#I’m tempted to just say fuck it and look through the tag and risk something major having happened in the last 10 mins to be spoiled

[frightmarefalls]

didn’t have time to finish the ep but I stopped at kinn and porsche holding each other asleep in bed to at least have SOME peace of mind

[quitesins]

Frustration

Masterlist | Read on AO3

Bakugou x fem!reader

Tags: 18+, Nsfw/ Smut, aged up! Bakugou, pro Hero! Bakugou, oneshot, office sex, degradation, name calling, kinda soft tho, he cums inside? [practice safe sex guys], slight exhibitionism, unrealistic cervix touching [no science just horny!], mentions of unspecified medication, not beta read, based off a whole meme I found, author note at the end!

After weeks of being unable to get off, you’re miserable and the office is starting to get sick of your attitude. Particularly Bakugou, who’s determined to figure out what the fuck has you so worked up in the first place.

Even Bakugou was slightly worried, the hot headed blond side eyeing you each time you huff as the copier jams.

You had been like this all week, in a mood, not particularly upset but evidently frustrated. Kirishima tried talking to you, the more friendly of the hero bunch, but you just waved him off, a faux smile silently threatening him to back off. The entire office was put off by your agitation, but no one could really say anything, you got your work done and… you weren’t a bigger bother than your own boss, Bakugou.

Still, you were definitely being difficult, Bakugou has known you since UA, eventually hiring you as his own agency’s manager. Of course he spent half his years in UA bickering with you, but he couldn’t deny your skill. Sure you may have hated his guts too, but the pay was unreal, and he wasn’t too bad of a hero himself.

However even the pay couldn't get you through this week, everything seeming to tick you off, the playful remarks between you and your boss, now genuine bites of snark. Bakugou wouldn’t admit it but there was a small twinge of guilt already festering. He wasn’t even sure why, yet he couldn’t put your foul mood past him, after all, he wasn’t the nicest of people to be around either.

So he tried, to figure out the reason behind your iciness, in his own- Bakugou way.

“The fuck is wrong with you.”

The brash voice, that broke the calm silence of your office, startled you, the creaking of the door still going as he had just barged in.

You collected yourself and shot up, glaring straight at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Look, in the most respectful way possible-” Bakugou walked closer to your desk, staring you down. “-What the fuck is wrong with you.”

That didn’t answer your question, still confused, so you had given him the finger, telling him to get lost.

He didn’t, of course, instead he opted to inch closer, almost across the desk.

“This shit, you’re always so angry, if I did something just spit it out.”

Without responding you looked away, it’s not that you didn’t have an answer… you just didn’t want to say it.

Ever so perceptive, he noticed that, his mission now to drag the reason out of you.

“Are you hungry?” As much as the man was smart, he could also be quite the idiot.

“What- no?” He made you sound like a damn toddler, moody and unable to word why.

“Well the fuck is it then…” He watched you resume to your seat, taking his own in one of the sofas in your room, tempted to kick up his feet on the table nearby, but he had already risked enough with his comment. “Is it because I drank all the coffee on Monday.”

It’s a better guess, but his tapping at your new white settee made you seethe.

“Kats’, i’m not angry at all, you’re imagining things.”

Your eyebrow twitched as his legs raised, to rest against the side of your sofa, you already saw scuff marks that would remain from his filthy shoes.

“Yeah, and that look isn’t one that says ‘I’ll kill you for dirtying my seat.’”

You couldn’t believe him, the gall to casually saunter in without knocking and then deliberately mess up the best investment you’d made for this company.

Getting up, you stomped over to the door, opening it and demanding, “Get out, now.”

In a show of surrender, he got up, walking over to the door. He was still intent on bringing the source of your frustrations out, but even he could tell he was not going about it the right way.

Still, he had to get one last word in before he left.

“Acting like you haven’t been fucked in weeks.” It was just a snide comment, a huff if anything, but it’s that that had you stilling.

It was true, well half true. Past weeks you’d tried anything, calling up old flings, tempted to text an ex, already having tried yourself, but nothing was working… nothing could make you cum. So perhaps you were a bit cranky, but several nights of ruined orgasms, one after the other, what else were you meant to feel. Those damn tablets, starting some new medication, it had just made you numb down there, nothing turning you on, leading you to absolute misery.

You must have been pondering for too long, because the lack of response made Bakugou’s eyes widen, then narrow as a small smirk started to slither onto his face.

“It is that, isn’t it?” The lowered chuckle broke you from your stupor, taking your boss in view, now closer, eyes darker, voice deeper. “You haven’t been fucked.”

“That’s not-” He didn’t let you continue, cutting you off as he edged closer, his breath fanning your ears.

“Haven’t had this pussy satisfied have you?” Deft fingers crept past your hips, slipping under the elastic of your skirt, letting it snap back in place and making you jump.

Maybe you were so pent up you finally had lost it, but the man in front of you, tall and towering over you, thick arms, face sculpted like a statue, your stomach fluttered at the sight of him.

Embers seared into your own stare, a lustful glow silently asking permission to burn, to kiss you with passion. And you assented, allowing yourself to be swept up by the fire, his mouth moving with such fervour against yours, his hands bringing your body to press against his. It was messy, almost angry, but you couldn’t help but melt at his touch.

“Tell me you don’t want this, sweetheart, and I’ll stop right now, I’ll leave.” Bakugou pulled away, letting out a huff before putting his forehead against yours. “But kiss me again, and I’ll fuck you till you’re numb.”

You didn’t even think, you just pushed your lips back onto his, wrapping your arms around him as he hoisted your legs around his waist.

It wasn’t until your back hit your desk, did you notice how far he had carried you, how far your skirt had ridden up, and how hard he was, even through his slacks.

“See something you want?” That dastardly smirk was back on his face, and you could feel it again as his lips kissed against your neck, while his fingers undid the buttons of your shirt. “You’ll get it soon enough.”

You couldn’t help but keen as he unclasped your bra, latching onto your breasts, palming himself at the sweet sounds that escaped you. He never thought he’d have you like this, his stuck up manager, who he wouldn’t admit he admired, whimpering as his fingers drew closer to your core.

He could’ve came right there, hearing that startled gasp as he finally reached your panties, already dampened by his ministrations.

Your breath hitched as his finger circled your entrance, bringing the evidence of your lust up to your clit, pressing lightly before dipping back down again. You needed something inside but Bakugou’s smile was telling; you weren’t getting anything until you begged.

“Come on princess, tell me what you want.” After your hips had pressed closer to his fingers, he snatched them away, a slap to your thighs making you tremble. “I’ll give you anything, just tell me.”

“In-inside,” you panted out, eyes teary, you needed him so bad, after weeks of nothing, the sudden rush of arousal left you insatiable.

The blond almost wanted to tease a little longer,but the mere sight of you was making him impatient, so he plunged a finger into your hole, grinning at how your eyes widened.

Clenching around his finger, you felt the rivulets of your slick as he pumped in and out, soon he had moved onto his second finger, and then third, prepping you well for what you had been waiting for.

Hearing the clink of a belt, your eyes immediately latched onto Bakugou’s cock, and you damn near salivated.

It was fucking big.

Curved slightly, head flushed pink, a tuft of blonde by the base, if you didn’t have that inside of you any minute now, you were sure to start crying.

“J-just fuck me.” It had meant to leave an order, but your stutter only made him laugh.

“Look at you, so eager.” He pressed the head into your slick, letting the fluid coat itself onto his cock, then tapping it against your clit. “Horny fucking slut, in your office, where anyone could walk in.”

“I need you.” Unsure you could take another second without him inside you, you pleaded. “Please put it in.”

With a deep groan, he inserted the tip in, bringing himself towards you, kissing at the side of your mouth, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

There was a honest layer of concern within his voice, a genuine care, and beyond everything, your frustration, your arousal, in that moment you could only smile. “I will.”

As he inched further in, his own breath staggered, the plush walls of your insides encasing his cock, shaping itself around him, as if you were made for him.

“F-fuck, you’re perfect.” was the only thing he could spit out, stilling as he reached his hilt, your own throat struggling to let out a breath.

After a moment of being entwined in each other's embrace, you finally let out the whimper to move, and so he did.

He fucked you hard, but not fast, rather it was slow and deep. Bringing himself out to the tip before slamming himself back in with a force that made you choke. The constant motion, alongside the circles he was persistent on rubbing at your clit, had you moaning, drawing closer to you end.

“Sweet girl, look at you.” His teeth glinted as they barred. “Such a mess for me already.”

The sickening squelch of your fluids, with each thrust, was testament to that, the drag of his cock filling you up till you crumbled underneath him.

Letting out another short gasp, you felt his cock hit that particular spot inside of you, and when he noticed, he didn’t let up, grazing it again and again and again.

“Kat-katsuki, fuck I’m gonna.” He knew, just by the way you tightened around him, the way your eyes squeezed shut, the way your voice pitched higher, louder and sweeter.

“Me too, pretty girl,” he huffed out against your skin. “Think you can hold out a little?”

You nodded fervently, craving to obey him, aching to make him proud.

“You’re so fucking cute, princess, too fucking cute.” Bakugou cut off as his lips fell back to yours, kissing you with a softness that you hadn’t felt before, making you whimper into the kiss.

You felt his cock twitch inside you, and that only made your pussy clench around him. His fingers still on your clit, length kissing your cervix, and his mouth sucking at yours, you came with a sudden cry.

And so did he, the wetness of your walls, clamping down onto him, like it didn’t want to let go, the melodies of your voice, the damn tears that had started to collect by your glistening eyes, it was all too much.

The two of you simply floated in the feeling of your high. The tickle of his ash blond hair against your forehead, the languid trail of kisses he left upon your neck and the feeling of his cock still burried deep within, you were in heaven.

Soon the stickiness of sex became unpleasant , the desk incredibly uncomfortable and you both shifted, Katsuki slipping out while you adjusted to the emptiness.

You wobbled slightly, trying to get up on your feet, before Katsuki brought an arm around you, then picking you up to place you on the sofa. Forgetting all about how new they were, you warmed at the show of affection.

“I’ll get us some water, then something else to wear,” he said, clothing himself and coming back to you, stroking a stay hair away from your face before kissing your temple. “You alright?”

Humming, you nodded as he passed you your shirt, using it to cover yourself, a sweet makeshift blanket. He went in for another kiss, but as he attempted to detach, you tugged on the half done shirt he had on.

“We should do this again.” After the weeks of irritation, you weren’t going to lose the only man who could make you cum. And perhaps the man you’d been secretly pining for.

Air left his nose with a playful snicker, returning to smile onto your kiss. “Let me take you on a date first.”

Not particularly my best work and it’s definitely rushed, but I saw this meme and started cracking up a while ago and it lead to this thought. Ty for reading!!

Edit: changed a few lines that I disliked writing but had nothing else on the mind… think they new lines sound much better [06/01/22]

[hoe-imaginess]

a helping hand (or two) | dabi

Dabi x fem!Reader

summary: Dabi is suffering from an aphrodisiac quirk. Now he’s got a dick that just won’t quit, and you have to take care of it.

word count: 10.4k

contains: almost dub-con, handies, bjs, dick riding, dirty talk, slight violence, a very stubborn Dabi who has to be restrained 

a/n: self-indulgent & vaguely crack-ish. my idea of an aphrodisiac includes an overload of the five senses bc...idk I wanted to play w/ descriptive prose. my kink is describing Dabi’s horniness in paragraphs ok. meaty intro before the smut, hang in there

⤰⤰⤰

Dabi entertained the alley-dweller’s angry outbursts with sadistic patience. The man yelled at him, threatened him, boasted of all the ways in which he was going to make Dabi suffer for attacking and underestimating him—

Then, finally having decided that the fodder was no longer amusing him, the flame-user extended a glowing palm in preparation to finish the job. 

When you read the intention in Dabi’s movement, you fidgeted where you stood and calculated the risk of opposing him. 

“You can’t just keep burning everyone you don’t like,” you said, calculations made, deciding that you might as well attempt to be a voice of reason while you were paired up with him on this job. 

It was a voice he happily ignored. The white-hot glare of his palm smoldered into the bursting blue of his flames as they lit up his fingers.  

“Says who?” 

Trash was trash. If you couldn’t see that, then oh well. Folly on your part for thinking the tedious task of recruiting didn’t require this sort of disposal; what better to do with underwhelming candidates than permanently remove them from the talent pool? You shouldn’t have tagged along if you weren’t prepared for his methods. 

When the alley-villain realized that Dabi’s patience for his empty, arrogant threats had been spent, his dirt-stained face colored with fear, and his wild eyes darted in every direction of the alley to seek refuge from the imminent flames. He started to plead—which Dabi found grimly amusing given that the man had been spouting insults about his patchwork skin just moments before—then he shrank back against the alley wall, sinking to the ground in fear.

“The more bodies you leave the easier it will be for the police to track us.” You’d taken to your persuasions again, fruitless though you knew it was. 

“And?”

“And you’ll be compromising the entire League.”

“If all you’re gonna do is complain then you don’t have to tag along, ya know.” He spared a glance your way, with that drolly exasperated look on his face he always gave when he felt you were speaking out of turn. 

But his diverted attention proved costly: the alley-dweller suddenly went berserk, and was rushing at him with a final, rogue desperation to escape. 

The charge, surprisingly swift as it was, was also uncalculated, and Dabi narrowly side-stepped to avoid a blow. With an indignant sneer, he rounded his hand and kindled his flames anew: no more games, it was time to kill. But before he could retaliate, the lunatic was on him again, barreling toward him. 

Though fatally seared by the sudden discharge of flame that Dabi released, the derelict’s bulk was still sufficient to topple into Dabi and throw him off balance. He might have fallen from the impact if not for the way the man gave a wailing, pained shriek and threw himself away from the flames. 

Torched and agonized as the man was, his mounted attack hadn’t been a complete failure: though Dabi’s flames had mostly protected him, there was an unmistakable sensation of damage in him which left him suddenly rigid with alarm. 

Had he been wounded?

He looked down at himself, saw no injuries from which the bodily distress might have been roused. After a few moments the distress was gone, and he decided it was just adrenaline. Then, there returned the enervated frustration. 

“Trash,” he muttered indignantly, glaring at the steaming heap of the man, who’d stumbled over a litter of aluminum trash bins and capsized with them onto the ground. He wasn’t moving. But he was still whole, and not the pile of burning ash he could have been, should have been, now, after that little effrontery—

Your arm was on him before he could pursue the murderous thoughts. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, inspecting him carefully. 

Instantly and fiercely, he shrugged away from your touch. 

