring to pick at your dry cuticles instead. when tobio sees your lack of response, he huffs and sits up, pulling you closer to him by the waist. “please. i’ll give you a massage. i’ll do the laundry. i’ll… i’ll even cook dinner?” he says with a wince, obviously not confident enough to make the claim, but reckoned it was worth a shot anyway. 

the thought of your lover in a frilly apron wreaking havoc on your beloved cast iron pans and ceramic claypots makes you shudder. 

“i’ll take the massage,” you offer. “since you asked so nicely.” 

you push him back down with a gentle hand to his chest, trying your best to ignore how hard the muscle feels under your fingertips. when tobio settles into the bed comfortably, you smooth back a few strands of his hair that escaped his headband, before leaning forward to kiss his forehead. just to placate him a little for being so good, you think.

when you pulled back, you were surprised to see the beginnings of a pretty blush dusting the apples of his cheeks. 

in a bid to not embarrass him further, you get to work on his right brow, gently pulling the skin taut and shaving away any sparse hairs. it took almost no time at all to get the shape neat and tidy, but even so, you could still feel tobio struggling not to squirm under you—hands gripping your hips tightly. 

“there we go, all done.” you hand him a little hand mirror. “whaddya think, baby?”

your boyfriend scrutinises his appearance, nose scrunching up as he examines his face. for a moment, you could feel your stomach flipping with hesitation, unsure of what to expect. does he like the look? can he tell if one brow is still longer than the other, though you tried your best to make both of them even?

“i look nice.” then, a cheeky smirk. “one step closer to becoming prettier than you.”

“that’s bold, coming from someone who couldn’t handle a little trim,” you laugh, sliding the plastic cap back onto your razer and climbing off your boyfriend—not that you made it far, because in a split-second flurry of motion that caught you off-guard, tobio had flipped you onto your back with your razer tossed to the floor. 

“c’mon, i did my best.” he leans in close, lips brushing yours ever so slightly—a subtle promise for more. “say, don’t you think i deserve a kiss for being so good?”  

.

.

.

“lemme do your nails next, tobio.”

“no. absolutely not. you can do whatever you want to my face, but i’d rather stick to my own nail care routine.” 

you pout, resting your head on his chest. “yeah yeah, fine. you spend more time with your glass nail file than me. i’m starting to hate you, tobio.”

“i do not. and you can’t blame me for wanting to keep my nails shaped nicely, it’s for my job,” tobio mumbles into your hair, words punctuated with a soft smooch to the top of your head that had you smiling into his soft cotton shirt. 

“besides, having neat nails means i can stick my fingers in you whenever i want.”

a/n: coco baby! gonna tag your new blog here in case you miss this : ) @tobiodose | i hope you are having a fun day out rn <3 thank you so so much for requesting! i’ve had this scenario stuck in my head for the LONGEST time, and wanted to scream about it in ur inbox but i decided to save it for ur request instead ^o^ i hope it’s to your liking! love u love u love u thank u for all the lemons u’ve given me and for all the joy u bring to me and my dash ~ 

(series masterlist) (masterlist)

[bubble7o7]

Mature Content

Over 18’s Only

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Insta…

Lounging on the sofa you scroll though your app’s while you wait for your boyfriend to finish work. Non of them particularly interesting until you scroll on to insta and your page of recommended posts pops up. It basically consists of post about BTS, Yoongi and the occasional recipe clips.

You jump as you hear a voice over your shoulder. “Why are you looking at pictures of me when I’m right here?”

“Hey, I didn’t hear you come in.” You turn to search for his kiss… he leans over and puckers his lips waiting for yours. You kiss him softly and gently lick his lip teasing him a little. “Mmmh… Hello” He whispers into your lips.

“Hello my love, have you had a good day?”

“Yeah but I’ll ask again… why are you looking at posts when I’m right here?”

“You’re here now yes but… I don’t know I just like looking at you. I like to see the slow mo videos Army loads, especially your Silver Spoon routine” you smile. “I save them for when I’m missing you”

“Let me see?” He asks

“Wait I have them in a saved folder”

“A folder! How many are there?”

“I don’t know, I just bookmark them as soon as see the ones I love”

“Why?”

“Well… if I’m feeling a little lonely or thirsty” you laugh nervously “They’re good “reading” material for me!”

“Whaaaat!” His mouth agape

“Don’t tell me you haven’t saved posts that turned you on… ever?”

“I have… they’re all of you!” He laughs

“Awww” You smile kissing his cheek as you hand him your phone.

He’s smiling as he scrolls through your saved posts.“There’s so many!” He laughs “Why this one?”

“Why have I saved you thrusting in slo motion?… Hmm let me think” you say sarcastically

“Oh Shit! Why this one?” He asks a laughing.

“It makes me laugh hard, your face is covered in red lipstick!” You explain.

“And this one?…”

“Oh you have to turn the sound on for that one. It’s you speaking in English, your voice is so deep and your wearing all black aaaaand your hair is ginger… Mmmmm Tick, Tick, Tick” You laugh ticking your imaginary checklist.

“Oh my god you’re a pervert!”

“Just for you my love”

His facial expression quickly changes and he hands your phone back to you turning away.

“I guess I wasn’t supposed to see that one”

“Eh? What one?”

You pick your phone back up and check. It’s a close up video of JK on stage. Yoongi gets up from the sofa and heads to the kitchen

“Wait!”

“No I shouldn’t have asked”

“No it’s not like that” you laugh

“It’s not like what? It’s not like you’ve got a video of a handsome muscular man saved on your phone to, as you say “read later”.

“Woah there! If you let me explain”

“There’s nothing to explain it’s fine I get it, it just took me by surprise”

You move closer “Yoongi please…” He ignores you and moves to random parts of the kitchen to avoid eye contact with you.

“I’m going to take a nap”

“But…”

“No, please just let me be”

You know not to push it, he’s clearly upset but it’s going to be embarrassing for you both when you get the chance to explain why you saved the video.

You pace around the living room resisting the urge to go in the room and speak to him but you decide to text him instead…

“Can you please watch the clip till the end? Then you’ll see why I’ve saved it.” You forward the clip on to him.

The clip is JK rehearsing but in the background Yoongi is wiggling his butt with such enthusiasm combined with his gummy smile, it makes you smile so hard when you watch it and cheers you up if you’re feeling down.

“Please don’t be mad/upset, you and your arse are the only clips I need or save to “read later” when I don’t have you next to me. So can you please finish your nap and actually BE next to me!”

Total silence from his room, then you hear the sound of the clip playing followed by silence again.

This is torture… you let out a frustrated moan and flop down on the sofa.

Then you hear a fumbling sound coming from his room. Now you’re getting pissed off. Just as you’re planning to head into his room you hear the door click open and a very red flushed faced Yoongi appears.

“I’m sorry...” he says scratching his head.

You walk over to him and kiss him hard, he pulls you closer to him. “Don’t be sorry, just let me explain next time, I’ll delete the clip though”

“I didn’t think I was the jealous type”

“Your face is still flushed, you don’t have to be embarrassed” you assure him.

“No, it’s not from that” he says laughing

“I erm… made you a new video, kind of an apology. I nearly fell off the bed”

Your phone pings and you load the message.

It’s a shaky video of Yoongi standing on his bed and frantically shaking his arse in the direction of the camera. You burst out laughing almost tearing up a little. “You’re such a dork”

He grabs hold of your face and kisses you passionately, his hands running through your hair. “But I’m your dork”

You kiss him harder slapping your hands on his arse cheeks. He wriggles his butt in your hands as he pushes you to the bedroom… to wriggle it a little more for you just minus your clothes.