“Fine,” he grunted out, straightening and stiffening his limbs to convince himself of it. But that odd feeling was still there, burgeoning slowly at the sight of the man’s body fuming on the ground, at your own body standing so close to him. “If you hadn’t been running your damn mouth—”

“Sorry,” you conceded, more concerned with his demeanor than with defending yourself. In all likelihood he didn’t even realize how ruffled he looked. “Did he… are you hurt?”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted firmly. 

While you stared at him in doubtful concern, an energetic heat crept up his spine. Slow, like an insect bite bringing its stinging warmth to a crawl over his skin, skin both scarred and unscarred alike. 

There was a smell, then, when he took his shallow breaths: something sweet, like lingering perfume, or fragrant incense—

Fairly quickly he realized the smell was coming from you, and glared at you in puzzled indignation, like the fact that this scent was yours and that he could smell it now—why could he smell it so profusely now, when he hadn’t before? What the hell?—was somehow offensive. Worst of all it smelled damn good. Had you always smelled that good?

“...What is it?” you asked carefully, not quite able to place the look on his face, but considerably unnerved by it, nonetheless. “Dabi…?”

Your voice—it held such particular tones that he hadn’t before noticed until now, as though he’d been deaf to what you really sounded like; how sleek and enticing your words were when they came out of your pretty mouth. 

Oh, and your mouth: lips parted fretfully in preparation for another concerned inquiry on his well-being, objectively innocent but suddenly, and infuriatingly, looking very much like they were tempting him for a kiss. 

Then when your pink tongue came to wet your lips in anxious trepidation, that too he saw as a maddeningly teasing gesture that made his hands feel hot. Then it was his feet; then his whole body. 

He began to fidget where he stood. 

Then, at the sudden onset of warmth in his head, he slid over to the alley wall, a splayed hand against the brick keeping his balance while he hung his dizzy head low. 

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself woozily. 

“Dabi?” You went to inspect him cautiously. You couldn’t see his expression through the curtain of black that had fallen over his face, but you knew something was amiss. “Are you okay?” you asked again. 

“I’m fine,” he huffed out, and you’d been oblivious to his hoarse breathing up until the moment you stopped in front of him. 

“Dabi,” you begged his attention now that his eyes had closed shut, his features pinched. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes, dizzied by the heat, began to play tricks on him. Even behind the closed lids he saw sparks flying, and swirls of white-hot passion dancing.

When the heat in him turned to a near-burning sensation, he opened his eyes and stared down at his body. Was his quirk activated? he thought confusedly. Or was the heat that licked his skin just a hallucination: flames that failed to consume him wholly? What the hell was happening? What was this—

The heat finally centered—mortifyingly—between his legs, and what had been confusion before was now full-blown bafflement. 

“Dabi,” you were saying again. 

The sound of your voice inflamed him not in aggravation, but something else. 

“You don’t look good,” you said. The way his breath had thinned to long, rough pants put anxiety in you. “...I’ll call Kurogiri.” You fished your phone from your pocket with the intention of doing so. 

A grunt was his response; he couldn’t coherently pick his words. Then, the anticipation of your voice again, on the phone, speaking in those tones and that sweet melody, made him shudder.

“No,” he muttered. 

You looked at him, the phone to your ear, the line ringing. “What?” 

“Don’t,” was all he could say, lower this time, almost in a growl. 

“But Dabi, you—”

Suddenly, at the thought of hearing your voice for even another second, the fire overtook him. 

First he slapped the phone from your grip. Its screen broke against the pavement and the voice that answered the call—too late, you thought fleetingly—stuttered on the line. Then he slammed you against the wall. 

Winded and bewildered, it took you several seconds to find your bearings. In that time he’d pressed against you, his breath so hot and so angry that it flushed perspiration over your skin. 

Gaping, your lips trembled. “Dabi, what—” 

“Shut up,” he seethed quietly, teeth baring. 

You recognized the wild look of violence on his face, but the lust in his hazy eyes wasn’t anticipated. Nor was the erection you felt pressing against your leg. You stared wide-eyed as the sinking realization came over you.

In desperation you pushed at him; he pushed back, corralling you against the wall even harder. 

The air was knocked out of your lungs, and with it, a dying protest, “Wait—”

He clamped a too-warm hand over your mouth, and pressed his face against yours. His forehead on your own felt feverish and sweaty; his eyes, like blue-burned coals, pierced into yours. You could smell the heat smoldering off of him. 

He loosed a shaky, unhinged breath. “Shut. Up.” 

Unthinking, your hand tugged at the one on your mouth, inadvertently digging into his staples. But his wild passion lent him a worrisome insensitivity to the hurt, and his other hand was going for your waist, squeezing into your shirt and wrenching you impossibly closer against him. 

The pain which erupted from his compromised staples only fanned the flames of his arousal. He didn’t know why. Of course he fucking didn’t. He didn’t even know why his body was moving the way it was: rutting against you, seeking friction for his aching dick. 

His mouth went to your neck but applied no kisses or intimate caresses; he just pressed against the skin and breathed in pants. He put his free hand to your breast, the movement not a calculated one, more like he was seeking leverage to his imbalance. The stuttering beat of your heart was palpable under his palm. 

"Fuck,” he sputtered out angrily, disoriented, and dug his fingers into your chest. You moaned behind his palm, both in shock and pleasure. 

All he needed to hear was the latter. 

The sound made him hiss a low and dangerous curse, and when he peeked his head back up, his pulsing eyes shone with something beyond just lust now: pure hunger. 

Just as he moved his hand away from your mouth with the intent of crashing his own against you in a bruising kiss, there was a sound behind him. 

In the back of his mind he recognized it: Warp Gate. 

Kurogiri, and possibly someone else, had answered your call for aid. 

Dabi utterly ignored it. 

It had nothing to do with him. 

He was only concerned with the heat. All he felt was the heat; all he saw was your lips: parted in dumbfoundment, dry, and begging to be wetted by his tongue–

There was a commotion, and then an angry voice that Dabi distantly recognized as Shigaraki’s. 

Then a blow to the back of his head took everything away.

⤰

A subtle transformation had overtaken his body by the time he woke. 

No longer was the heat excruciating, but it was still there, nevertheless: a curling medium beneath his skin which he felt the instant consciousness came back to him. With it, the dizzy ache in his head and the haze in his eyes. Then, finally: his limbs refusing to move when he tried to stretch them. 

At once he realized he was back in the bar, confined in a chair, with people gawking at him from all sides. 

He blinked his vision back to clarity, then scowled. “The hell?”

“Do you remember anything, Dabi?” That was Kurogiri somewhere to his left. Looking, Dabi confirmed his usual station behind the bar. 

Delaying an answer, the flame-user glanced around. Not all of the League was there, he saw. Besides Kurogiri, only Shigaraki and you were audience to the spectacle. 

You tried to avoid his harsh eyes when they landed on you, when they flitted across your features as if in an elaborate struggle to put pieces of a disoriented puzzle together. Solved, apparently, as his memory came back, his confused scowl worked into a realizing frown. 

“Shit,” he muttered in annoyance. 

Shuffling uncomfortably in the chair, he surmised it was rope binding his wrists behind his back, and his ankles to the chair legs. But the movement also brought attention to the hot pressure in his gut. 

Or at the least, he thought that’s where it was—until he glanced down and realized that despite the abatement of the wild heat, his erection still peeked proudly underneath his jeans.

Now he was scowling again. 

“What the hell,” he spat out, and suddenly, with his frustration flourishing, the heat was returning in slow order. 

He cursed under his breath. He looked up and glared at the first onlooker he set his eyes upon: Kurogiri. 

“Get me out of this shit.”

“I can’t do that,” the man replied regrettably. “When I came to retrieve you from the scene we had no choice except to put you down when you refused to listen. Given the nature of the quirk that you’ve been struck with, we have to take precautions until we know it’s out of your system.”

Dabi listened with steely suspicion. “What quirk?”

“An aphrodisiac—” You almost bit your tongue once you’d started, because the quick and fierce glance he gave you suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with you, and even less happy to hear your voice. 

“It’s an aphrodisiac quirk,” you stated, more calmly now. 

Dabi blinked, brows knotting in concentration. Spoken plainly that way, it seemed absurd, stupid. 

He scoffed dryly. “You’re joking.” 

“Really fucked up this time, didn’t you?” came Shigaraki from a spot at the bar, his arms crossed. “Serves you right, searching the alleys for trash. I told you to stop doing that shit.”

“Fuck off,” Dabi spat. “How was I supposed to know the guy’d have such a stupid fuckin’…” 

Dabi tsked and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair again. The bitterness he felt for his confinement was quickly gaining, and so was the returning arousal. A sweltering, uncomfortable warmth on his skin made him hyperaware of his flushed face, and he could practically feel the sweat teeming on his unscarred flesh. 

“I’m serious,” he muttered, glaring at Shigaraki. “Get me out of this.”

“So you can go ape shit again? No. It’s disgusting.” 

“I’m not gonna do shit, relax.”

Dabi was aware then that focus was being pulled in the room, pulled directly to you: the victim of his unbidden arousal.

With a roll of his eyes, he huffed a frustrated breath and gave you what might have passed for an apology, if he’d even bothered looking at you. “My bad, and all that.”

Shigaraki’s arrogant snort derailed whatever amendment you might have transpired to make. 

“You’re lucky the guy was still alive when we got there—barely,” your leader went on. “Told us a bit about what to expect from you in the next few hours though, once we promised we’d let him go.”

Dabi gave him a flat look of doubt. 

Shigaraki scoffed. “Didn’t keep that promise, obviously.” Then he was scowling behind Father. “I don’t like having to clean up your messes. Shouldn’t have to finish off your fodder for you. You can’t even do that right, can you?”

Dabi’s frustration was in full bloom now, despite reason persuading him against it; he’d gathered enough at this point—at the expense of his own body—to know that agitation of any kind would feed the quirk’s effects. 

Heat pooled low in his stomach when he demanded again, “Let me out of this shit right now or I’m gonna get mad.”

“Supposed to be a 24-hour thing unless you take care of it, to put it plainly,” Shigaraki responded.

“I assumed as much. So get me outta this shit and I’ll fuck off for a while.”

“Nah. Don’t need you going and causing a scene somewhere because you don’t know how to keep your pants on.”

You could feel the conflagration of tension in the room. Maybe it was Dabi’s quirk, maybe it was the alley-dweller’s mixing with it, making it dangerously palpable. Regardless, Shigaraki’s snark seemed to bring Dabi’s attention back to his body, to the insufferable bulge between his legs that demanded relief.

“This is stupid,” he declared bitterly, and tugged on the knots tied at his wrists, the throbbing heat in his lower-half lending itself to his quirk as it activated in licking flames along his arms. He was tired of this shit. He lost his temper all at once. “You’re damn crazy if you think I’m just gonna sit here—”

Then there was blue flame torching the back of the chair, blackening the rope which bound him and making the tethers frail enough to tear apart under a strong tug. He was freeing himself. 

From there, it all happened relatively swiftly. 

As he went to work on the binds at his feet with newly liberated arms, Shigaraki was in a conniption of angry protests, and Kurogiri fluttered nervously between taking action or remaining an onlooker. 

Then there was you, probably the least equipped to do much of anything to alleviate the situation, but nevertheless skipping to your feet the moment the chaos ensued. There was arguing, cursing, insults—then your voice, attempting to wedge some conciliatory reason into the room.

It did the exact opposite. 

Dabi had apparently forgotten of the trigger in your voice that sent his body into a frenzy. When you spoke up, your voice just loud enough to cut above the rest of the uproar, his aspiration to free himself tapered off as his sharp eyes honed in on you. 

His arousal came back with a vengeance; in his pants, his dick twitched angrily for relief, and that frenzy took over his thought process again. 

His flames burned the rope at his feet and he came at you, so close, so very close, not knowing why he was doing it but only that he needed to touch you—

You were frozen on the spot. But Shigaraki was reaching for something along the bar, and Dabi’s world went black again soon after. 

⤰

When he woke this time, his rope bonds had been replaced for something cold and metallic, something stronger to withstand the vehemence of his flames. Even the chair to which he was bound had been swapped for something sturdier than wood.

“You fuckin’ serious?” he spat out, even before his vision had centered. He knew where he was, and why he was there. No need for context clues. 

“You gave us no other choice,” Kurogiri amended carefully, the black vapors that composed him flitting about anxiously. 

“Told you that you’d lose it,” Shigaraki said, anger having replaced all his snarky tones of condescension from before. “You’re like a damn animal.”

Dabi hissed and put his head back, feeling the soreness at his nape from consecutive blows. If he weren’t so presently occupied with the curl of heat welcoming him afresh, he might have simmered on the idea of burning his relatively recent—but entirely disagreeable—boss to a crisp when this was over. 

Then for the first time Dabi realized you were absent, and glanced around as if in search of you. Good, he thought, when he confirmed that you were missing. You just... complicated things. 

“I’m fine now,” he insisted, as placidly as possible as if to give stock to his lie. The respite had done nothing for the arousal harassing him; the longer it having gone unsatiated, even in unconsciousness, making it all the more demanding. 

Mellowing his urgency to a non-existent degree was almost impossible, however. Dabi knew the way the soles of his shoes twisted and flattened restlessly into the ground below was anything but inconspicuous. 

“Just warp me outta here, Kurogiri,” he implored. 

“No,” Shigaraki answered. “Shut up. Consider this a lesson. No more rummaging for allies in shithole parts of town. This is what happens when you go dumpster-diving for recruits.”

“You want me to burn this place down?” Dabi threatened, testing the strength of his bonds. A flicker of blue teased along his jawline. “‘Cause I got no problem doing that.”

Shigaraki shrugged. “Sure. You’ll just burn up with it, since you’ve got no way out of that chair.”

He knew it was true, and worked his jaw. “For all you know the damn guy was lyin’,” he said as a final act of contempt, and gave his leader a leery, side-long glare. “And this shit might not go away on its own.”

“Guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?” 

Dabi sneered. Foiled, but regardlessly frustrated by the truth of it, he put his head back with an angry sigh and resigned himself to an attempted calm. 

⤰

You’d lingered in the bar’s back rooms for the better part of an hour before emerging. 

Shigaraki had instructed you to make yourself scarce, but you were drafted to stay by some guilty—and admittedly curious—sentiment. 

It was awfully unfair, you agreed, to keep Dabi chained up like he was—even in spite of the danger he posed under the quirk’s influence. But you must have overlooked that danger when you decided to slip into the main room where he was being held, long after you had been assured that Kurogiri and Shigaraki were gone. 