[katiesharms]

i'm not the romantic type (what can i do?)

fandom: top gun: maverick pairing: phoenix/hangman rating: G word count: 4.4k requested: no my brain just made me write this

summary:

Ya know,” she starts after a bit, a conversational tone in her voice, “no one’s ever given me flowers before.”

“What?” Jake asks, bewildered. Surely a woman as beautiful as Natasha Trace has men throwing themselves at her.

or

a 5+1 of sorts

a/n: literally no one requested this and this doesn't even exist in the same universe as the rest of my hannix fics, but the idea wouldn't leave me. imagine this is a world where, post-mission, they're all on a squadron together stationed idk at lemoore. don't think about it too hard.

It starts with a few errant sniffles. Then a couple of throat clears, and soon, Phoenix is coughing. Over the course of 36 hours, Hangman watches her descend into illness. 

Not that she’ll admit she’s sick. It’s like pulling teeth to try and convince her that she’s maybe ill, perhaps showing a bit of weakness. Phoenix is having none of it, insisting over and over again to anyone who says something that she’s fine. That it’s allergies or just a stuffy nose. Bullshit. 

It annoys Hangman to no end. Not only will she refuse to admit that she’s sick, but she’s also being downright disrespectful to her fellow pilots by continuing to show up to training. She’s exposing all of them to her germs; it’s a miracle no one else is sick yet. Especially Bob. 

Jake tries to convince her to take a few days off. It’s the respectful thing to do. Actually, the most respectful thing is to not get sick in the first place. Barring that, the next best thing is to keep your sickness to yourself. Hangman’s just annoyed that she’s spreading her germs so freely. She refuses, naturally, convinced it’s some ploy by him to usurp her as the favored pilot in their squadron. Whatever, it’s her life; she can do what she wants with it. 

Three days into this illness, Phoenix looks worse than ever before. After their ground training, she stays seated at her desk, hunched over. Not only is her posture abysmal by Navy standards, it’s positively dreadful by Phoenix norms.

“You good, Trace?” he asks, concerned about the way she’s slumping onto the desk. 

Either she’s too sick to hear the hint of worry in his voice, or she chooses not to remark on it. “Mm’okay. Just cold.”

It’s blisteringly hot in the hanger, and Hangman resists the urge to say, ‘because you’re sick.’

Instead, he lifts his leather jacket off his chair and tosses it toward her. “Here,” he offers. “Just wash it before you return it.”

“Why, afraid I have cooties?” she mumbles as she pulls her arms through it. 

“No, I know you have germs.”

“I’m fine,” she says dismissively and promptly drops her head onto the desk. 

Deciding she’s a lost conversational cause, Hangman turns to Bob. 

“Make sure she gets back okay, yeah?” he asks and leaves before the WSO can respond. 

The following day, Phoenix is notably absent, and Hangman feels just a little bit proud that he may have gotten through to her. 

“So Bob, your pilot finally realize she is indeed sick?” he asks the WSO, and the man turns to him, something akin to worry on his face. 

“Uh, kinda. She sort of,” he fiddles with his glasses as he decides his next words. “She collapsed on the tarmac this morning,” he finishes, all in one breath, as if he’s afraid of the reaction. 

Hangman keeps his jaw tight as he edges out, “what.” 

It’s not phrased like a question, but Bob still elaborates. 

“Yeah, she was walking with me to our plane, still wearing your jacket even though it’s like 85 degrees out, and she passed out. The medics said it’s dehydration from the flu.” 

Of course, it’s the flu. She should’ve just listened to him. 

“Is she okay?” Jake asks, unable to keep the concern out of his voice. 

“Yeah, she woke up once they started pumping fluids into her. She already wants to fly again,” Bob laughs. Jake doesn’t think any of this is funny. “They’re not letting her, of course. Making her stay in the hospital at least overnight.”

At that, Bob heads up to tell their squadron leader about Phoenix missing the day. Hangman tries to remain focused, to ignore the pit of worry growing in his stomach. He writes off how it swoops throughout the day as an effect of his flying, but he knows that’s wrong. His flying today has been anything but adventurous, too distracted to try anything that crazy. 

After training, he makes a beeline for the base hospital. On the way in, he passes the gift shop, thinks, ah, fuck it, and buys the first bouquet he sees. The teddy bear tempts him, but he has a feeling that’s a line too far for Phoenix. 

When he gets to her room, she’s scowling at the TV, flipping through channels with a remote in her hand not attached to the IV. Giving her a once over, Jake determines that she looks fine, if a bit pale. 

“The state of daytime television is absolutely abysmal,” she says, not looking away from the screen. 

“I’ll be sure to tell the networks,” he drawls. 

Phoenix finally lands on some Friends rerun and turns towards Hangman. When she spots the flowers in his hand, her expression freezes, face carefully blank. 

“Are those for me?” she asks cautiously. 

“No, they’re for the guy with a broken leg in room 323. Of course, they’re for you.” He punctuates the point by practically throwing the flowers at her. She catches them with ease, running her fingers along the blooms. 

“Thanks, Jake,” she says softly, not lifting her eyes from the bouquet. Hangman assumes she’s still a little out of it from her illness. 

“Don’t thank me; I got them to exchange for my jacket.”

She looks up at that, a teasing look on her face. “I haven’t been able to wash it yet.” She gestures to where it’s laying on the chair, and he walks over, sitting down. 

“Eh, I’ll wash it. You have bigger problems.” I told you so is what he’s valiantly not saying. 

“I’m fine,” she says dismissively, a scowl present on her face. “They’re just refusing to discharge me. I could be in a plane right now, no problem.”

Hangman raises an eyebrow. “You literally passed out from dehydration. Getting sick is not a weakness, Trace. Resting is important.”

She turns to him, directing her scowl at where he’s watching her. “Like you’d let this ground you.”

“If I ever got sick, I would. I don’t get sick, though.” He flashes her self-assured smirk, and she rolls her eyes.

“Fuck off, Bagman,” is all she comes up with in response, and the two of them fall into a companionable silence, watching the Friends episode together.

“Ya know,” she starts after a bit, a conversational tone in her voice, “no one’s ever given me flowers before.”

“What?” Jake asks, bewildered. Surely a woman as beautiful as Natasha Trace has men throwing themselves at her.

“I mean, I got a corsage at prom, but that hardly counts. I think people assume, due to my tough exterior, that I don’t like flowers.”

“Well, do you? Like flowers,” he clarifies, wincing at his awkward phrasing. 

She ponders the question, turning the bouquet over a few times in her hands. “I think I do,” is what she finally settles on, looking up to grin at Jake. It might’ve knocked him on his ass if he wasn't already sitting down. He resolves that a woman like her deserves to get some flowers every once in a while. 

He thinks about what Phoenix said an inordinate amount. It makes no sense to him, that no one's brought her flowers before.

When he was 13 and had his first pathetic crush on the whip-smart girl in his English class, he asked his older brother how to woo her. Johnny told him that all girls want are flowers and chocolate.

In hindsight, Johnny was only 19 at the time and had almost no idea about girls. But Jake thinks the sentiment still holds. Sometimes it’s nice to get flowers, to be told someone saw something beautiful and it made them think of you. To be reminded that your thought of. Jake resolves to remind Natasha that she’s thought of. And if it means he can see the soft look she gave him in the hospital again, well. That’s just a bonus.