His back to the door, Dabi didn’t glance over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps. It seemed he was sour enough not to offer greeting, and preferred to be left alone in his turmoil. 

He especially didn’t want your company, which he made clear by way of a harsh frown when you came into his peripheral. 

He tsked and readjusted uncomfortably in his seat at your arrival. “The hell do you want?”

“How are you feeling?” 

“Never been better,” he muttered. 

You were aware of how he avoided your gaze, and couldn’t know whether it was in an effort to stave off the arousal your presence had so viciously wrought before, or because he simply didn’t appreciate your company. The latter seemed just as likely as the first, though neither stopped you from taking a seat in one of the room’s couches so you could sit across at him. 

Your eyes were trained on his face, on the agitation creased into his expression. It was almost indecipherable under his otherwise cold demeanor. Clearly, the quirk was still in effect. If his tried composure wasn’t enough, there was a subtle tent in his pants that hadn’t gone away, not since its first appearance hours ago, you imagined. 

You didn’t realize you were ogling until he noticed. He tsked. 

“Take a picture,” he offered spitefully, immediately dissuading your eyes away from him. 

“Sorry,” you let slip, embarrassment flushing your cheeks, and in response he only lulled his head back again and shut his eyes. 

All was silent for a while, and might have remained thereby, if not for the way that the curt apology brought back the weight of guilt you’d felt to see his sorry state. 

“And I’m sorry for bringing you back here,” you spoke up. “Or at least, sorry that I called the others. I didn’t realize you’d be held up like this–”

“Stop talking,” he muttered. 

Mouth opening, then closing again, you almost swallowed down your next words. But again, they refused to stay unspoken. 

“I wouldn’t have called them,” you insisted, “if you didn’t—if you didn’t come after me like that. I was confused.”

No response. Only another uncomfortable shuffle in the chair while his eyes remained shut and his mouth a thin line. 

They’d put his hands in a sort of metallic sleeve since you last saw him, to discourage any more pyromania, you guessed. Though they weren’t visible, you could see how his arms shifted, how his tendons worked, and could imagine his fingers flitting anxiously inside the restraints. 

“Is… me being here making it worse?” you chanced to ask. 

He scoffed, and finally gave you his attention. “What?” Then, fully understanding your train of thought, rolled his eyes, and resigned them shut again while he relaxed into the chair. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but that dumb look you got on your face all the time isn’t exactly alluring.”

You frowned, and it was almost with cross touchiness that you argued, “But you came after me—”

“I’m guessin’ the point of the quirk is to make anything look fuckable.  So don’t flatter yourself.”

Despite all your caution, you couldn’t help but give the man a sour look. “You’re rude.”

He shrugged, the movement impeded considerably by his restraints. “Whatever. Anyways, you just gonna sit there and watch me? I’m not exactly in the mood for company.” He moved in his seat again, fighting the heat between his legs the best he could. “Unless you’re gettin’ off on my suffering and what not. Kinda twisted of you, if you ask me. Didn’t peg you as the type.”

“That’s not it,” you insisted quickly. “I just wanted to…well—”

“To what? Check in on me? Nice of you. But you can fuck off now.” 

A sudden twitch in his legs took the tension from the repartee. You looked down at the limb as he did. 

The burning heat in his veins took away practically all control he had of his extremities, rallied them into unconscious servants of the damn quirk until they were twitching, then relaxing, then twitching again.

You noticed this, too, and though his efforts to conceal the struggle were commendable, they left you in a state of shame, as if it were you bound in the chair with your arousal on display. Seeing someone so normally composed as he was in such a state was distressing, and admittedly, absorbing.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and let your rampant thoughts form to words. “Will it go away if you…”

“If I what?” Then once understanding, the smallest of smirks twisted his scarred lips. “Rub one out? How the hell am I supposed to know?”

You ignored the heat that dropped down your spine to hear him say it so unabashedly. “I don’t have the key to your locks,” you explained. “So I couldn’t let you out even if I wanted to.”

He gave no response, just looked away from you again. 

And here now was the adrenaline pulsing nonsense out of you, making you think crazy and debauched thoughts that would in any other situation be put down immediately by rationale. 

“But…”

He glanced at you when you tapered off. “But?”

Your silence annoyed him, now that he was interested. Before he could hound you to continue, you sputtered out your proposal:

“Do you want me to do something about it?”

He looked at you, an eyebrow raised, as if demanding clarification. But you had a resolute feeling that he was toying with you by choosing silence. 

“You know what I mean,” you asserted. 

The blank, cold stare you received in kind made you wonder if he actually did know what you meant. Maybe he didn’t understand—

“No,” he then said. 

The defeat you felt was utterly uncalled for, you knew. But you felt it anyways: a wash of humiliation plummeting down your body and swelling up again in frustration. 

But you let it be, knowing anything more you had to say would probably earn you tenfold embarrassment. 

Twenty minutes must have passed—though he wasn’t counting, and he wasn’t so sure that the affliction in his body wasn’t twisting his sense of time—each entailing another dredge of painful heat in his groin that worsened the longer his arousal went unattended to.

All the fail safes he’d practiced in his adolescence to ward off unwanted arousals were utterly useless now. He might as well have been on cloud nine when he filled his head with repulsive concepts: the smell of antiseptic, the smell of fish—fucking disgusting fish—even images of roadkill and dead bodies, putrefying and blackened. 

The thoughts themselves were off-putting, as promised, but it wasn’t thoughts at all that fueled his libido: it was a completely physical and natural arousal. 

Even shuffling his legs around, as meager of friction as it gave, made his hips inch forward in search of more when the fabric of his jeans teased his hard cock. It was fucking humiliating. 

He looked at you. You were too occupied searching the floor for an answer to your anxieties to notice the way he studied you.

You weren’t bad looking, he decided. Not that he’d ever really thought of you that way before. Not thoroughly, anyways. In this little group of delinquents he’d surrounded himself with—a grand mistake on his part, he thought, especially during times like these—you were the only fuel he had for his imagination on nights he needed to let off some steam. 

There was no intimacy behind it, no real passion for you that extended beyond the time from when he shoved a hand into his jeans, to when he was cleaning thick ropes of cum from his knuckles afterwards. 

You were only ever given credence in his brain then, when he was giving his cock hard and angry tugs to the thought of you on your knees for him, or against a wall with his hand curled around your throat, and sometimes bent over his knee while he spanked your ass raw (a more recent daydream now, ever since that time a few weeks ago when you’d bent down in front of him to pick something up off the floor).

Suddenly aware of an alarming change in his body, he paused his thoughts to immerse himself back into his too-hot skin again. 

He felt a wetness against his swollen cock, and after squirming covertly, frowned, realizing with loathing that the stickiness chafing his briefs was pre-cum. 

He stubbornly decided that it was just an inevitable response to his body’s raging war with arousal, and not—not at all—because he’d been thinking of you. 

Letting his body endure until his pants were dampened with pre-cum was an unwanted solution. Or even worse, until the sensitivity in his cock went haywire and even the tiniest of movements might make him cream his pants. 

A frustrated breath whistled out from his nose and he grit his teeth. Goddamnit. This was fucking stupid. 

“Fuck,” he said aloud, shaking his head as if to condemn the words he was about to say, knowing how they would haunt his ego later, “Fine. Come here.”

You glanced up, and, unable to fulfill the request with your mind suddenly racing, simply stared. 

That insipid look of failed registry on your face irritated him, and he scowled. “Are you deaf?”

“You want me to—” A sweep of your eyes down to his crotch elucidated what you were too hesitant to say. 

“You offered,” he reminded you, and decided that in order to make this even a fraction less humiliating, he’d need to emphasize your culpability. “Kinda been thinking it’s your fault, anyways. If you hadn’t been such a dumbass back there I would’ve finished the guy off like I wanted to. But you were too busy spouting your nitpicky bullshit.”

There was a guilty look on your face now, like you’d been considering the accusation in your own time. Now having it confirmed, you were more susceptible to the reasoning, and even more willing to rectify yourself. 

Still, you struggled to swallow down hesitation. “You’re sure that you want me to—”

“You’re gonna start pissin’ me off if you get all shy,” he said, trying as hard as his dancing nerves would allow to keep the desperation out of his voice. 

Since yielding to the ludicrous idea, his body had apparently taken up a premature celebration at the thought of your hands on him. His balls were tight and his dick was throbbing hard enough to make his legs tense with each pulse. 

“I just want to make sure,” you insisted. “I mean, if you really–”

“I’ll make it easy for you then. Either get over here, or piss off.”

He was relieved, pleased, and somewhat amused when the hesitation left you and you obeyed. When you came to stand idly in front of him, he glanced up, watching your confusion. 

Your eyes flicked from his face to his crotch, where the dim light of the room caught the curve of his hard dick pressing against his jeans. 

“You gonna stare at it all day?” he asked. 

You looked at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“When you offered to do something about it I assumed you already had some ideas. You need me to give you an instruction manual?” 

Your silence frustrated him again, and he tsked, glancing away from you as the reality of what you two were doing finally set in. 

“Take it out,” he muttered. 

So you did, reaching numbly down and carefully undoing his pants. The bulge that awaited underneath his jeans gave you pause. You stared at it, and a shot of adrenaline pumped through you when it twitched in his briefs, as if feeling your eyes ogling it and begging you to give it attention.

You tried to clear your conscience. This was Dabi, Dabi who treated you with such disregard that you sometimes wondered if he even knew your name; Dabi, who was letting you even breathe next to him without trying to scorch you.

A trickling, somewhat fatally comedic thought entered your mind: was he going to light you ablaze the second you touched him? Or maybe after, once you’d relieved him, as a way to permanently silence you against ever speaking a word of this to anyone?

Shivering at the morbidity of your own creation, you reached for his briefs and pulled them down carefully until his cockhead showed itself, pink-hued and shiny with an excess amount of pre-cum. 

You worked a hand underneath the briefs instead of exposing him completely, thinking he might want some semblance of modesty during this. Your convictions were rattled from their mounts when your fingers wrapped gently around the tip of his cock and gave a firm squeeze. 

In response: silence. 

You’d thought with how viciously his arousal had seemed to harangue him that he might give a stronger reaction: a moan, a sigh, a grunt, maybe even an audible breath. 

He just stared at you, looking as utterly bored as he usually did.

Then your fingers decided to retreat, and the sound you’d been displeased to be robbed of came finally as a frustrated grunt when your grip left him. 

“Seriously?” he huffed, staring at you. The irritation left its first but considerable split in his composure. The rest was quickly chipping away. He couldn’t pretend to be aloof about this for much longer. “You got cold feet now?”

“That’s not it.”

“What then? Never seen one before?”

“I don't know… how you want it,” you explained. 

“The hell does that mean?”

“Do you want me to use my hands?” you clarified hesitantly. “Or…” 

The little huff of derisive laughter that fell from his open lips made an eerie picture of his otherwise blank face. 

“Or what?” he taunted. “You got something else in mind? You been dyin’ for a taste of it or something–”

“No,” you finished, and that flustered look of anger on your face was pissing him off again, instead of amusing him like it might have under another context.

“So then cut the shit and do whatever.”

With a frown you went to your knees, unwilling to get further embroiled. 

When you started to stroke him, more pre-cum squeezed from the tip in generous pumps. You didn’t bother asking him how hard or fast he wanted it—you started hastily, hand gliding quickly over his cock, urgently enough that pre-cum eased the motion and made wet, sharp sounds with every stroke. 

His knee twitched like he’d been checked for reflex, which you took as encouragement to keep going despite his loyalty to silence. 

The veins along his dick pulsed needily and you swore you could feel the throb under your palm. The throb became more palpable as time went on. You thought you were doing well. But apparently not. 

“Harder,” he muttered, not a minute after you’d started. 

You glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at you, but instead had shut his eyes in concentration. It looked to you as though he was trying to find the pleasure in your pace—which was apparently too soft for his likings. 

You did as instructed, nevertheless: you tightened your grip a fraction, fingers curling and making your strokes face slightly more resistance as they worked more pre-cum from the red tip. 

Another twitch in his leg, then a deep exhale that ended in a shiver; you saw his toned stomach shudder with the motion beneath his clothes, and fleetingly considered inching his shirt up a bit more out curiosity: how far did the burnt skin go down his body?

But then he was grunting, and breathing more stiffly than before. You thought that was another sign of a job well done, when his eyes peeled open and looked down upon you with such emphasized frustration that you realized you were not, in fact, meeting his standards. 

“Harder,” he demanded again, more rigidly this time. Despite the command, your hand slowed. For that, he frowned at you. “Can barely feel that shit. You gotta do better than that. I like it rough.”

A flush of humiliation put purpose back into your rigid fingers, and you were moving your hand again, albeit slowly as you tested the new grip, this time with such purposeful pressure that you were tugging his dick now more than stroking it. 

“I thought it might hurt,” you started meekly.

“It doesn’t. Keep going.” 

You did, picking up speed again. The adrenaline put some more initiative into you, and you made a purposeful attempt to drag your thumb down hard on his swollen cock with every jerk of your hand. 

A croaky hum from his throat brought your attention to his face; his eyes watched your hand stroking him with fuzzy scrutiny. 

“Yeah,” he breathed thinly, his eyes fluttering closed again, finally satisfied. “Just like that.” 

That made your chest tight with excitement and your legs fidget beneath you. Your own arousal was wetting the inside of your thighs by now, but you were able to ignore it momentarily in favor of serving his.

At some point his hips stuttered up to start meeting your hand, but in a much slower rhythm than you were stroking; lazy pumps up into your grip. Every synchronic motion when you jerked up and his hips rolled down, there was an amazing tightness on the head of his cock that made his breath catch every time. 

You decided on using both hands (he was big, unexpectedly big, so much so that it was staggering and you decided you would think about that later when he wasn’t filling your palms so generously) and started twisting your grip in time with your strokes. It was then he finally loosed a low and breathy groan. 

Then his hips were pumping into your hands roughly, fucking himself in slow but hard thrusts—so hard that you had to steel yourself and tighten your grip to keep from getting bucked off. 

Another low moan from his throat. “Shit…” Then, when a surge of confidence urged you to quickly run your tongue along the head of his dick, his breath caught in a hard grunt.

“Shit,” he hissed out, and spread his thighs wider, pushing them up eagerly in demand that you give him more. 

To the best of your ability you tried, spreading your tongue underneath the head and rapidly swiping it back and forth. That got his hips stuttering, and his body jolting in its confines. 