He decides it’s best not to come on too strong. He waits a little bit, until she’s out of the hospital and flying normally. Then, one day while grocery shopping, he sees a gorgeous bouquet in the flower section. It has sunflowers, as well as a few other smaller, colorful flowers that, gun to his head, Hangman would never be able to name. He adds them to his cart without a second thought. 

The timing is perfect, since Phoenix has the whole of their franken-squadron over for a game night the same day. He’s one of the last people to arrive, having spent far too long styling his hair in the mirror.

When Phoenix opens the door, he practically shoves the flowers at her in lieu of greeting her.

“Hello to you too,” she says as she takes the flowers, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. “You brought flowers?”

“Thought they might, uh, brighten up the place.” He desperately hopes that she can’t hear the nerves in his voice. 

“Brighten up the place? Been watching a lot of HGTV?” she teases. 

Jake rolls his eyes. “If you don’t want them, I can take them back. I bet Fanboy would love them.”

“No, they’re mine now,” she protests, clutching the flowers protectively against her chest. One of the sunflowers grazes her cheek, and he pushes down the irrational burst of jealousy he suddenly feels for a flower. 

As they make their way further into her place, Rooster spots the flowers in Phoenix’s hand and decides to continue his streak of being the bane of Hangman’s existence.

“Flowers, Bagman?” he asks, mirth clear in his voice.

“It’s rude to show up empty-handed to someone’s home,” Jake offers as explanation, willing the blush he can feel creeping up his neck back down.

“Yeah, usually you come with wine or something similar,” Rooster replies, gesturing to the counter where there are a few bottles of Phoenix’s favorite red and a couple of charcuterie mixes. Someone even brought a cake.

“Well, Bradshaw, you know me. I’ve never been one to take the road most traveled.”

Natasha, it turns out, doesn’t own a vase, so she pulls a glass out of the cabinet to place the flowers in. Jake makes a mental note to get her one next time.

He was right. They do brighten up the place.

When Phoenix finds out Hangman isn’t going home for their Thanksgiving leave, she insists he joins her in San Jose with her family.

“I don’t want to impose,” he protests half-heartedly. Honestly, he’d love to spend Thanksgiving with the Traces. He’s upset that he can’t get home for the short break, and the warmth of a family gathering would be extremely comforting.

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” she insists. “I usually bring Rooster, but he’s spending the holiday with Maverick and Penny, and my dad would love to have another man around.”

Something twists uncomfortably in Jake’s gut at the mention of how close her family is with Rooster, but he ignores it. “Okay,” he agrees easily, “just let me know what to bring.”

Phoenix laughs, “please don’t bring anything. I’m honestly a little scared of what you’d whip up.”

At the ass crack of dawn on Thursday, Hangman rushes out of his base housing to the sound of Phoenix honking her horn obnoxiously. He tosses his bag into the back seat and slides into the passenger seat, fumbling with the flowers in his lap as he tries to buckle the seatbelt.

“What are those?” she asks as she starts driving, clearly amused at how the bouquets practically swallow Jake.

“They’re flowers,” he says. “Thought you were supposed to be smart.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know they’re flowers, dumbass. Why does it look like you robbed an old lady’s garden?”

“Well, there’s four bouquets here. One for you, one for your mom, and one each for your sisters.” He’s finally found a way to strap the seatbelt in, so he misses whatever her reaction is to his statement.

“What, none for my dad?”

His stomach drops. “Oh, fuck, should I-” he cuts himself off when he looks up at her and sees she’s trying to suppress a laugh.

“Hangman, don’t stress. You definitely do not need a bouquet for each of us. Just put them all together into one; my mom’ll like a big one.”

Jake hums in acknowledgment and decides he can do it when they’re closer to San Jose. 

“I hope you're ready for some family antics. Us Traces can get a little crazy,” she warns as she pulls onto the highway. 

“Please,” Hangman snorts, “I have four older siblings. I can handle crazy.”

“Mmhmm,” Nat hums, clearly not believing him. Whatever, that’s her prerogative. Rather than argue with her, Jake decides to take a nap. 

As they pull into her neighborhood several hours later, Jake wrangles the bouquets together into one giant one. It’s somewhat tricky, but he manages to do it. When he steps out of Nat’s Toyota, he’s holding the monster arrangement in one hand and a smaller one, made of only a few flowers, in the other. Natasha comes around from the trunk with both their bags and raises her eyebrows at the second bouquet.

“I thought you were putting them all into one.”

“I put most of them into one. These,” he thrusts out the small arrangement, which she accepts in exchange for Jake grabbing his bag, “are for you. As a thanks, for making sure I wasn’t lonely for the holiday.”

“Jake,” her face is doing the sappy melting thing it did in the hospital, and Jake feels his stomach flip, both at her expression and her use of his name, his real name. 

Before she has a chance to continue or he says something stupid, her family is ambushing them in the driveway, and he’s forced to tear his eyes away from hers to greet the Traces. 

Her mom loves the giant bouquet, using it as the centerpiece for dinner. Nat takes her smaller bunch up to her room, and the next morning she hands them to him to keep safe on the drive down. He tries not to ruin the moment with a self-satisfied grin, but judging by her expression, he fails.

After that weekend, Jake decides it’s time to actually do something. He’s denied it for as long as possible, but he likes Natasha Trace. In hindsight, he should’ve noticed it sooner. He’s always like the girl who knows how to put him in his place.

When he tells Javy about it, his friend laughs in his face.

“Dude, I can’t believe it took you this long to see it. I’ve known since the Academy. The ACADEMY!”

Jake scowls. “Fuck off. Is Maria home?” he asks, referring to Coyote’s long-term girlfriend.

“Ouch, I’m hurt. You don’t trust my advice?” Coyote pouts, holding up a hand to his heart in jest. 

Instead of answering, Jake shoves past Coyote into his house.

“I think this is an all-hands-on-deck kind of situation,” he concedes.

The universe is looking out for him it seems, because the holiday gala is just around the corner. He wouldn’t have even known about it if Maria hadn’t mentioned it over dinner.

The next day, Jake approaches Phoenix outside the locker rooms, pulling her aside before she can go shower. She’s sweaty and disheveled, her hair sticking to her forehead and neck, but still, his breath catches in his throat, just for a moment.

“What’s up, Hangman?”

He notes her use of his actual callsign as a victory, and uses it to spur him to bravery.

“You hear about this holiday gala?” he asks, wincing internally at the casual phrasing.

“Ugh, how could I not?” Natasha groans. “Payback won’t shut up about it; he’s sooo excited about his first official outing with Fanboy.”

“Coyote’s the same way. He and Maria are being so annoying.”

“These Navy galas are always the worst for us single people. Usually, I’d bring my sister, but she’s got a work thing that weekend.”

“Yeah, I usually fly solo at these things, and it can be mind-numbingly boring.”

He’s about to work up the courage to ask her when Natasha opens her mouth and nearly knocks him on his ass. 

“You know what I’ve been thinking? We should go together,” she muses. 

“What,” Jake ekes out, barely a whisper. Is she about to do this for him?

“Yeah, us single people sticking together. These things suck because you’re never with anyone, but if we’re already going alone, we can keep each other company.”

It’s not really a date, but Jake can work with this. “Okay, yeah, let’s do it,” he agrees quickly, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I can pick you up?”

“Perfect,” Nat says, her eyes lighting up. “We can take your truck.”