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Yes, fuck.... Just like that.”

Without prompting your lips came into the fold, closing tightly around the tip and sucking in time with the hands that fisted his cock until you were lavishing every inch of him in some way. 

The feeling alone was ridiculously good, but watching you made his jaw go slack and mouth open as he panted. Maybe it was just the stupid quirk making him delirious, but you looked a hell of a lot hotter doing this than what his fantasies had led him to believe. Fuck. You weren’t half bad. 

A particularly hard thrust into your mouth had one of your hands slipping loose, and his next thrust, unimpeded by the length of one your fists around him, shoved his dick to the tight heat at the back of your throat.

He grunted hard, “Fucking shit—” Then arched up quickly, jumping at the opportunity to sink his cock deeper. 

Without a pause to steady yourself you had little choice but to oblige, and his cockhead shoved in, cramming itself against your hot tongue, pumping farther back inch by inch. 

The hand still jerking him off covered what your throat was too inexperienced to swallow down, and the rhythm of your tight mouth and vice-like hand made him moan deeply. 

But it might have been too much, and a strength lent to him by the quirk’s desperation made his hips lift off the chair forcibly, driving his cockhead to the very back of your throat until you were sputtering and choking. 

“Fuck.” It made him dizzy with pleasure, and he shut his eyes to keep them from rolling as he frantically pumped his hips upwards to get you gagging on him again. “Yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck–”

But then you were pulling off completely with a gasping breath.

His eyes opened, wild with exasperation. “The hell–”

You coughed wetly and started to plead, “Don’t choke me–” 

“Fine—fine. Hurry the hell up.” His hips jutted up impatiently in search of your mouth again, his swelling cock bouncing and twitching urgently. “Put that fuckin’ mouth back on it right now—” 

You obeyed, and his hips shuddered down into the chair, following the motion of your lips as they tightened over his length—only to start thrusting up into the hot and wet cavern again once his cockhead hit the roof of your mouth. 

It was like a fire had been kindled underneath him and was rapidly boiling all his thoughts to a vapor. It was stupidly good, so damn hot and tight and wet he couldn’t remember a mouth on his cock ever feeling this amazing. He wished his hands were free so he could fist them into your hair, so he could push you down more, get you gagging and sputtering on his cock. 

His eyes squeezed shut, face flexing with occasional twitches. His lips pulled back into a desperate grimace and long, shaky breaths whistled out through his clenched teeth. 

With his vision released of the sight of you on your knees, his mind was free to give the hot wetness on his cock another name, and he instead imagined that it was your pussy he was shoving into, gripping him nice and tight. 

He felt his quirk stirring underneath the pleasure; every vein in his body warmed at the mere thought of shoving into you raw, and until that very moment he hadn’t itched to break through his constraints like he did now, hadn’t wanted to be free of them so he could wrestle you to the floor and fuck you like he needed to. 

You were doing something particularly creative with your tongue on the underside of his cock, and a full body shudder brought him back to present. He watched you in your task: your eyes were shut tight in concentration, your brows furrowed as you struggled to accept his dick while it rammed against the back of your throat. Even your hand’s grip on his cock was a little tighter, he noticed appreciatively. 

It would have been fucking fantastic: a real goddamn sight to see that he might have honestly applauded you for later—if he wasn’t suddenly so absurdly enraptured with his fantasies. 

Dabi wanted more. Something deeper and hotter, something to bury his cock into and relish the velvety grip, something he could ravage and fuck away the ache in his body—

The thought of pounding his dick inside of you suddenly encompassed all other thought; it wasn’t a notion his frenzied mind would let remain as a fantasy. He wanted nothing else. Your mouth on his cock, your throat curdling around him, choking on him in a way that made his legs shake...

It was all insufficient now. He needed to be inside of you. As soon as fucking possible. 

“Shit,” he spat out. It was a curse different from the others, not breathed on arousal, but frustration. 

You looked up at him, and read him to be just as disgruntled as he sounded. 

“This ain’t doin’ it,” he said, and slowed his thrusting hips, which was a more hard-fought task to complete than he imagined; he may have been getting greedy with his fantasies, but his cock was still more than happy to use your mouth as a warm sleeve.

When you slipped off, you must have been giving him one of those dumb looks he hated, because he frowned. 

“You hear me?”

You nodded, licking the wetness from your lips as you caught your breath. You were lightheaded. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, and you swore you would smell the smoky salt of his skin on you for days. But now there was more? 

The heat pooling in your thighs demanded your attention again, and you fidgeted on your sore knees. “Well... what do you want me to do–”

“Sit on it.”

You gawked at him. “Sit on it?” 

That got him smirking just a little, his tongue peeking out to wet dried lips as he slowly panted. He cocked his head. 

“Worried it won’t fit?”

Your body surged with wild ambition. “That’s not it, but—”

“Bet you’re nice and tight, but you can work it in. I’d offer to stretch you open a little, but my hands are tied.” He flexed his fingers and arms in his binds for show, then grinned to see how flustered his words made you. “Besides, looked like you were enjoyin’ yourself. I’m sure you’re wet enough.”

God why couldn’t he shut up and let you think for a second? The teasing was horribly nauseating; his voice even worse, spoken with his smirk seeped into it. You realized the very sound of it would probably make you shiver now in all the wrong ways after this, even in casual conversation. 

“I… don’t have condoms,” you said by way of reply. 

He shrugged, the gesture lacking his usual languor now that he’d been worked up without release. “Me neither. They’re annoying.” 

He noticed you were frowning at him, and scoffed. “What, not on the pill?” He didn’t wait for a response; maybe that was the heat making him forgo on better judgment. “Well, guess it’s a good thing they got me pinned down, then. You’re free to pull off when I’m about to bust.”

The way in which he spoke it made your stomach queasy, and the first true lick of doubt ruined your mood as you stood up. “Fine. Just… tell me before you’re about to.”

He grunted in response, inwardly absorbed with impatience. 

You took off your bottoms and pushed your panties—yes, very wet, you confirmed—down, then hiked a leg over and climbed somewhat clumsily onto the chair.  

Only when you’d awkwardly positioned yourself over him did you notice that his eyes were fixated down below, where your hands steadily worked his dick against you. A raspy sigh passed his lips, and it was then you noticed his body teeming with eager spasms. 

Awkwardly, you sank down onto him, staring between you two the whole time and watching his thick length press tightly inside. 

The binds on his feet jabbed sharply against his ankles as they shuffled for leverage, desperate to rut up into the tight heat that welcomed him—but your legs resting on his thighs kept the movement to nothing but shallow thrusts. 

Whatever this fucking quirk was had a ridiculous effect on his sensitivity. You felt good—fucking amazing, even—though he couldn’t decide if that was just the quirk deluding him into thinking your cunt was the best he’d ever had, or if it really was: if you really were just that fucking incredible. 

Normally he would have managed that with stilled hips and practiced control; just sat back and enjoyed the ride. But shit it took a monumental effort not to fuck up into you, especially with how damn... slow you were going. 

Your pussy was gripping him so nicely, and that tight look on your face as you seated yourself onto his lap, accepting him fully and staggering from the size of him, was thrilling. But when you finally started to move your hips, you were going about it so cautiously, so boringly, that his patience all but thinned in a matter of seconds. 

“Could you go any slower?” he muttered. 

The words guilted you. “I thought it might… hurt?” you explained.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not in pain, dumbass. I need to cum. Which ain’t gonna happen if you keep this up.” He shuffled his legs, widening them so he could better press up into you. The pressure made him grunt, and you shiver. “C’mon, you were putting on a real good show before. Ride me like you mean it. I know you can.”

And there it was again, the words and the voice that threw repose out the window and made you all the more eager to see this through. 

With arms linked around his neck you started to roll your hips. He didn’t seem to mind the contact, helpful as it was in balancing yourself on his lap. 

You weren’t entirely surprised when the first sighs and grunts came from your own lips. Every time you thought a new angle of your hips or a quick thrust of his own had finally hit that one pleasurable spot inside, you would sink down harder on his cock and gasp when his thickness dragged over another. 

It made you go faster, turned the fluid rolling of your hips into quick grinding, then finally when you’d adjusted to his size, a steady bouncing on his cock. 

“Fuck yes...” he muttered, then moaned low, licking his lips; that was what he needed, feeling you sink down over and over, lifting yourself a little higher each time then dropping so hastily that his hips started jutting up to meet you. 

“Shit.” Lolling his head back he breathed heavily, deeply. “Ah shit...”

It encouraged you to circle your hips with every motion, which garnered a throaty growl in response. A string of curses under his breath accompanied it, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, keeping careful of his staples, and moaned along with him. 

Only when you started getting noisier did you think of anything except what you two were doing: what if Shigaraki or Kurogiri were to come back now? What if any of the others decided to waltz in? 

You bit your lip to keep your next few moans low, but you swore Dabi must have had a sixth sense for your timidity, and didn’t at all appreciate the way you were holding back. 

He shifted his hips on the chair in a precise motion, and suddenly his cockhead shoved against the right spot over and over again as you bounced on top of him. All your logical thoughts were fucked into the back burner immediately.

All you could hear was your own panting and the slap of your thighs against his. He would give his heedy approval in an occasional growl or moan, rasping it against your ear. It made you shiver uncontrollably. 

You lost rhythm soon enough and took to grinding again, the chair scraping along the floor beneath you. His thick cock drove you crazy, until you were panting and moaning and whining. If that wasn’t enough to signal an orgasm, he could feel it, could feel your pussy gripping him in a desperate flutter. 

“Oi,” he got your attention, turning his head, his breath thin at your cheek, “You serious? Are you actually gonna–”

And you did, legs stretching and contracting, tightening around his thighs as you came hard. He cursed and dipped his head low when you squeezed around him, panting through the ridiculously good pressure on his cock. 

Your body jerked and shivered in any way it could, anything to expel the white-hot pleasure that shot up your spine and then back down again. You couldn’t breathe, shaking on top of him so violently he was sure you were going to keel over at any second and start convulsing on the floor. 

“Hey shithead,” he snapped after he’d let your shivers die down. Using what little leverage his tied legs allowed him, he pushed his shoes off the floor, bouncing you impatiently in his lap and jarring you back to awareness. You gasped in hypersensitivity, his cock digging against you.

“I’m flattered you like my dick that much,” he went on, your body languid and slouched against him. The heat was nearing again; his cock twitched miserably inside of you, desperate for release and so damn close to getting it. “But you’re not the one in need of attention here, in case you forgot. Keep it up. I’m close.” 

With a moan you pushed yourself up, sucking in breaths of renewal through parted lips. Legs tensing and aching, you tried your best to grind on him again, but the task left you oversensitive. 

He needed to finish, you reminded yourself. He needed to cum, like he’d said. You were sure, so blissfully sure you might be rewarded with more of his unhinged reactions that you forced your muscles to be ignorant to their ache, and started to ride him in earnest.

That was when you noticed it: the heat wracking you wasn’t just your own, it was his. His skin too hot, too hot to be normal, furnace-warm to the touch. 

You lifted your head from his shoulder and peered over at him. His eyes were screwed shut, his lips pulled back into a tense snarl. Perspiration dewed on the portions of his untainted skin, dampened his brows and fell in droplets along his temple. 

You felt his body heating rapidly against yours—the clothes keeping your skin apart might as well have been paper-thin. His chest, rising desperately with heavy pants, was concerningly feverish. He felt it too. 

Fuck, he thought. Not fucking now. 

“Damn it—” he sputtered out, body going suddenly rigid, craning his neck away from you. “Move,” he warned you.

“What—”

“Move your damn head—”

Just as you did, your eyes stretched in shock as flames broke out from his jawline. Their angry blue reflected threateningly in your eyes, made you come to a shivering slow on his cock as the dry heat blistered out over your skin. 

The fire was out in a second, forcefully extinguished with his frustrated grunt; smoke puttered out from beneath his staples instead. He breathed out an angry sigh from the effort of combating his own quirk.

You hesitated to put your hand out and touch him, hovering over his face. “Dabi, your skin—”

“Shut up it’s fine,” he breathed raggedly, turning his head away from you. When was the last time that had happened? Fuck. He made himself believe it was just the quirk. Just the quirk. And not you. Not because you felt so fucking good. 

His legs jolted up in desperation to make you move on top of him. “Don’t you fuckin’ stop—shit—I’m almost there—”

You didn’t know whether to be frightened or exhilarated by the display of fire, but you were moving again regardless, bouncing on his lap for all you were worth until your legs were begging for mercy and your lungs ached. 

He sucked in tight breaths through his teeth, then exhaled them as gravelly moans. You pressed against him, arms wrapped about his frame, ignoring his sweltering skin and abandoning any fear that his quirk might disobey his control again. You bit your lip and whined excitedly when you felt him bow his head against your shoulder and pant heavily against the clothed skin there. 

The heat was fucking blinding now. And it was loud: a numbing and seductive beat in his chest that made his heart stutter to keep up. Every slam of your hips down onto him, and every one of his thrusts up into you in turn, made the heat louder, ache more, and burn.

“Now,” he grit out against your ear, body seizing in warning. In his enclosed binds, his fingers clenched into fists, so hard that the joints popped in protest.  

A whine in your throat was the response. You were ignorant to much else except the wetness making a mess of your thighs, of his searing skin against you and his belt buckle digging harshly into your legs. 

“Right now,” he sputtered hurriedly, hips rising from the seat. All he could do was shove up into you once, violent and hard, digging his way as deep as he could as his balls went tight and fiery pleasure raced up his body. “Right fuckin’ now move, I’m gonna—goddamnit… fuck!” 

He wasn’t prepared for the way you slammed your hips down as you came again with a cry. He stiffened hard, body bowing down into yours as much as the restraints allowed, shoving his face into your neck.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped out, “fuck—” You shivered wildly around him and in an instant he was cumming hard, legs jolting in their restraints, shaking under your thighs. 

“Fuck!” he shouted again, the exclamation muffled against your skin. “Motherfucker—fuck—” His voice puttered off into a series of strained, frantic groans. Unthinking and delirious on pleasure, he closed his mouth around the soft flesh of your neck and bit hard. 

You gasped, tried to wriggle free, but his hips were desperately snapping up into you, effectively throwing off your balance. 

Your hips hadn’t stopped their determination either. They had a mind of their own, rutting fast to squeeze him dry. All the while, he growled hotly against your skin, teeth leaving deep marks, sucking blemishes into the flesh despite all restraint that told him otherwise. 