He’s way too nervous on the day of his gala. His hands are sweating as he gets ready, and he fixes his tie in the mirror at least four times. At one point, he even FaceTimes his sister just to make sure his outfit is all in place.

On the way to Phoenix’s, Jake stops at the mart on base to grab a bouquet. He splurges for the most expensive one, barely wincing at the final price, and lays it carefully on the passenger seat. The entire rest of the drive, he’s cautious, not wanting to jostle any petals loose.

The expense and the care are worth it when he sees her expression as she opens the door. 

Natasha is dressed in a stunning red gown, formed to her body with thin straps and slit up one leg. The material is shiny, making her truly glow, and Jake’s tongue is stuck in his throat. 

Realizing belatedly that he hasn’t said anything, Jake holds out the flowers to her, saying weakly, “here.”

“Oh, Jake, these are so pretty,” she breathes out. 

He’s about to respond when an all too familiar voice beats him to it. 

“What, Bagman, no flowers for me?” 

Hangman scowls. What the fuck is Rooster doing here?

“Oh, hush, you’re just jealous,” Natasha teases as she places the flowers into the vase Jake had gotten her a couple of weeks ago. 

Jake remains stunned speechless as Rooster comes into view, in his dress whites and well-groomed. He feels a little like he’s missed something. 

“C’mon,” Phoenix starts ushering the two boys out the door. “We gotta leave now if we’re gonna pick Bob up and get there on time.”

“Bob?” Hangman asks without thinking. He’s hoping, desperately, that this is some weirdo double date scenario. 

“Yeah, but he lives on the way, so we should be fine.”

“Shotgun!” Rooster practically yells, racing past Phoenix to climb into the front seat. Jake’s clenching his jaw so hard he’s afraid he’ll break a tooth. 

When he slides into the driver’s seat, Rooster sniffs the air obnoxiously. “Jeez, Bagman, a bit heavy on the cologne, no? It’ll be difficult to pick women up here when they’ll all either be plus ones or in the force, and therefore sick of your shit.”

“Maybe it’s to repel farm animals,” he says, grinning sweetly at his mortal enemy. 

“You boys play nice,” Phoenix warns from the backseat. “We can’t be in this together if there’s an internal mutiny.”

And Hangman realizes, extremely belatedly, what he’s missed. When Phoenix asked him about the gala, she was planning on having all the single members of their squadron go together. Not to go on a date with him. Maybe every single one of his superiors was right. He needs to get better at listening. 

Jake tries to keep the scowl off his face as they drive to Bob’s, resisting the urge to slap Rooster’s hand away from the radio when the man keeps fiddling with the stations.

He’s Nat’s friend, Jake reminds himself as he takes calming breaths, trying to ignore Rooster’s obnoxious laugh and Phoenix’s answering giggle. 

The gala itself isn’t much better; he’s forced to watch Rooster spin Natasha around the dance floor the whole night, his boisterous personality keeping her occupied. Jake feels a bit like window dressing. 

He’s scowling into his glass, watching Natasha and Bradley exchange banter from across the room, when he hears, “so how long have you been in love with Phoenix?”

Jake spits his Scotch back into his glass, choking a little on it from the shock of Bob’s sudden presence.

“Jesus, Bob, warn a man next time.”

Bob shoots him a sideway glance but otherwise ignores it. “See, I don’t think it happened til after the mission,” Bob muses as if he’s not speculating about Jake’s personal life within earshot of their superiors. “And you seemed mighty concerned about her when she got sick. Then you kept bringing her all those flowers; she even mentioned that you got her a vase.”

“She mentions me?” Jake asks despite himself, hearing the pathetic hope in his voice.

Bob turns to him, pity full on display. “Phoenix isn’t good at reading between the lines. She needs a direct hit.”

With that, Bob saunters off, joining Rooster and Natasha at the high top.

Direct hit. Okay, he can do that. 

So Jake formulates a plan. It involves a grand gesture, a tightly planned date, and, of course, flowers.

But then he walks into training a few days later and, sitting at Nat’s usual spot, is a genuinely enormous bouquet of roses. And they’re definitely not from Jake.

Nat hates roses, Jake thinks absently as he watches Phoenix blush at the teasing from their squadron. But doesn’t look annoyed or embarrassed. Instead, she seems bashful, a word that Hangman would’ve never associated with her.

“What is this, high school?” Jake asks as he walks in, not even bothering to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Let them think it’s because they’re all giggling like teenagers.

“Some Warrant Officer has a crush on our Phoenix,” Rooster explains, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable the attention is making Natasha. “She walked into roses practically swallowing her desk. And!” Rooster reaches out to grab something but Nat bats his hand away. “She won’t even let us read the note!”

The scowl on Jake’s face deepens when Phoenix clutches the note protectively, smiling down at it.

“You gonna give the poor sap a chance?” Jake ignores Bob’s gaze from across the room, shifting from one foot to another.

“Maybe,” she answers softly. “It’s a nice touch. Getting me flowers.”

I get you flowers all the time, Jake almost blurts out, but then their squadron leader is walking in, and everyone snaps to attention.

Jake doesn’t get a chance to talk about it to Natasha all day. After training, she walks back to the locker rooms with Halo, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Probably talking about that Warrant Officer, Jake thinks bitterly. Sam is his name, Jake learned throughout the day, as the other pilots kept the comms occupied teasing Phoenix.

It’s maybe that’s a good thing that he hasn’t had the chance to talk to Phoenix yet. He really doesn’t know what to say or how to go about it. Jake just knows he has to do something before it’s two weeks from now, and Phoenix is in a relationship with fucking Sam.

So that night, after he showers and changes, he heads out to Nat’s place as quickly as possible.

It’s late, but not unreasonably so, the sun just dipping over the horizon. Still, it takes her a reasonable amount of time to open the door, and Jake begins to think she’s not home.

When she does, eventually, pull open the front door, she’s dressed casually, wearing a confused expression. “Hangman?” she asks. “What are you doing here.”

“Don’t go out with him,” Jake shoots out, sounding breathless to his own ears.

Phoenix furrows her brow. “Go out with who?”

“With Sam. Don’t go out with him just because he got you flowers. I bring you flowers all the time. Go out with me.” Jake is pretty sure he sounds like he’s just on the edge of insanity, but still, Nat regards him fully, measuring his words.

“Okay.”

Jake, ready t argue his point further, snaps his mouth shut. “Okay?” he repeats dumbly.

“Yeah, let’s do it. You don’t mean right now, right? I’m not exactly dressed for it.”

How she’s acting so casually is beyond him. “Uh, no. I’ll, uh, text you,” he stumbles through awkwardly.

“Sounds like a plan. Night, Jake!” she says cheerily and shuts the door, leaving him standing there dumbfounded on her stoop.

A few days later, he stands outside her door again, this time with a small bouquet of tulips and dressed much nicer. He’s surprisingly not too nervous, just a bit on edge, and when she opens the door, he relaxes at her presence.

Planning the date was easy. He texted her what kind of food she likes, made a reservation, and set a pickup time. Phoenix has been so amenable about everything, never once asking Jake about why he asked her out or pressing for any details. She also hasn’t been acting any differently towards her in training, so he follows her lead, biting his tongue whenever one of the guys mentions Sam again.

“Oooh, these are so pretty,” Natasha says as he hands her the flowers. “I think tulips might be my favorite,” she says decisively, placing the flowers in the waiting vase on the table next to the door. Like she’d been expecting him to bring flowers.

“Noted,” Jake says and enjoys how her grin turns more bashful. “Shall we?” he asks, holding out his hand to her. She, surprisingly, takes it.

The date is easily the best one Jake has ever been on. Conversation between them, like always, flows easily and quickly. They exchange stories, both old and new, and Jake is having so much fun, he doesn’t want it to end.

Towards the end of the date, after the check has been brought and before he lets Phoenix talk him into splitting the bill, he asks, “why’d you say yes?”

Phoenix shurgs, nonchalant. “I was bored.”

“Seriously?” Jake doesn’t believe her for a minute.

“You just seemed so desperate that I wanted to throw you a bone,” she teases, and he feels his cheeks heat at the memory. “And you’ve been so nice lately. I like seeing that side of you.”

“Glad to hear that all it takes is pathetic desperation and kindness.”

“What can I say? Maybe nice guys don’t finish last.”

“Oh, Phoenix,” Jake leans over the table and flashes her a smirk. “You don’t want me to be nice. You’d get so bored.”

She rolls her eyes and leans in to meet him. “Yeah,” she agrees softly, “I would.”

[vidalinav]

Hiii i love your writing!! I love how you write Neris and I wanted to give you a prompt in case you’re ever in the mood of writing them again. I remember a snippet in vices and virtues where Nesta and Cassian are discussing their relationship and Nesta has moved on and she’s like “it’s too late” and Cassian is trying to convince her and he’s like “it was always going to be the two of us” and the snippet finishes by Nesta saying “I’m pregnant” I would totally love to read Cassian’s reaction to that in case you ever want to write it (: thank you so much

I don't really like Neris anymore... that romance was fleeting, but in an effort to get rid of asks in my asks box (believe me I have a shit ton), I will answer this.

Instead of linking the previous post, I just copied the previous post into this and added a little to it.

~

“But if that was all, we could fix it, Nesta. We could be together” 

Nesta shakes her head, willing him to listen for once in his life, “We can’t.” 

Still Cassian pleads, “We were going to die together. You laid on top of me and I went into battle for you. We can have that time, just like I said.” 

She watches as he smiles. Something innocent and sweet and for the first time in a very long time, Nesta feels cruel. “We can’t, Cassian.” 

“It’s us, Nesta.”

He says that word like it should mean something. A sweet song. A little gift that burrows itself into her skin, like a sliver in her palm. But Nesta feels… nothing. 

“We’ve been stubborn from the moment we met, prolonging the inevitable.” Cassian laughs breathless, grabbing her hand. His thumb running gently along her skin. “We’re mates. It was always going to be you and me.” 

You and me, she thinks. It almost sounds like a prison. She wonders if that’s what Eris means when he first tells her that love is a gilded cage. Maybe it’s a bear trap. With sharp teeth in pretty confessions, pretending everything is fine. That memories can be forgotten. 

Cassian looks at her in the exact way she’s always dreamed. Open and ready for love. Unashamed of loving her, no matter who she is. No matter who she pretends to be. A Nesta who’s still learning to live… 

But Nesta has learned to live without him. The world has moved on. Time has passed. Scattered to the wind like smoke and dust.

“We can’t, Cassian,” Nesta says, and there’s no room for argument in her voice. “I’m pregnant.”  

For a moment, the world takes a great pause, holds its breath, stops a bit of time so that Cassian can digest the words. They settle and none of the words come crawling up her throat or demand to be swallowed back down, because they should have never been said. They fill Nesta with relief.

Truth is meant to be spoken aloud. Not shunned because it's easier to handle... and luckily, there is nothing about Cassian that takes space in her body, that has her demanding she appease or silence herself. There's no guilt. No sympathy. No sorrow.

"Pregnant?" He asks, his voice taking on a chaotic hue. "You're pregnant?"

"Eris will make a wonderful father," she sings. Those words slip free out of spite and despite, Cassian owning nothing of hers, the anger still burns in her throat. He deserves as good as he gets. An even exchange, she thinks, for making her feel worthless for even a moment.

"You're lying... We're mates. You can't be pregnant."

You belong to me, she hears in those unspoken words. Nesta resists the urge to roll her eyes.

Perhaps she should feel some sort of sorrow for him. A love lost. A quiet goodbye to what could have been. At his puppy despair, that childish face being kicked where it hurts. She's always been so cruel... should this shock him?

Those eyes blink back at her and Nesta feels nothing. For what will she tell the person who feels betrayed? The person she used to be calling out for comfort, who pushed people away because she didn't deserve love.

"We may be mates but I'll never love you." The words taste bitter on her tongue, but she says them simply. As factually as possible. "Eris was there when I needed... desperately to hold onto something good. He was good to me."

"And I wasn't? So you're blaming me? You blame me so you run off and now you're pregnant with another man's baby."

"You betrayed me first, Cassian or did you forget? All those days you sat back and watched my life fall to pieces? I could live with that, encouraged it even. But the day you stood by and let them treat me like that, let them kick me out of the only place I knew, when I'd suffered so much for you all... I will never forget what you've done."

"And what will you tell this child? Is everyone who knew you going to be painted as a villain? Because they cared enough not let you drink yourself silly or fuck anyone who moved."

Nesta doesn't let those words hurt her. At one point, she might have felt ashamed for how indecently she exposed her pain. She left herself wide open to judgement and judged they did. But no longer. There's no shame in ugliness of grief, so Nesta settles in her skin--feels that great big burden lift off her chest.

"You're mistaken," she says. "This child isn't going to know you at all."

This child is only going to know love. Eris and his hearth warmed heart so ready to bring joy, because he finally has seen it with his own eyes, felt it with his own hands. Just as she has. They've grown together, learned together, been able to dig each other out of the rubble and rub the dirt off of each of their cheeks. This child is not going to ever be ashamed of feeling, of being buried under burdens so heavy. Eris and her will be there with shovels, ready to dig.

This child will never be alone.

"So you're just going to leave me behind?"

There's pain in his voice, but Nesta won't offer comfort. She was never meant to be the bigger person, only the angry, cruel one and something firm and final settles in her chest.

"You'll survive... After all, you have a whole family by your side. I'm sure they'll offer you the sympathy they never once offered me."

[buckyownsmylife]

I've Told You Now - Lee Bodecker smut

The one where Lee seduced his sister's babysitter.

Warnings: smut, dubcon, age gap, innocence kink, dirty talk, loss of virginity, blood

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: This one is a part of my kinktober celebrations. My original intention for this October was to work exclusively around prompts that my wonderful friend @darkficsyouneveraskedfor created for her challenge and dedicate each story to a different friend. My new plan became then 31 days of different kinks, which expanded on a poly relationship with Stucky, as you might know by now. However, some of the stories I started were already truly loved by me, and so I kept on writing them. It worked well because as it turns out, I am fortunate enough to have more than 31 friends on Tumblr, so here is the story I wrote for @slothspaghettiwrites! You were the biggest reason I fell for Lee and it was only appropriate I wrote you this! I only hope it doesn't disappoint! Special thanks to @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog who helped me believe this was good enough to be posted! @sweeterthanthis also has a big hand at this!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I was finishing packing up the toys in the living room when I heard the door slam, startling me into dropping the box of legos on the ground. Looking at the clock, I considered the time before looking back at the hall again. When no one appears from the hallway, I get confused. If the Hendersons hadn’t come home earlier than they intended, who else could it be?