After the last, hard spurts inside of you, he sank back into the chair, utterly wasted. Little spasms harassed his body and made him shiver weakly. Only his mouth persevered, teeth still digging into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

The pleasure ebbed into raw sensation, and you could feel the marks his incisors left in you, the heated metal of his staples singeing you.

“Dabi,” you stuttered out, a shaky hand coming to push at his forehead in protest. 

It shook him back to reality. He brought his dizzy head back to look at you through hooded eyes, then down at the wound he’d left on your neck. 

Shit, he thought fleetingly, but not very regrettably. That was gonna bruise. 

He put his head back against the chair and heaved, shutting his eyes to dispel the lightheadedness. 

“Told you... to get off,” he muttered. 

You knew it was a mistake you would dwell on later, but you could barely move now, let alone think. 

When you shifted your legs, wanting to move and put some blood back into your limbs, it set off a chain reaction of oversensitive-pleasure; dwindling sparks went off inside you and you shuddered, making him jerk and grunt in tandem. 

“Don’t move,” he chided, his head still bent to the ceiling. “Just gimme a minute... Fuck...” he breathed. “You fuckin’...” He shook his head, in disbelief of the pleasure, even more so that you’d been the one to give it to him.

Then he thought: he wouldn’t need to conjure up fantasies of you anymore when he was getting himself off. He could go by memory now. 

Once he’d regained partial composure, he shifted, glad to find his dick was going limp—fucking finally—inside of you. 

“You got a way to take care of that?” he asked, leaning back and looking down at the wet mess between both your thighs. 

You blinked, hazy. “What?”

“I’m not tryna knock you up just ‘cause you’re too horny to listen,” he said disdainfully. “You on the pill? Gotta get one of those morning-afters otherwise–”

“It’s fine.” You nodded. “Don’t worry.”

It was easier said than done, he thought to himself sourly. But he was having trouble thinking of much else besides how fucking fantastic it was to feel the arousal leaving him in blissful waves.

He took a heavy breath. “Now get off and get me outta this shit.”

“But you might still be…” You wriggled a little on top of him, felt him soft inside of you. It was uncomfortable, but even if you’d wanted to move, your muscles were spent. “What if you’re still… ”

“Still what? Still horny? Bet you’d like that, wouldn't you?”

You wouldn’t let the comment fluster you, and obeyed as a way to prove him wrong, slowly lifting yourself off of him. The ache of your insides as he slipped out was raw and hot and wet, but unmistakably satisfying.

“Let me out,” he demanded again. “Now.”

“I told you I don’t have the key.”

He sighed in frustration, blinking sweat from his eyes. “Then go get Kurogiri. Go get someone. And at least be nice enough to cover me up. Don’t want my dick hanging out.”

It was shiny, wet, and red from stimulation. When you went to tuck it back in his pants, it twitched.

“Oi, clean it first,” he snapped.

You glanced around. “With?”

“Whatever the hell’s lying around. Shirt, rag, your mouth.” He scoffed when you put on a frown. “Don’t give me that look. This is your mess on my dick, ya know.”

With barely contained insolence you went down shakily on your knees, ready to go about the particularly humiliating task, when he laughed dryly under his breath. 

“You’re a real slut,” he muttered, looking down on you with a cheeky smirk, “aren’t you?”

That guaranteed your spite, and you stood up just as quickly as you’d gone down, then nudged his still-messy dick into his pants and zipped them closed. 

“Oi, oi—” The wetness squished uncomfortably underneath the fabric and he shifted awkwardly, glaring at you. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“You’ll be fine,” you muttered, turning away from him in search of your clothes, hiding an indulgent smile. 

As you redressed, he sneered and pulled at his bindings. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Or what?” 

You were too exhausted to wrangle with his temper, or your own self-preservation; you knew it was a dangerous game to tease him. But you couldn’t help it. Your mind was foggy, your body teeming with giddy pleasure. Not to mention, you were free. He wasn’t. And that was remarkably funny. 

Now he was scowling. “You little shit. Letting it all go to your head now, huh?” When you didn’t answer, when he caught a flash of your teasing smile, his frustration started to run rampant. “Not gonna be so funny when I’m out of this shit—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

In response, he just glowered, and despite the front you were trying to put up, it threw an excited shiver down your spine. You were perilously tempted to egg him on, but decided against it.

You pulled your shoes back on and breathed, looking at him with something that resembled soft smugness. “I’ll go find Kurogiri.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ better,” he muttered under his breath, keeping his critical eye-contact with you up until the very moment you disappeared out of his line of vision. 

When he heard your footsteps finally dwindle down an adjacent hall, he let out a long-suffering sigh and tilted his head back. “Fuck.”

The quirk had gone, the heat and arousal with it. 

But what hadn’t gone were the thoughts of you. 

Angry thoughts, confusing thoughts, and most of all, intriguing thoughts.

[lilyblyss]

I've been sitting on this one for a couple of days now, but I finally got around to writing it cause the gc went crazy with the Nanami smut one day, so thanks girlies 💙

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning/Tags: 18+, Fem reader, she/her pronouns, phone sex, pet names (sweetheart, beloved, love, baby)

When you started your relationship with salaryman Nanami Kento, you already figured you’d be sharing him with his job. It made sense, meeting the always-rushing man in the bakery you worked at and slowly forming a connection after weeks of just observing him tiredly getting a snack and watching his clock, almost as if he was running out of time. You thought that once you two started dating, you would always come second to his work, and you even told him that when you asked him out. When he gave you a troubled look after you said it, you thought it was because he thought you would be upset with it, but you insisted you would be alright with the arrangement. As long as you had him, you would be fine.

So, imagine your pleasant surprise during the last six months of dating when Nanami pampered you regardless of what work he had to do. Even when he’d quit his salaryman job and gone back to work as a Jujutsu warrior, he still made sure you were properly taken care of despite always coming back to you tired and slightly frustrated by his senior.

However, you still haven’t gotten into the mindset that whatever you asked Nanami of, he’d do it for you. You tried not to ask too much of him, it was your way of trying to be considerate of him, knowing that as much as he hated shitty work, it was important work that needed to be done. You didn't want to come off as clingy.

He was currently away on a business trip; something about some fake resurrection scam that needed to be taken care of. He promised he wouldn't be away long, just a couple of days, a week at the most, so you sent him off with a kiss and a soft "Be careful". That was two days ago, and already you missed him.

It had started innocently enough. A simple "Wow, I miss my boyfriend" when you walked into the shared apartment, noticing his lack of presence. It escalated slightly when you changed out of your work clothes and you grabbed his sweatpants and a tank top, almost wrestling with the pants to make them fit around your waist. It escalated a lot while you were making yourself dinner, and your mind drifted to just before he left with you bent over the kitchen counter as he fucked you until he was satisfied.

Your fingers never made their way to your heat quicker at the thought of his touch. Coming quickly, you'd hoped that it would quail the feeling of arousal long enough to get through until the day when he’d hopefully return. Even though the release was lackluster, you’d still made a mess of yourself, and gotten in the shower. That’s how you got here, laying on his side of the bed, wearing one of his button-ups drowned in his cologne, frustrated to high heavens after two orgasms. You had hoped that being surrounded by his scent would help satisfy you, but all it did was make your pussy clench harder, missing the stretch of his dick, seemingly punishing you for even thinking of being satisfied without him.

You lay on your back in bed, fingers trying to build you to orgasm number three, mentally mapping out the possible location of the dildo you owned before dating Nanami when your phone rang. Once you pick it up, you notice the slew of text messages and one missed call from Nanami himself, and you panic. What’s he gonna say if he finds out you’ve missed any form of communication with him because you were masturbating to the thought of him after only two days?

Kicking yourself up into a sitting position, you tuck your pillow between your legs. It's a useless endeavor considering he wasn't even here to catch you.

You clear your voice before answering with a shy, “Hello?”

He sighs on the other end, “Y/N,” he says breathly, “You didn’t answer any of my texts, I was starting to worry.”

“Sorry, I was… busy?”

“...Is that a question for me?”

“No! I mean, I am busy. Wait, no. Actually, I was, but I’m not anymore. What’s up?”

“If you’re busy, I can always call back--”

“No! Don’t! Tell me about your day.”

He’s quiet for a moment but does as you say. He tells you about his completed mission, of how his senior did nothing even though he tagged along, and how he was on the verge of collapse when he made it back to his hotel room. You try to listen but the sound of his voice in your ear, the low tone in his voice reminds you of all the praise he showers you with as you fall apart underneath him, fills your head with the thought of release. You press your hand against your mouth, hoping it covers the heavy breathing and soft moans passing your lips. You rock your hips, shivering as your clit rubbed against the pillow.

"Y/N?" You hum in response, and you can tell from the small beat of silence that he's taken aback. "I asked you if you wanted a souvenir?"

"Um, yeah. W-whatever you want."

"... Y/N. Is something wrong?" His voice is worried yet stern, it leaves no room for argument and demands an honest answer. You let out a small whimper.

Clinginess be damned.

"I miss you." You let out, leaning forward and burying your face in his pillow to inhale his scent, on your knees with the pillow between them. You start to hump against the pillow in earnest. "God, Nanami, I miss you so much."

"What are you doing?"

Broken moans muffled by the pillow as your hips move faster, "T-touching myself."

"And what were you thinking about? Me?" He sounds a touch too pleased at the notion.

You huff, "As if you need to ask."

"I want to hear you say it. So I'll ask again, what were you thinking about when you got desperate enough to touch yourself without me?"

You shiver. You know Nanami said that he’d completed his mission, and it was late in the night, but he was on a business trip and technically was still on-call. Even if he hated overtime, a sorcerer’s work was never done. Would he really disregard that to listen to you touch yourself knowing you were too far away to get to? Would he be willing to risk the same sexual frustration as you?

“I don’t have all night, sweetheart.”

He would.

Shaking from a combination of nerves and arousal, you quickly gasp out, “You. Of course, I was thinking of you. Your hands on me, how good you feel inside me. Just you. Always you, Kento.”

He chokes at the neediness in your voice. He lets out a shaky curse as you softly moan into the phone. "You sound so wrecked already, I haven't even done anything."

"I've been… I was taking care of it. Wasn't working."

You can hear him chuckle through the phone, and even though he hasn't said anything about the connotations of your words, you can’t help but feel a little shy. “Have I really gone and ruined you from your own fingers? I’m so sorry, beloved.”

You huff, "You don’t sound very sorry.”

“Hm, but I am. If I were there with you right now, I’d shower you with kisses to prove it.” He groans and you hear his clothes shuffling slightly like he's trying to get comfortable.

“Are you touching yourself?” You dare to ask.

“I am. Knowing you’re at home alone desperate for me has more of an effect on me than you think. Are you trying to seduce me, Y/N?”

You whine, “I wasn’t.”

He let out a chuckle before his voice lowers. "What are you wearing?"

Your fingers drift across your collarbone, ghosting the skin like he would, before unbuttoning his shirt, cupping your breasts. "Your button-up."

“All the way?”

“No, I’m…” you trail off, giving your breasts a squeeze, massaging the mounts with your palms, and pinching your nipples. “It’s open so I touch my boobs like you would.”

He sighed, “I miss your soft breast. Are you imagining me caressing you?”

“Yes.”

"What else are you wearing?"

"Nothing else."

He hummed, "I see, my baby really misses me then. Say it again."

Your hips move faster at his domineering voice. "I miss you. I miss you so much, Kento."

"And I, you. I miss that pretty mouth of yours. You look so pretty with your mouth on top of me."

"Would you kiss me?"

"I'd do a lot more to you if I were there."

You swallow, one hand leaving your breast to put the phone on speaker and laying it against the pillow. You should have done that in the beginning, but Nanami surprised you with this whole thing despite you initiating it. You shuffle to lay on your back, hand slowly moving down to your clit, "Would you touch me?"

"When you're looking as delicious as you do now? How could I possibly resist?" The smirk in his voice is so prominent, you can imagine him leaning over you, caging you between his strong arms as he slowly ran his fingers over you. Imagining his hands as yours adds an extra something to your own touch that wasn’t there before. "My hands wouldn't leave your skin until I claimed every part of it as my own. And please, try not to squirm too much, dear, you'll make me antsy."

A breathy chuckle passes your lips, "How could you expect me to hold still when you're making me feel so good? You'll have to tie me up if that's the case."

"Don't tempt me. You know I love having you wrapped around my fingers. I'd make sure you were nice and pliant for me. But I guess you're doing a good enough job of that on your own."

"It's not the same." Your legs press together to keep your hand in place, and you miss the presence of Nanami's hips between yours. "Feels better when you touch me."

“I know what you mean,” he cuts himself off with a groan, “My hand just isn't doing you any justice. It just doesn’t compare.”

You hum, “Sorry babe, would it help if I used my mouth instead?” You bite your bottom lip in excitement, pleased with the gruff moan he lets out. From the way his breaths were picking up, you knew he had gotten into the rhythm as well. The thought of him all alone in his fancy little hotel room, hand wrapped around his cock to the thought of you sent a spark of arousal straight to your clit, and you pressed one of your fingers inside you.

“You’d like that, right? I’d let you be as rough as you want, too. Could fuck my throat if you so choose. I know you don’t like to waste time, though. Would you just like to thrust into my pussy instead?”

The sound of his heavy breathing is accompanied by the soft slick of his hand stroking himself. "Shit, what a filthy mouth you have all of a sudden. What happened to my shy, babbling baby that always cried to come?"

"You were here to fuck me into that," you gasp out, back arching as you curled your finger to try to press against that bundle of nerves that shot lightening up your spine. You whined, not pressing against it properly. "You were really good about that."

"I still am." He insists, and if you weren't currently trying to hold it together long enough for you two to finish together, you would have laughed. How defensive he could be about pleasing you. "You've gotten cheeky the last two days. Have you forgotten already who's in charge? Don't think I'm above fucking you stupid, love. I've done it before, or don't you remember?"

How could you forget? Hours of coming against Nanami's tongue, his hands dancing against your oversensitive skin as if he wanted to memorize the feeling of you on his palms before folding you in half and thrusting into your overstimulated cunt. He insisted, despite your mindless whines of 'Enough', that you were able to take it. That you could come around his cock as many times as he wanted. And because he loved proving himself right, you did.

You whimper, "You're bringing that up now?"

"Just wanted to remind you of what I'm capable of. And how cute you were, losing your voice from screaming my name. The sounds you make are so alluring, my love. We should do that again, yeah? Say my name, pretty girl."

You shiver at the praise, your palm pressing against your clit as you thrust against your hand. "Kento."

"Again, louder." And you do, saying it louder and louder each time. You push another one of your fingers into yourself, sobbing at the stretch.