“Waiting for me, bunny?” I immediately straightened out at the sight of Sheriff Bodecker, trying to resist the urge not to flush and keep eye contact, but ultimately failing to do so. I hadn’t seen him since the night he offered to give me a ride home and I ended up with his cock in my throat, his cum in my mouth.

“I-I didn’t even know you were coming.” Silence followed my confession as he slowly approached, eyes never leaving my body while I tried to keep myself up. He’d always had this effect on me. I remembered being a young girl and Sheriff Bodecker being the crush I knew was too old to be mine, the guy I’d never have even in a million years, but that didn’t stop me from daydreaming about him.

If I thought that maybe having him would help this infatuation disappear, it’d become clear by now that it wouldn’t be the case at all.

“And here I was, thinking you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.” The Sheriff tsked, and the sound went straight to my already dampened underwear. I couldn’t process his words very well, given how close he was and how loud my own heartbeat was ringing in my ears. Did he mean to say that he actually really wanted me?

“If that was really the case,” he taunted, circling me like I was some sort of prey. “You’d always be expecting me, wouldn’t you? But it’s alright, honey. You know why?” When I shook my head, he answered his own question, a single finger running down my jaw to guide me to look him in the eye. “Because I think you were expecting me. You’re always expecting me, looking for me wherever you go, just like I do. And there’s an easy way to prove my theory.”

Before I could question it, his arms embraced me from behind, hands slowly running down my stomach until they reached the edge of my skirt. I started sweating in anticipation. I knew what he would find.

“Let me check.” His fingers went over the fabric first, and he chuckled when he noticed how wet it was. “Would you look at that?” I was already trembling when he pulled my panties to the side and ran that same digit over my lower lips, just lightly grazing them. “Soaked already.”

Although I couldn’t see it, the humming sound he emitted after taking his fingers from under my dress didn’t leave me any doubt about what he did with the moisture he collected. Just the thought of him enjoying my taste that much had me weak in the knees, and I tried to keep myself up by reaching for a chair nearby.

Lee’s P.O.V.

I chuckled to myself at how sensitive she was, barely able to keep up with the little I’d done so far. Then again, it was clear I had a particularly strong effect on her. That had been obvious for a while, ever since she started working for my sister, probably - around the same age her womanly features began to stand out.

She seemed unable to look me directly in the eyes, always averting her gaze and biting her lower lip when I decided to stop around here for a coffee or check in on the little rugrat. I began doing this a lot more often after she was hired, but neither her nor my sister seemed to connect the dots.

Her innocence, her beauty just left me so fucking hard. I was hard right then, and I wanted her to know it. So I pressed my body against her back, lightly grinding my member against the curve of her ass.

“I suppose you’re finished for the day,” I speculated, knowing once the kid was out all she had to do was wait for my sister and her husband to arrive. “Guess I can help you unwind…”

She gasped when she felt my hardness, making me chuckle. “Your sister and her husband should be back soon…” She tried to reason, but I wasn’t having any of it.

“We’ll be quiet anyway. Can’t risk waking up the kid.” I gripped her wrist and pulled her on the direction of the guest bedroom, now fully unable to control myself. I was so close to having what I had wanted for so long.

She looked unsure of herself as I closed the door behind us, and I raised an eyebrow in a questioning look. “What’s wrong?” She shifted her weight from one foot to another, fingers playing with the hem of her skirt.

“I-I don’t know about this…” Chuckling, I approached her to cradle her face between my hands and deposit a kiss on those sweet lips.

“Don’t you trust me, pretty girl?” I had caught her now, we both knew it. She’d never risk disappointing or offending me, so when her mouth opened to explain herself and I raised an eyebrow in warning, it was only a matter of seconds until she closed it altogether and nodded, her eyes dropping to her feet.

“Yes, I do.” My smirk was full of victory, and I could taste it in my lips now. It was as sweet as the nectar between her legs I’d only had a taste of.

“There you go.” Approaching her once more, I settled my hands on her hips before leaning to kiss her shoulder. “Besides…” I continued, already bunching up her dress to get rid of it as quickly as possible. “You obviously need me to take care of you and this little wet hole.”

She bucked when my fingers rubbed her this time, dress already forgotten on the floor as I slowly shoved down the fabric of her underwear to join it. Once she was completely naked, I ran my digits over her cunt, verifying that her wetness was already so overwhelming that it was threatening to drip from her.

“So sweet.” I hummed once I wrapped my lips around those digits, tasting her on my tongue again. Yes, I was already obsessed. I think anyone who had the chance to try her nectar would understand my situation - but no one ever would.

She was mine now, and I would never let her go.

“C’mon, bunny.” Patting her ass, I directed her to the bed, chuckling at how embarrassed she seemed, being this exposed to my hungry gaze. “Be a good girl and spread your legs. Be my little angel, won’t you?”

I wished I could have done this somewhere more private - my own house, instead of my sister’s. But I just couldn’t wait anymore. My cock twitched inside my pants. I felt like I was drunk on this, drunk on her.

“C’mon, honey!” I repeated, lightly slapping the outside of her thigh. “I wanna fuck you. And I know you want to be mine, pretty girl. You can’t hide it from me.”

When she finally relented and slowly parted her beautiful legs for me, I nearly melted at the sight. Driven by my desire, I unbuckled my belt and worked to whip my cock out as quickly as possible, smirking at the wide, innocent eyes that settled on my member as I fisted it in preparation.

“Doesn’t it look good?” I teased, climbing on the bed to take my spot between her legs, rubbing the head of my dick against her slit. “I’m gonna have you taste it next time. But for now…”

Resting my forehead against hers, I slowly started to penetrate her tight pussy, slipping only the head at first, even though I was aching to fuck her throughly.

“This is gonna hurt a little,” I warned, not able to stop mid-way to let her adjust but keeping my invasion of her maidenhood slow until I had bottomed out inside of her. “Sh…” I tried to calm her, gently wiping away the few tears running down her soft cheeks. “I know it hurts, bunny. But you can take it, can’t you?”

She managed to nod despite her whimpers, and I brushed her tears away as I warned her, “I’m gonna make you feel so good, honey.”

It took a little while, but at last, she opened her eyes and I waited until she was able to focus them on me again. “You look so pretty, bunny…” I whispered, kissing her while I finally started to move inside of her, stopping only to moan out loud at her overwhelming tightness.

“I’m gonna train you until all you can think about is my cock,” I warned her, slowly pulling out until only the head of my cock was keeping her open.

“I can’t wait any longer.” Slamming my dick all the way in, I felt her nails running down my back, leaving trails of blood behind - trails I wouldn’t mind wearing under my shirt, sting as they might.

“I promise you, honey…” I panted, sweat already dripping from my forehead onto her pretty face. “You’re gonna miss me when I’m not inside of you.”

I kissed her cheek, rubbing my nose against it as she held me tightly against her. “I know you don’t want any of those boys you used to go to school with touching what I’ve already taken.”

She nodded quickly, my pretty little honey. Yes, she was mine already and she knew it. “It’s alright, pretty girl…” I soothed her as she started to whine, her cunt clenching deliciously around me. “It’s alright, cum with me…”

She closed her eyes when she met bliss, but I kept mine wide open so I wouldn’t miss her perfect expression of pleasure. It was almost enough to keep me hard, but I wasn’t as young as I once was.

I never pulled out of her tight heaven, keeping her body snuggled against me. I was happy that I decided to be patient, if it meant I now got to have her like this.

“I hope you know that you’re mine now, bunny.”