"Hn, good girl. You're so good for me, aren’t you?"

Your body sings at the praise he gives you, just that was enough to send you over the edge, but you try to keep it together.

“Yes! Yes, I am.”

It was proving to be a little difficult. You were still riding the high of the last orgasm before he called, so you weren't too far from finishing, but Nanami had only just started. You didn't want to leave him behind.

The moan you let out was just a hair above pitiful as you remove your palm from your clit, slowing the movement of your hand.

"Don't you dare slow down now?" He growls.

You could barely think, your mind almost flooded with buzz as your body stiffened almost painfully. "But I might—I don’t wanna come without you--"

"I want you to. I want you to come for me. Come around your fingers for me."

"Kento, I want you."

"And you have me. Especially when I get back tomorrow."

The promise of finally being able to have him back in your arms, inside you, is what sent you over the edge. With a loud outcry of his name, you came around your fingers, pushing them in as your walls pulsed like Nanami would. Your back arched off the bed, jostling the phone from its position, but Nanami’s voice was still rough and loud as he praised you through it. He groans your name, voice coated in lust and adoration before he lets out a muffled shout. The call dulls to silence, only the sound of both your heavy breaths echoes off the walls.

"For an impromptu session, I think that was pretty brilliant, don't you think?"

"Um…? Hmm… yeah."

He chuckles, "Are you tired, baby?

"Yes," you yawn. Your limbs lazily move to get into a more comfortable position. You curl on your side. "But I miss you."

The huff of air passing his lips let you know he was smiling. "I miss you too, Y/N."

Your voice slurs with sleepiness, "I miss your cock too."

"Y/N, I just came. I can't be getting hard when you're about to pass out."

"Think of it as motivation. For when you come back to me."

"I won't be nice if I'm sexually frustrated, Y/N."

"Counting on it."

“I hope you’re ready to put your money where your mouth is.”

“Is my money in your pants?”

“Ha ha,” he laughs dryly, “I hope you know I have a couple of days off once I get back."

"Uh oh, I guess I'm calling off work the next day."

"It's not required, but well-advised. Good some rest, you're going to need."

[n00dl3gal]

Like Old Times (Father-Son Bonding AU)

A direct sequel to the “Expiration Date” fic, which I’ll link in a reblog. I’ve also posted all my fics in this AU to AO3!! Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for their help and just generally being a cool dude, and the Scoutsune Discord server for indulging my brainrot

No warnings beyond family schmoop!

Less than an hour after the bread monster incident, the Administrator called for a ceasefire. “Only while your base is repaired,” she said over the TV screen. “BLU is quite disappointed in this negligence- as am I. Regardless, you may use these three days as you see fit. Go home, stay here- whatever you do, no more bread monsters.” The screen turned off with a click. 

Scout exhaled through his nose. He was thankful there was no mention of him or Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

Spy decloaked behind him. “Less time than I wanted, but c’est la vie.” Scout looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m meeting with an old contact during our break,” Spy said in Italian. “Would you like to come along? It’ll be like old times.” 

Scout’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. At least this way, he’d get out of helping Engie and Heavy with repairs. And possibly meeting Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

“Excellent. Our flight is at 7 AM tomorrow.” 

“We’re flying commercial?” Scout asked, also in (more hesitant) Italian. 

“Our destination is continental. We’ll leave the base by 5:30.” Scout groaned as Spy started to leave. But- wait, he hadn’t- 

“Oi, where are we going, anyway?” he called back in English. 

Spy paused to look at him and smile. “Boston.” 

“Why do we always get the ass-crack-of-dawn flights?” Jeremy asked groggily, reclining his seat.

“They are the ones with first-class seats available,” Raphael replied. He took a sip from his mimosa. 

“Yeah, cuz God forbid you fly coach for once.” Jeremy shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Hey. Have I ever been to Boston before?”

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. His lip sucked in, as if in thought. “Yes. When you were very, very young. You wouldn’t remember.” 

Jeremy nodded. He wanted to ask more, there was something Raphael wasn’t saying but… well, he was never a morning person. He fell asleep before the plane even took off. 

. . .

It was mid-afternoon by the time they landed in Boston. Jeremy was never fond of long flights; having his legs cramped like that for extended periods of time was murder. He was half tempted to take a jog around Logan International. Raphael, on the other hand, was ushering them both to the car rental. “Can’t even get a stretch in, huh?”

“Unfortunately, we are expected by 4, and I would hate to keep my contact waiting,” Raphael explained in French, accepting the keys from the girl at the counter. “She’s not a very patient woman, in some regards.” 

Jeremy huffed but didn’t argue. He just followed his father to the rental, tossing his suitcase in the backseat. “Y’know, the girl at the counter-” 

“We will not have time for you to go out on a date, Jeremy.” 

“No! No, it was- her accent’s kinda like mine, it’s weird,” Jeremy said. Raphael started the car. “Cuz I’ve only been here as a baby, and I got mine from TV and shit. It’s just… really strange, is all.” 

Raphael made a quiet noise of agreement. “Some of the shows you watched as a child were filmed here. It’s not as complex as you think it is.” 

“Yeah, probably not…” 

The pair lapsed into silence as Raphael drove. Storefronts and high rises morphed into houses. It had been a while since they were in a residential area. RED, for understandable reasons, kept away from civilians. 

Raphael took the roads with practiced experience. Sure, it had been implied he knew the area. If he had a contact here- one with a house, presumably- he must’ve spent time here. But this- this was far too familiar. A bit suspicious, actually. 

Eventually, Raphael slowed in front of a more rundown Brownstone. Still quite nice, just needed a little work. It felt… welcoming, in a way Jeremy couldn’t name.

“Lotta cars,” he observed as Raphael parallel parked. “Must be a party going on somewhere.” 

“Hmm, perhaps,” Raphael said, turning the car off. “Would you mind ringing the doorbell for me? I need to grab something from the trunk. Ask for Sara Jane.” 

OK, now Jeremy knew something was up. He was never the one to make the first contact, that was always Dad’s job. Jeremy might be a full-grown adult, but there were some things that didn’t change. This was one of them. 

Still, he nodded. He climbed up the front steps and ringed the doorbell. He heard- multiple voices from inside, predominantly male, but they quickly silenced themselves. A TV, perhaps? They really ought to get that flower box on the second story window fixed- 

The woman who opened the door was a bit shorter than him, though not by much. She was wearing a simple dress, hoop earrings, and flats. Her hair was dark, curved to her chin. But her nose and earlobes felt… achingly familiar. Like Jeremy saw them all the time. 

“Um, hi, I’m looking for Sara Jane? My name’s-” The rest of his speech was knocked out of him as the woman launched herself at him. Jeremy braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was… hugging him. 

She was hugging him, sobbing, and choked out the word “Jeremy.” 

Wait. He knew that voice. He had only heard it a few times in his life, few enough he could count them on one hand, but he knew it. “M-Ma?” he whispered. 

The woman- Sara Jane- Ma looked up at him, still crying. Her hands found his face as she observed him. “Y-yeah, sweetie, it’s me, it’s-it’s your ma,” she said. 

“Ma!” he laughed, tears of his own dancing down his cheeks. He hugged her back, practically lifting her off her feet. “Oh my God, Ma! I-I never thought I’d-” 

“Oh Jeremy, sweetie, look how tall you’ve gotten! Last I saw you, you fit in my arms! My baby, my handsome baby,” she spoke over him. She rubbed circles into his back as they embraced. It felt so, so right. 

Jeremy laughed even harder. “Are you kiddin’? I got it from you, you’re beautiful, Ma!” He stared at her, trying to commit every mole and wrinkle and perfect flaw to memory. “I can’t believe- oh my God, I’m actually meeting you!” 

“It was long overdue,” another voice said, as Raphael joined them on the front stoop. “I had put it off for safety reasons, but considering our current, ah, situation… I felt it was worth the risk.” 

Sara Jane squealed, pulling Raphael into the hug as well. “You’ve been taking good care of my boy, you promise me, Raphael?” 

“Don’t worry Ma, he’s the best dad I could ask for, considering,” Jeremy teased. 

“Oh, don’t I know it. Called me up last night and told me to get the whole motley crew together. Even managed to get Melvin to bring his twin daughters, bless his wife’s heart,” she explained. 

Jeremy blinked. “Uh- Melvin? Daughters?”

Sara Jane laughed. It sounded so much like Jeremy’s it practically hurt. This was his mother. Lord, he’s finally seeing her. “Melvin’s your older brother, sweetie. Eh, sixth oldest. Bobby’s the oldest.” 

“I have a brother?”

“Oh honey, you’re the youngest of eight,” Sara Jane said plainly. 

“...fuck,” Jeremy whispered. 

. . .

He didn’t just have seven brothers. He had seven brothers, four of which brought their wives, one who brought his boyfriend, and three who brought their kids. And the kids totaled to an additional six, counting the babies. 

It was… an admittedly tight squeeze in the living room. 

Sara Jane introduced Jeremy. Jeremy had been expecting to be treated like a stranger. He had vanished when he was a baby, after all, and his younger-older brothers probably wouldn’t remember him at all. 

And yet, it was like he knew them all his life. 

They teased him and punched him playfully and acted so friendly, so familial it nearly made Jeremy break down. He was still crying from meeting Ma, but being dogpiled with so much affection was suffocating. In a good way. He had seen on sitcoms the intrinsic bond between family, and while he felt it with Dad, they also risked their lives nearly daily. But it was real, it was here, and it was wrapping him in a warm blanket. 

Despite the chaos and the sheer number of people, Jeremy didn’t feel overwhelmed. He laughed and played along with their jokes, cracking some back when he could get a word in. Scott ragged on his dog tags, he countered by pointing out the hole in his pants. Michael told him he was still a shortass, he replied with “it takes one to know one.” Elliot and Ricky were the closest to actually getting hurt, and that was only because Jeremy elbowed them both so hard they nearly fell over. 

For the first time in 25 years, Jeremy understood what “home” meant. 

The kids were especially curious, eager to meet their uncle and step-grandfather. Within seconds, young Rebecca- only four years old- was challenging Jeremy to a race around the house. “I’m the fastest kid in the world,” she bragged, puffing out her chest. 

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy asked. “That a fact?”

“You wanna test me? I beat Johnny Three-Legs at running, and he’s got three legs!” Jeremy laughed and stood from the couch, letting her lead him outside. “On the count of three, OK?”

“You’re on, pipsqueak,” Jeremy teased.

“Onetwothree GO!” Rebecca yelled, taking off in a sprint. Jeremy knew that, by all accounts, he should beat her. His legs were longer, she didn’t have the proper running stance, and it was his job to be fast. That’s what he got paid to do. But some small voice was telling him to let her win, so he did. “Ha! I told ya!” 

“Ya sure did,” he replied, mock panting. “Look at you, a freaking blur on the green. You’re goin’ to the Olympics, kid.” 

Rebecca beamed and hugged his leg. “Promise, Uncle Jeremy?” He nodded because, after that display, there was no way he could speak without squeaking like a chew toy. 

Rebecca skipped back inside, past Raphael, who was watching on the stoop. “You’re a natural with children,” he observed. “I used to do the same thing when you were that age.” 

“Wait- wait, really? You sure fooled me,” Jeremy said. 

Raphael rolled his eyes. “What’s my job again, mon lapin?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jeremy leaned against the railing, watching Raphael’s cigarette smoke in the wind. “Hey. Uh… thanks for arranging all of this. You really didn’t need to.”

“But I did. I meant it when I said this was overdue. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while, but have been unable. Then that whole ordeal with the supposed tumors, and-” Raphael exhaled slowly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you if you died without knowing them. I would’ve never forgiven myself.” 

Jeremy punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, pops. It all worked out, we’re still kicking, and that roast chicken Ma’s making smells incredible. Everything’s perfect.” 

Raphael finished his cigarette and smiled. “Oui. It is.” 

. . .

While Sara Jane had been able to get the rest of the family here, it was a school night. Kids needed to be tucked in by 9:30, so most of Jeremy’s brothers were gone by 8. Elliot was staying overnight, as was his boyfriend. Otherwise, the house quickly went from bustling to barren. 

It gave Jeremy a chance to explore his would-be childhood home.

He made his way upstairs, pushing open one of the doors. It led- to little surprise- to a bedroom. It was set up like a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a toddler bed in the other. Toys were scattered about across the floor. 

He heard Sara Jane sigh behind him. “This was your room, you know.” Jeremy turned to look at her as she flipped the light switch. “That crib… I had put you to bed the night your father planned to fake his death. I was in on the whole plan, naturally. He wanted to hold you one last time, so I said OK. When I woke up the next morning… you were both gone.” She exhaled slowly, grabbing onto his shoulder. “I wrote both of you off as dead, but I knew what had happened. Honestly, should’ve figured it out before then. You hadn’t woken me up crying,” she joked. Her eyes were watering. 

Jeremy hugged her, pulling her close. “You never took the crib down?” 

“By the time I was ready, Bobby’s wife was pregnant, so I kept it up for my grandbabies. I knew- I knew you were out there, sweetie. Both of you.” She kissed his cheek, squeezing him.

“I-I never got to be a normal kid, really,” he confessed. “I mean, Dad did his best, gave me comic books and board games and stuff, but-but I never went to school or made friends or anything like that. I-I didn’t even know I had a family. It took me forever to even realize I had a Ma. An-and everything I did-” The tears were flowing again, more freely than earlier. “Ya missed me losing my first tooth, and potty trainin’, and all that stuff parents should know about. I-I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Sara Jane wiped his cheek dry. “Don’t apologize for what your father did, Jeremy. And definitely don’t apologize for me not potty training another kid. Besides… hold on, I’ll be right back.” She made her way down the hallway. Jeremy didn’t follow, instead deciding to examine the crib. This was where he grew up. It was a simple crib, obviously well-used. Not worn-down, mind, just… used. It had a history. A history that Jeremy wanted to decode, but unlike his dad’s ciphers, he didn’t have the key. 

“Took me a second to find it,” Sara Jane said. She handed him what appeared to be a scrapbook. “Raphael- he wrote when he can. Taught me some basic codes, would send out letters whenever you’d leave a town. Never left a return address, but…” Jeremy flipped through the pages, moving to sit on the small bed. The letters were all coded but appeared to be about how much Raphael missed Sara Jane. Updates on Jeremy’s growth. Letters from a father to his lover and son’s mother. 