[hyunjilicious]

summary: there's no plot, this is just porn with boyfriend!Bucky. SMUT 2.3k

warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), face fucking, spit play, cum play, breath play, slight Daddy kink, light subby/dom vibes but not established dynamics. also unedited I'm lazy. Also 18+ PLS THANKS!

(Also I'm posting from my phone so if the readmore isn't working pls let me know!)

-

The sound of Bucky washing dishes was audible throughout the whole apartment, even reaching your ears as you laid in bed. Instagram was getting boring, and the fact that he had been gone for more than 15 minutes started to annoy you. Of course, you could have allowed yourself to think rationally and it would have been really easy for you to understand why ignoring household chores for days wasn't a good idea, but you refused to do so. You wanted him back in bed. And when he told you for the 4th time it would still be a while, you decided to take matters into your own hands. 

Jumping out of bed, you shuffled out of your shorts and let your hair down, before heading for the kitchen. When you spotted him, he had his back turned to you, his muscular back only serving as a reinforcement when it came to your idea. He seemed absorbed, with his mind miles away, as he failed to hear you walk up beside him.

Placing a soft hand on his back, you reached around his frame and turned the tap off, lowering yourself to your knees by his side.

"Y/n, what are you..." Bucky started mumbling, but eventually trailed off when he saw you settle on the marble floor.

He sighed and shook his head, but he didn't stop you.

And then, the games began. You started with an innocent pout, looking up into his eyes as you licked along your bottom lip. Your brows furrowed into a confused and playful frown and you started wiggling your body, pushing your ass back. 

A reaction from him wasn't slow to materialize, as he chuckled in disbelief and leaned back against the counter - a sign for you to keep going. And you did.

The further you went, the easier it was for you to come up with new ideas to tease him. Poking your tongue out and closing your eyes, you brought one hand up and pawed at his thigh. It wasn't enough to get him to comply, but the grunt that forced its way past his lips told you you were on the right track. 

You licked your lips and sucked on your thumb, pushing two fingers knuckle deep into your mouth as you looked him in the eye. The first light gagging sound that reached him broadened his grin, but he still refused to give you what you wanted. Judging by the darkening stare in his eyes and the way his chest rose and fell, he was enjoying this too much.

By now, you were already tingling all over. Opening your mouth and tilting your head back, you bend forward, giving him a view you knew he wouldn't resist. Your almost naked ass, on the floor - too far for him to reach, and your awaiting tongue, millimeters away from his hardening cock. 

But it still wasn't enough. You were sure it would be, but it wasn't. He remained motionless in his spot, watching you put on a show. But it was supposed to be more than that - you needed him to take part in it, and you wanted to do it on his own. You wanted to see him snap, to see him unable to control himself. 

Running out of ideas, you pushed yourself back and leaned against the counter, spreading your legs. The eye contact wasn't dropped as you started fiddling with the cotton of your panties, your fingers slowly finding their way inside. Just a small brush against your clit was enough to elicit a moan from your damp lips. It was exaggerated, yes, and you pushed your chest out as you whined out loud, begging him with your stare to join in. And there was no way he'd resist that too. He was too tightly wrapped around your finger, too weak for you and whatever you did, and this was the last straw. 

"Fuck-" Bucky errupted, prompting his hands against the edge of the counter behind him. His head fell forward, and he sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth.

Proud of yourself for getting him to this point, your eyes drifted lower to his jeans, specifically the area where his cock struggled against the material.

"I managed to get you hard!" you cheered, innocently.

At that, Bucky seemed offended. "You thought there was a universe where you could whore yourself out on the floor in front of me like that, and I wouldn't get hard?"

"I hoped there wasn't" you smiled, crawling closer to him and planting your hands on his massive thighs. His hand instantly came into your hair, petting it a few times before moving lower to stroke your cheek with his thumb. 

"Such a good, little kitten" he hummed, "Couldn't wait for me to finish up here..."

"I'm sorry, Daddy" you whimpered.

"No, you're not"

"No, I'm not" you laughed out loud, making Bucky do the same. 

"Then get to it, doll" he urged you, "finish what you started"

"What's the magic word?" 

You were pushing it. "Finish what you started. ??Now" Bucky made himself clear, and it was even better than what you initially wanted to hear. 

With his hand back in your hair - his fingers loosely wrapped around your roots, you unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down his thighs. In your eagerness, you grabbed his underwear too, getting rid of it at the same time. His almost rock hard cock all but sprung out, and you didn't waste one second before taking it into your mouth.

You didn't even bother to use your hands, instead you just lowered yourself and sloppily closed your lips around his tip. 

Taking him as deep as you found it comfortable, you started bobbing your head up and down against his cock, hollowing your cheeks as your eyes slowly traveled up.

He was already looking down at you, awe visible in his stare, his lips slightly parted as he struggled to conform to your teasing pace.

Bucky did his best to let you work your magic in your own way, his thumb stocking your hair as the perverse sounds of you sucking his cock easily covered his rugged breathing.

Taking him out of your mouth, you wrapped your fingers around his base and moved to lick your way along his length, making it easier for you to pump into your hand. Working him up with lazy strokes and soft touches of your thumb against his slit, you shuffled closer and buried yourself between his legs, taking his balls into your mouth.

For whatever reason, he didn't see that coming and in turn bucked his hips into you, his head falling back in absolute bliss. "Holy fuck- doll, so, so good-"

You sent him a hum of approval as you lightly sucked, applying that specific amount of pressure you knew would drive him insane.

His thighs were shaking around your frame, and you were ready to lick your way back up his cock when he tightened his grip on your hair and pushed you away.

Filled with panic, you gasped, "Did I-?"

"You're fucking perfect" Bucky cut you off, bending down to furiously kiss your lips. His tongue forced its way inside your mouth before you even managed to register what was happening, but you complied sweetly, melting under his touch.

And you wanted to gush and to let yourself get absorbed, but at the same time, you weren't the type of person to leave a job halfway done - especially a blow job, and especially with Bucky. 

"Come on, baby, back to it" he urged you, straightening his frame as he helped guide you back on his cock, "Take me all the way in, doll. The way you always do"

And he didn't have to ask twice. You eagerly resumed your spot, welcoming his already licking tip on your tongue. You sucked softly, moaning against his cock, even whimpering every now and then, all of it for the sole purpose of making him lose it. Taking him out of your mouth, you swirled your tongue around his tip a few times, smiling up up him, "Do you like it, Bucky? Am I doing ok?"

"More than ok, doll" he weakly huffed. His hand fell from your hair, as he brought his thumb to your lips, rubbing them softly as you sat and waited. When he pushed his thumb into your mouth, you obediently welcomed him in. 

He did taste like dish soap but you didn't care. You had only one thing in mind, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the chores that was previously doing. 

"Suck, baby" he urged you.

Bucky squatted down in front of you, his finger still in your mouth as he did so. You obediently watched him, closing your lips around his thumb and starting to suck - maybe a bit too shily for his liking.

"Come on, baby" he laughed, "I know you can do better than that"

But he didn't give you a chance to show him. Instead, he pulled his hand back, his pointer and middle finger replacing his thumb. He shoved his fingers inside your mouth, knuckle deep, pushing down against your tongue. With each passing second your eyebrows would slightly raise as the need to cough only grew stronger. 

"That's it" he cooed when the innocent sound of you gagging against his fingers reached his ears. "A bit more, doll, for me, come on"

Despite your increasing need for air, you kept calm, struggling to choke down every cough and gag that threatened to erupt from your throat. When you reached your limit, he let you go, only then to hurry to kiss your lips before you'd get a chance to breathe properly. 