One page jumped out to him, though. “I remember this,” he said, running his fingers against the paper. It was a simple drawing of a young boy, holding a catcher’s mitt, and a taller man next to him. “I drew this after Dad took me to my first baseball game, for my eighth birthday. I thought I lost the drawing after we skipped town, but- he sent them to you?”

Sara Jane nodded. “And I kept them all. Oh, honey, the day I first heard your voice on the phone- Mikey can tell you, I damn near fell over. You sounded so happy, and even if I couldn’t see you, that’s all a mother wants.” Jeremy leaned against her and she shut the book. “That’s all a mother wants, sweetie. To see her kids be safe and happy.” 

“I am, Ma,” he assured her. “I promise.” 

They sat like that for a while, with Sara Jane commenting on various letters and drawings in the scrapbook. Apparently, Raphael sent her money when he could- more frequently now that Mann Co. paid so well. She also had a rough idea of their current occupations. “I figure, if you and your father are working for the same company- with his skills, there’s gotta be a whole lot of nonsense going on out in that desert.” Jeremy laughed at that because she wasn’t wrong. “But I also figure since he raised you right, he’ll keep the both of you safe.” 

“I keep him safe too, don’t worry,” Jeremy added. “Uh- listen, it’s touching and all you kept the crib, but I don’t have to sleep in it, right?” 

They both had a good chuckle over that. Their laughs were in perfect harmony. 

. . .

The next two days were a mix of learning the family history and exploring Boston. It was the offseason, so there weren’t any games going on at Fenway, but Jeremy still got a picture in front of the park. Sara Jane took the pair to a restaurant that served “the best damn clam chowder in the contiguous United States.” Which, incidentally, led them to discover Jeremy was allergic to clams. Thankfully they didn’t have to go to the hospital- he just sort of immediately got sick before it passed- but it did suck.

It was damn good chowder, though. 

They went down to the harbor where the Boston Tea Party happened. It was crowded with people, resulting in them not staying long. Jeremy was a bit better with crowds than Raphael, but neither was great with them. Came with the job. Getting overpriced memorabilia from a nearby gift shop, though, went over much more smoothly. 

When not out on the town, Sara Jane dug out more scrapbooks and photo albums, catching Raphael up on what his stepsons had been up to. She showed Jeremy pictures from Ricky’s first school play to Scott opening up his butcher shop. Graduation pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures- it was all there, and Jeremy devoured it. He wanted to know these people. He wanted to know his family. And he did. He learned about Michael’s stint in the Navy, Melvin meeting his wife, how Bobby’s son could dribble a basketball for twenty minutes straight. He learned about how his parents met. How Raphael loved each of Sara Jane’s children, even if they weren’t biologically his. How Jeremy wasn’t planned- few of the kids were - but they were both so, so happy to realize he was coming. 

He also learned that, while diner food would remain the undisputed king, homemade meatloaf came pretty close. 

. . .

The only problem came when it was time to leave. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t want to return to work, or leave his Ma behind. Sara Jane wasn’t even torn up over losing her son and lover again. It just felt like there was so much left to say, to do. There was uncertainty as to when they’d be able to return. “We get time off for Smissmas, I know that’s months away but I’ll be here, I promise,” Jeremy swore, hugging Sara Jane for the eighth time. 

“You better,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “You have 25 years worth of gifts to catch up on, not to mention birthday gifts-”

“Ma, you don’t have to go that far,” he whined. He was touched, sure, but the thought of that much luggage was truly frightening. Oh God, he was going to have to get gifts for everybody, wasn’t he? What do kids even want for Smissmas? 

“Hush, let me spoil my baby,” Sara Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “Oh, Jeremy…” 

Jeremy nodded. “I know, but I’ll call. I’ll write, too. Send pictures if I can.” 

“I’ll make sure he does,” Raphael assured her. Sara Jane stood to kiss his lips, with Jeremy looking away pointedly. “You have my word, ma petite chou-fleur.” 

“Alright, alright- now get going, I don’t want you two missing your flight. That boss of yours sounds like she’ll tear you both a new one if you’re late,” Sara Jane said, shooing them away. “Love you boys!” 

“I love you too, Ma!” Jeremy shouted back, for the very first time. 

The drive back to the airport was quiet. Jeremy stared out the window, watching his hometown- he had a hometown- pass by. “Hey, dad?” he asked, still looking outside. Raphael grunted to acknowledge he was listening. “One of these days, our contracts with Mann Co. are gonna expire. We’re gonna have to find new jobs.” 

“Yes, that’s correct,” Raphael said. He tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel. 

“And-and I was thinking when that time comes… maybe we could come back to Boston. Find some gigs out here,” Jeremy suggested. 

Raphael sighed. “Unfortunately, being a spy means that you don’t have the option of retiring, Jeremy. Not until you’re unable to complete your job. At that point, though, you’ve probably died a dozen times over,” he explained. “Even if I could retire, settling down somewhere so close to people I care about- I would still have enemies.” 

“Right. ‘Course,” Jeremy said. “It’s OK.” 

“That being said,” Raphael continued, “you have the luxury of youth and not being tied down to such a career. If you want to find a job in Boston after we finish with RED, there’s nothing stopping you.” 

“But people will still be after me, since I’m your son. And you wouldn’t be around.”

“Every child leaves their parents someday. And you’re strong, Jeremy. You can protect yourself and your family.” Raphael smiled. “I don’t believe Sara Jane needs much protecting, but I do worry.” 

Jeremy laughed. “I mean, did ya see the muscles on Scott and Michael? Guys can probably bench press a tractor!” 

They both chuckled before settling into quietude. Eventually, though, Jeremy had to break the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, mon lapin.”

“...so your nickname for Ma is fucking ‘little cauliflower?’ What the hell, Dad?” 

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Spelling Bee (Brick/Blossom)

Happy birthday to @genovah​! She is always inspiring me to come up with more PPG content, a true hero. I’m back with another entry in the ongoing Shooketh, Not Stirred high school AU Reds series for your entertainment. As always, this can be read alone, but it happens in the same universe as part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, and part 5. This is also posted on my AO3.

Summary: Brick and Blossom hunker down in the library to study for the upcoming regional spelling bee.

***Reblogs are extremely appreciated, since this probably won’t show up in the tags due to cursing. Thank you! <3

xxx

In fairness, Brick had come to the library during his free period with the pure intention to learn. And he was certainly learning something. But somewhere between sliding into his seat opposite Blossom and watching her lips move around insouciant as if it were a strawberry slathered in ganache, his purity was torn from his weak, teenage boy fingers and there was absolutely no going back. 

“Brick, are you listening to me?” She touched his hand across the table. 

“Yup.”

“Did you need me to repeat the word?”

“Yup.”

“In-SOO-see-uhnt.” She sounded it out slowly, and hand to god, that dominating SOO went straight to his cock.

This, of course, was fine. 

“Origin?” he asked. 

She twirled her hair around her finger and puckered her lips. “French.”

Fuck.

“I…”

Blossom mistook his increasingly horny stupor for plain old stupor and sighed. “Are you even trying? Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were completely fine with Darla Dimpleton going to regionals instead of one of us.”

“I am not fine with that.”

Darla Dimpleton was an unassuming, unthreatening nobody with the personality of plain oatmeal. Brick would never have even bothered to learn her name had she not committed the cardinal sin of scoring so much extra credit while everyone else was busy having lives that she stole the number one GPA right from under him. Which meant she stole it from under Blossom too. Which meant Brick was no longer a respectable silver medal to Blossom’s gold, but currently ranked third and therefor merely happy to be on the podium at all (and for the record, no one has ever been happy merely to be on the podium, just like no one has ever been happy winning Most Improved: you sucked, and now you suck a little less. Except this time, you actually suck more because Darla fucking Dimpleton decided to Quaker Oats her way to the top of this rat race that doesn’t actually matter, but it’s the principle of the thing, i.e., the only thing that matters.). 

All of this to say, Darla Dimpleton was the Worst™ and she was one hundred percent going down. 

“Are you sure? Because you’re being awfully cavalier about this. Some might even call you insouciant.”

It was a testament to Brick’s powerful fondness for winning and being seen doing it that he spelled insouciant in one Darla Dimpleton-shaped cock blocking breath.

Blossom smiled like she knew something. “Much better.”  

Yeah, she knows a lot of things.

The problem with dating, Brick was convinced, was that suddenly the mundane became extraordinary. Everyday experiences that he had previously taken for granted—flying around Townsville, enjoying a cup of coffee, thwarting his sometimes murderous demonic overlord from distributing incriminating polaroids, that sort of thing—were suddenly exciting, thrilling even. Because now he got to do those things with Blossom, and Blossom was cool in a smarmy, elitist sort of way that both softened his heart and hardened his dick all at the same time, and that was kind of A Lot to deal with at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday.

“All right, do me,” Blossom said, and Brick coughed so badly his aforementioned weak, teenage boy fingers shook to stifle himself. 

Mercy, he thought, probably. But all his blood was rushing south and it was going to take a supernatural willpower to get through these words so that one of them could beat the upstart porridge peasant to this year’s regional spelling bee. 

“You’re the boss,” he said, because it was true, and also because he liked the way she looked at him when he said it. Like he was now the ganache-coated strawberry in this overextended metaphor that he was too laden with Homeric concupiscence being in her general proximity to unpack. 

Concupiscence, there’s a ten dollar word for you, you horny genius. 

He made a mental note to brag to Blossom about this later. 

“Okay, let’s see…” Brick made a show of organizing the flashcards so that she wouldn’t see him discreetly re-situate his pants under the table. “Your word is cymotrichous.”

Blossom tapped her lips, and Brick found himself sympathizing with the Puritans in their absolute befuddlement over the libidinous effect of women having lips. Witchcraft, surely. “Could you use it in a sentence for me?”

Compelled entirely by black magic and therefor not responsible for his imminently questionable choices, Brick obliged her with: “Thinking about how I’d rather run my fingers through your cymotrichous hair for the rest of free period instead of sit here spelling words no one’s ever heard of.”

Blossom, who he was dead certain was extremely thirsty for him and had been for years long before they ever reconciled their rivalry, leaned over the desk separating them. Her hair, long and loose and indeed quite wavy today, was tempting. “Brick, are you flirting with me?”

It was a well-known fact of being a Weak-Fingered, Teenage Boy that one must never reveal such weakness, especially not in front of one’s girlfriend. On the other hand, co-opting said weakness and rebranding it as the suave truth was galaxy brain levels of flirting. And Brick, as has already been established, was a horny genius. “Yup.” He leaned in to meet her, and he twirled her hair between his fingers because they were weak for her, indeed. “How am I doing?”

Blossom, too determined to let her thirst deter her from her goal of sweet, academic retribution and bragging rights, tapped a finger to his lips. “Great. But we have so many words to spell, and only thirty minutes left to do them all. So get shuffling, stud.”

Well, he could work with that. One thing that made his relationship with Blossom work very well was their insatiable competitiveness. Whether they were whaling on each other over an empty parking lot, debating the efficacy of post-its as a note-taking device, or combining their powers to Captain Planet a cornmeal know-it-all back down the leaderboard where she belonged, they were relentless glory chasers. And the greater the challenge, the more they enjoyed the experience and each other. 

Blossom spelled her word perfectly, by the way. She stretched out the o-u-s at the end in a bewitching little whisper as she pulled away and her hair slipped through his fingers. That moment when the light changes and the temperature shifts and you’re weightless in a state of existential anticipation of something monumental about to happen, but not quite? That happened. Thirty minutes to explore the shape of that anticipation was enough time to taste it but not enough to savor it. Which, Brick supposed, was about to make this the best thirty minutes he was likely going to get all week. 

“Are you ready?” Blossom watched him from behind the card she’d drawn. She had a glint in her eyes that told him she was smiling behind that card. 

“Anytime.”

“Your word is eudaemonic.”

That fucking gorgeous ooh again.

“Define it.”

Blossom flushed as though he had just ordered her to bend over. She bit her lip (it must have been a ten Hail Mary’s kind of day when the Witch-Finder General caught a flesh and blood woman doing that with her improbably sorcerous lips) and grinned. “It means producing happiness. Based on the idea of happiness as the proper end of conduct.”

Producing happiness, which is proper, much like how Blossom came off as proper and even prim around adults, when really she was the most fun, most confident, most person he’d ever met, especially when she was spelling in that chiffon top (son of a bitch, that was a great top on her), and the only conduct he was interested in was of the happiest kind.

“Oh.” His throat clenched, and then his stomach twisted, and then his pants grew little too tight again in a full-body chain reaction that began and ended with a fierce determination not to give in first even though it would mean release because release would be meaningless without this etymological tête-à-tête. 

Don’t think about tête-à-têtes. 

Seventeenth century, noun, borrowed from the French meaning literally “head to head” (please, please stop hurting yourself like this).

“Brick?”

Brick cleared his throat. “Yup. Got it. E-u-d…”

Crisis averted, Brick picked the next card and promptly choked on his own tongue. Blossom made a show like she was concerned and are you all right? and please drink some water. Brick drank her water, which of course she had had her anatomically heretical lips on earlier, which was just fantastic for him. Tuesday fucking morning. 

Milieu was her word. 

“Milieu, hmm.” Blossom’s smile was spellbinding, which was a pun because he punned when he panicked. “Origin?”

You bitch, he thought, and be cool, and also, witchcraft.

Brick leaned back in his chair, slipped his trembling hands in his pockets, and squeezed every ounce of anything you can do I can do better into a winsome grin. “French.”

Blossom’s adult-facing façade cracked like an egg, and he got a glimpse of the raw delight she felt for this game, for the words, and for him for making it happen. For cultivating the electric milieu, if you will, currently driving them both into a state of impassioned, competitive euphoria at 9:42 a.m. in the library. 

“Right, um…” She stumbled over her words, and Brick had to restrain himself from crowing for joy and risk the rheumy-eyed librarian coming to scold them. 

By the time they got through another set of words, they were each visibly frustrated and doubly turned on by the other’s masochistic resolve not to throw in the towel. 

“Okay, ready for another round?” 

She wasn’t even trying to hide her intentions now, and that was just fine with Brick. “Of course.”

One more.

If it was another French word, he was fucking done. 

“Really?” Blossom truly had ice in her veins for the way she was able to school her face then. He couldn’t read her, and that was very bad. 

If it’s another fucking French word…

He could be over the desk and on her faster than you could say concupiscence. 

“Okay.” Blossom set down the flashcard she’d drawn and folded her hands on the table. She looked him dead in the eye licked her lips. “Succedaneum.”