He had you so weak for him, so eager to do absolutely anything he'd ask. He knew it and loved it. 

The kiss was rough and passionate, but way too short. You couldn't help but moan in disappointment when he pulled away.

"Shh" he urged you, "Open up"

You listened to him in a heartbeat, parting your lips for him. Bucky grabbed ahold of your neck, keeping you in place as he spat on your tongue. Your jaw was shaking with eagerness, but you waited for him to place his thumb on your chin and close your mouth himself.

"Swallow, baby"

You did so with an innocent bob of your head. "Tasty" 

"Is it?" he laughed, "Got something better"

Of course you didn't have to ask what that was. Bucky straightened his back and you didn't waste a second before picking up his cock into your hand. However, he stopped you before you could to work, as he cupped your cheeks in his palms.

"Take me down your throat, beautiful, yeah? I don't want you breathing for this one"

You shook your head yes, and pumped him in your hand a few times, before taking him in your mouth. No matter how much you wanted to, your body refused to let you take him all the way down on your own. But he knew that, and loved the way he always needed to help you. 

With his fingers tightly wrapped into the roots of your hair, Bucky forced your head down his cock, keeping you in place. The way your throat convulsed against his tip was heavenly, accelerating the approach of his high. With precum and spit dripping down your chin, you sat in place. You concentrated on your grip on his thighs, on his heavy and strong muscles and the little hairs that tickled your fingers. But no matter how much you tried, tears did eventually build up in your eyes, soon cascading down your cheeks.

"Take it easy" he whispered, not loosening his grip in the slightest. "Relax, baby. I know you can take more"

You wanted to nod, but that was out of the question. Instead, you just wiggled around, curling your toes and sinking your nails into his toned thighs. It was very easy to tell just how close he was, the way his hips bucked and all the sweet little moans that escaped his lips. You struggled to hold on, choking and gagging on his cock, waiting for his release and for that breath of fresh air that would come with it. And it didn't take much longer, it didn't matter how big and buff he was, or how much of that supersoldier serum was still pumping through his veins, he never managed to resist you for too long.

Before you knew it, you found yourself harshly yanked back. Bucky's metal hand held your hair tightly as he fisted himself into his right hand, breathing heavily as he looked down at you.

"Turn around, doll" he commanded, "Ass up for me"

You followed his words in an instant, spinning around and laying down on the floor, your ass on full display for him. In one swift and rather painful motion, he ripped the underwear off of you, proceeding to cum all over your ass and lower back. 

"Fuck, fuck- yes-" he panted as he finished, holding onto your hips as he did so. Before telling you to stand up, he gathered a few droplets of cum on his thumb, "Come here, baby, look at me"

When you turned to face him, Bucky stuck his finger inside your mouth, barely managing to also get it out before attacking your lips with his own. The kiss was rather sloppy, with him being so out of breath and you so taken aback, but it worked. You both stumbled back, the kitchen floor cold against your skin you rolled over and dragged him with you.

"And you did this just to prove to yourself that you could do it?" Bucky questioned, staring at the ceiling as he caught his breath.

"Basically"

"Then why the fuck am I praising you so often? Might as well call you useless every now and then and see where that gets us"

"Ha" you giggled, "Kink unlocked"

For a split second, Bucky laughed along, but when realisation hit him, his face fell. "Wait what?"

[toru-oikawas-milkbread]

Intense Pleasure

October series: Day 20

Pairing: Kiyoomi Sakusa x f!reader

Prompt/summary: “Please don’t stop”

Word count: 720

Warnings/contents: Pussy penetration, mentions of past orgasms, mentions of future orgasms, multiple orgasms, mild language, fluff, 18+

Notes: I have seen so many things about people saying that Kiyoomi would leave his partner unsatisfied or not care if they got their release, but I disagree and so I may have written this completely out of spite. Regardless of how and why it was written, I hope that you all enjoy yet another smutty October Series post and look forward to tomorrow! The month is coming to a close quicker than I thought it would, but we still have some time!

Side-note for the day, I’ve been working some on Kinoshita’s chapters last night and I’ll be working on more today. I’ll try to get them all done quick-like! As for my Upcoming Chapters list, I’m still working on all of the chapters and none of them, at this moment anyways, are coming to a close. However, that doesn’t mean I’m not working on them. Here’s to hoping I can get one out soon!

<>~<>~<>

It was undeniable, you were coming undone, and it was happening fast. He could feel it in the way that you were clenching around him, but even more than that, he could see it in the way that your body was shaking beneath him as your fingers gripped so tight onto the sheets that your hands were numb. He could hear it in the desperate way that you were moaning. Your body gave him clues, and it all depended on whether or not he was willing to listen.

The way that your body seemed to shiver beneath him as he steadily thrusted himself inside of you was telling him all that he needed to know in this moment. Your face was buried into the sheets to muffle your own moans, maybe so that the sound might not travel to your upstairs neighbors apartment, or maybe so that Kiyoomi wouldn’t stop moving to tease you like he had done in the past.

Though it seemed cruel to do anything besides let you get that release you were so desperately craving right now.

One of Kiyoomi’s large hands pressed to your back, slowly sliding along your arch as he leaned over you, trying to keep that steady pace inside of you to continue edging you to the orgasm you were craving. You didn’t so much as move to look at the man, too busy moaning into the sheets to even think about his warm hand sliding along your skin. A soft chuckle came from Kiyoomi as he slowed down, steadily rocking almost all of himself out, just to ram it back inside of you.

Another loud moan came from you against the pillows as your fingers impossibly gripped the sheets tighter. Your toes seemed to curl that much harder as well as a soft moan left Kiyoomi that you wouldn’t hear over your own moans as he thrusted inside of you, trying to resist the urge to cum himself and instead focus on you. He tossed his head back, groaning louder than before and biting down on his bottom lip as the sweat on his forehead stuck his curly hair to it.

He was quick to wipe the sweat away with his forearm, glancing back at you through tired, half-lidded eyes and watching you only continue to moan into the sheets.

“Fuck, Omi!” You suddenly moaned out, loudly and grasping tight onto the sheets by your head. “Fuck, don’t stop! Please don’t stop!” Even if you had cum so many times tonight that you felt as if even just one more orgasm wasn’t even possible, you wanted him to try.

So that’s what he was doing. He was trying his damndest to give you one more orgasm for the night. Even if it was all you got before you dropped in pure exhaustion, he would do that for you. He was aching to get you off just as much as he was aching to get himself off, trying desperately to hold off until you got one final orgasm out of tonight before he finished himself off.

Your moans were almost pathetic and you knew it, but you didn’t care— or rather you couldn’t care. You were craving to continue feeling him ramming inside of you even if how thick he was had been making your pussy sore. You were worn out, stretched out, tight around him and sore in more places than just your pussy. Your arms were aching from leaning on them, your legs burned seemingly just to burn. You were ready for one final release and then to collapse on the bed, but every time you thought you may reach it, you only clenched around him with nothing gushing out like it did before.

“You all fucked out?” He asked suddenly. “Have I made you cum so much that you just can’t seem to cum anymore?” He sighed in content as he steadily thrusted his hips against your ass and felt himself drawing closer to his orgasm. “You can try to cum again before I do, I won’t stop if you want to cum again, but I don’t think I can hold off much longer,” he told you, giving a soft grunt as you squeezed around him. “I’m gonna cum soon, baby. Why don’t you try and cum with me.”