The bookshelf shook but Brick’s fingers didn’t as they pinned Blossom’s over a Dewey Decimal-stamped spine and he kissed her with all the horny passion of a teenage genius who would make a note to thank the devil for giving women lips. One of his better ideas. 

xxx

“Hey, has anyone seen Blossom? I’ve sent her, like, four texts!” Bubbles shoved her phone, open to the ignored texts in question, in her sister’s face. “She was supposed to help me with Chem homework.”

Buttercup ducked. “No, and watch where you’re swinging that thing.”

“I saw her earlier,” Boomer said. “She was with Brick coming out of first period.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mike slung his arm around Boomer’s shoulders. “Don’t they both have a free period right now?”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “What a scam. Whoever decided to give the A-students free periods while the rest of us mere mortals gotta slave away is a straight-up Supervillain.”

Boomer snapped his fingers. “Hey, I just remembered! They both decided to compete for the spot at the regional spelling bee this year. I bet that’s what they’re doing.”

“God, that’s the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. That’s a new low even for Blossom.”

“I heard there’s a cash prize for the regional winner,” Bubbles said. “It’s like twenty thousand bucks! Remember, everyone in school signed up and we had to have that assembly to narrow it down?”

“Twenty thou— How the tits did I miss that?!”

“I mean, it was all over the school,” Mike said. “We signed up too.”

“What? And no one thought to tell me I could’ve won the lottery?”

Boomer chuckled. “Dude, come on. You wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell against Darla Dimpleton.”

“Who?”

Bubbles cast Boomer a not worth it look, and he just sighed. “So, if they’re studying for the spelling bee, do you think they’re in the library?”

At that moment, Butch came bursting down the hall a little too fast to be human. Open lockers rattled on their hinges as he passed, and a Sophomore girl’s binder went flying, scattering looseleaf papers everywhere. Buttercup looked ready to punch him in the dick for breaking the no powers in school rule. “Guys, you’re gonna shit!” 

“Calm down before you blow a load, Jesus Christ.” Buttercup yanked him back down to the floor so he wouldn’t spontaneously float. 

Sensibly, Boomer asked, “Why?”

“‘Cause Brick and Blossom are making out in the library right now!”

Mike cringed. “Oh, come on.”

“The hell they are,” Buttercup said. 

Bubbles smiled. “Good for them.”

“I’m serious! There were books everywhere, and the noise—”

“Oh look, there goes my dignity. Better catch it before it gets away. C’mon, moron.” Buttercup dragged Butch down the hall over his protests. “What were you even doing in the library? I didn’t think you knew where it was…”

“Like that could ever happen,” Mike said. “Those two wouldn’t waste a minute of study time if it means beating out the competition.”

Boomer did not look so convinced. “I don’t know. I mean, they’re officially, for real dating now,”—“Finally!” Mike interjected—“so it’s not that unbelievable.”

The bell for the next period rang. Bubbles groaned thinking of stewing for an hour of Chem. At least she shared that class with Boomer and would not have to suffer alone. They parted from Mike and walked together through the throng of students rushing to get to their next period.

“Hey, do you think…” 

“I mean…” Boomer shrugged. 

They rounded the corner and nearly ran into Blossom dashing to her next class with a rushed “Got your texts talk later bye!” before she disappeared into the crowd. 

Bubbles whirled on Boomer. “Did you see her buttons—”

“Completely uneven—”

The late bell rang and made them jump. Among the last stragglers, they both dashed a bit too fast to get to class and made it to their seats just as Mr. Micelli finished writing a problem on the board. 

Boomer winked when she caught his eye a couple desks away from hers, and it took everything she had not to laugh.

“Good for her,” Bubbles said to herself. 

“You are late,” Mr. Micelli said. 

Everyone turned to watch Brick sink into his seat, his short hair totally askew and looking healthily flushed for a Tuesday morning. 

Boomer burst out laughing and needed a whole minute to calm down. 

He’d tell her later that the detention was worth it.

xxx

Witchcraft! 👁️👄👁️✨

[princessphilly]

Plain Jane Chapter 2

Word Count: 2391

CW: a mention of P K*ne, allusions to issues with alcohol, references to being in the closet

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I’m too damn stubborn for my own good. I admit it; I don’t like to lose or be wrong. I hate being wrong. Well, I hate losing money more than anything else. But I really hate losing or being wrong after that. - Journal 10/12

One year later

Jamila couldn’t help but look at Jonathan Toews as he sat at the table for this charity dinner. He really was more handsome in person than in the pictures. But the guy sitting next to him was just as good looking as him, in her opinion. He was rougher looking with long auburn hair and blue eyes and probably a good decade older than her, just the way that Jamila liked it. The only issue was… Duncs was nice but he wasn’t as exciting as Jonathan Toews. But Jamila told Shan and Mel that she was going to fuck Duncan Keith and she always got her man. Plus, it didn’t help that Jonathan always has something smart to say which made Jamila more dedicated to fucking Duncs. 

But it seemed like that wasn’t going to happen. Jamila was frustrated; she knew she was gorgeous and she was used to getting her way. But Duncs had a preference for blondes and.. Jamila had no desire to dye her hair blonde anytime soon. Plus, she hated the fact that she was going to lose because then Jonathan would hold it over her. 

Normally, Jon wouldn’t give a fuck that a girl wanted Duncs over him. He knew exactly where he stood with the vast majority of women and that he could have anyone he wanted. But he really, for some reason, wanted her. It had been over a year since they met and she was still hung up over Duncs. Granted, during that time, Jon was recovering from an injury and was at home in Winnipeg. Now, he was back and he wanted Jamila, even though she was supposed to be Cizisky’s girl. Jon had pulled the younger defenseman to the side and asked him about her and Cizisky straight up said that she was just going out with him as a friend to events. So Jon knew that Jamila was basically single and available.

Jamila was smiling in Duncs face but whenever he talked to her, she got angry and flustered. Jon knew she really wasn’t that interested in Duncs. He could tell by the way Jamila got closer to him when they argued that she really liked him. But the stubborn woman didn’t want to admit it. 

As the captain, Jon was used to solving problems. But this was a problem that he couldn’t solve and he was becoming frustrated.

**

It wasn’t fair how intense those dark brown eyes were. And they had been focused on her while Jamila attempted to flirt with Duncs. Jamila had to admit she was failing and it was annoying her. He was being polite but she knew she was being brushed off.

She could hear Jonathan; “Duncs isn’t interested. Aren’t you tired of wasting your time?” All of that paired with a mocking look. She was done doing favors for Shan’s cousin. Next time he needed a plus one, he could find someone else.

“Tired of shooting wide?”

“Really, a hockey metaphor?” Jamila rolled her eyes while Jonathan chuckled. He really was tired of watching Jamila flirt with Duncs. She wasn’t his usual type but Jonathan wanted to be her type. Once Duncs made it clear that he wasn’t interested, Jonathan decided it was time to try his luck.

“Good, you’re learning about the game! But are you tired?”

“What do you mean?”

Jonathan was tall enough that while she wore 5-inch heels, Jamila still had to look up at him a bit. He licked his lips and once again, Jamila felt those unwanted shivers. Jonathan smirked before saying, “Stop pretending you’re interested in Duncs when we both know that you really want me.”

“You’re so conceited,” Jamila retorted. A small part of her said he was right but her pride hurt so fuck him.

Jonathan gave her a devilish grin. “Fuck me? We can make that happen.”

Jamila’s eyes grew wide when she realized she said that out loud. “Captain Serious? More like Captain Dickhead!” Jamila rolled her eyes as she gave him a once over.

Then Jon shocked her. “That was a bit too much, I’m sorry,” he said. The earnest look in his eyes told Jamila he was telling the truth. “But seriously, you’re wasting your time.”

Jamila sighed deeply. She knew he was right but her ego didn’t want to let her admit it. Jamila just grimaced before pushing away from Jonathan. 

For the rest of the night, Jamila kept mostly to herself and Alex, nursing her wine. She was tempted to get something stronger, very tempted, but she kept herself to her one glass of wine. It helped that Alex was watching her like a hawk, as if he knew that Jamila was in a mood. As soon as he was able to, Alex made his goodbyes, escorting Jamila out to the valet.

“What happened, Mila?”

Jamila sighed as Alex’s car was brought up. “Nothing, buddy. Nothing.”

Alex wisely didn’t press it as he got his keys from the valet, opening the door for Jamila and closing it after she got in. Once he was in the car and driving away, he said, “You’ve been in a mood since you talked with Tazer. Did he say something that triggered you? I’ll tell him to back off if he’s triggering you, Mila.”

Jamila sighed. “He didn’t say anything that triggered me, per se, but you know I hate being wrong.”

“Yeah, because you’re very wrong about Duncs… I’ve been telling you that for months,” Alex cracked.

Rolling her eyes, Jamila replied, “Jonathan basically said the same thing. Then he hit on me, again.”

“I thought you enjoyed verbally sparring with him. It’s entertaining as fuck.”

“Fuck you too, Alex!”

Alex snorted as he said, “I would if I liked pussy.”

“Talking about that, have you thought of coming out,” Jamila asked. 

Alex looked at the road as he thought about his words. Then he said, “I could but I feel the same ones who talk about ‘You Can Play’ and all of that aren’t as accepting as they pretend to be. I mean, Tazer would be supportive, probably Duncs, maybe Kaner, Brinks, Murph, but the rest of the guys… I don’t want to risk it right now.”

Jamila reached over, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. That was a lot to have to deal with. “People fucking suck, man.”

“I know. Thanks for being my plus-one, Mila. I will always support you, even when people are asking me to call you names when you finally get with the captain.”

Jamila laughed, tears forming in her eyes at the idea of dating Jonathan. “That was very funny, Alex, you should become a comedian.”

Smirking, Alex turned into the parking lot of the building that they lived in. They had separate units, Jamila’s bigger and more expensive, but it was still home. “Jamila, your eyes still follow Tazer everywhere he goes when you two are at the same place. It’s a matter of time, well, it’s a matter of how stubborn you are about it.”

**

As Jamila walked into her condo, she thought about Alex and his words. She felt a bit bad for him; locker room culture was real and it sucked that Alex couldn’t fully be himself yet. At the same time, Jamila wasn’t fully open about her own sexuality. If she wanted attention, she could easily come out as pansexual but Jamila didn’t want her life to become a circus. Add on the fact that she enjoyed bdsm and was a submissive…. It would be a hot mess, she thought. However, Jamila knew that she didn’t have to worry about the potential reactions of a bunch of other people if she did decide to come out. 

One thing Jamila did have to worry about was her thesis. It was finished, turned in, it was just a matter of finding out when she would have to defend it. Since she was graduating with her PhD this December, Jamila knew it would be before then. Not knowing the exact date was just irritating to her. Maybe once she had it, her dad would respect her more. 

Jamila sighed as she looked out at the Chicago skyline. It didn’t matter anyway. He wouldn’t really care. The only ones who would were Nina, Marisa, Ms. Tracey and Mr. Vernon, Siobhan, Lauren, maybe Karesha and Desiree. Sighing again, Jamila decided it was time to go to sleep for the night.

**

Jon looked at his computer screen as he looked at his budget for the month. Coming back this season has had it’s ups and down so far. The travel and other rhythms of the season were familiar but at the same time, Jon had enjoyed being at home. For over a decade, Jon had lived under the grind of the NHL season plus the playoffs. There was something nice about being a home, not a hotel room every couple of weeks. The hotels were all the same, they stayed at the same places in the same cities every year. But staying in his own bed night after night had it’s own appeal. 

At the same time, Jon wanted a 4th cup. It still irritated him that the team had decided to rebuild without even asking if the boys wanted to rebuild. Last season, Jon appreciated that the boys didn’t give up and tank even though the front office would have preferred that they did. Odds were stacked against them this season but Jon believed that they could make it. Once the playoffs started, it was anyone’s chance to get the Cup. 

Jon sighed as he opened the Netflix app. He was starting to really feel his age this year. He was only 33 but he could feel every hit now. Plus, coming home to this new place with no one waiting for him was getting very old. “Maybe that’s why you like that girl so much,” Jon muttered to himself. He felt dumb; every time he talked to Jamila, he felt like he put his foot in his mouth. But then, it seemed like she was just looking for an excuse to tell him no. 

As he mindlessly scrolled through shows, Jon felt super frustrated and ready to give up. He didn’t want to continue asking her out if she kept saying no. Jon blanched as the idea that maybe he was making Jamila uncomfortable came in his mind. As he clicked on watching Brooklyn 911, Jon decided that he was going to leave Jamila alone.

**

Jamila felt weird. It was two weeks since the last time she saw Jon and he was keeping his distance from her. All night, all he had done was say hi and wave when she greeted him. Jamila felt strangely bereft. Unconsciously, Jamila’s eyes drifted towards Jon more often than not during the charity auction. His black suit fit him like a glove, the crisp white shirt setting off his remaining tan. Of course, Jon didn’t wear a tie and it made him look absolutely delicious. Jamila inwardly scowled as she looked down at her water. 

Jamila was attempting to be good by sticking to water instead of any of the myriad alcoholic options tonight. The last time she had wine, she had to resist the urge to down the whole bottle. Jamila sighed; she thought she could try to have a bit of alcohol but now, she was sure that was impossible. Her sobriety was worth more than trying to fit in. 

The auction went pretty quickly, all things considered. Jamila made a couple small bids, there wasn’t really anything that caught her eye. Then the auctioneer said, “For our last, and surprise, auction item tonight, a date with the captain, Jonathan Toews. The winner gets to have one night with Captain Toews, at a place of your choice. Mr. Toews is a gentleman so it will be on him. Bidding starts at five hundred.”

One woman yelled, “One thousand!”

There were a flurry of bids and Jamila knew she had a screwface as she listened. One of the bidders was that bitch Frances and it looked like she was going to have the winning bid. The bids went up to six thousand before it started to slow. The auctioneer called out, “sixty-five hundred, do I hear sixty-six hundred?”

He waited for a couple of moments for additional bids. Jamila looked at her hands as the auctioneer said, “Sixty-five hundred, sixty-five hundred, going once-”

“Seventy-five hundred,” Jamila called out, raising her placard. 

There was a hush as people turned towards her. Jamila smirked as Jonathan raised an eyebrow.

“Seventy-five hundred, do I hear seventy-six hundred?”

Jamila waited as she sipped her water. Frances called out, “Eighty-five hundred,” frustration laced in her voice. Jamila smirked; this was time for payback.

The eyes turned towards her and Jamila looked down at her phone. There was a message from Alex: have u lost ur mind?????

“Ten-thousand,” Jamila called out. 

Jon let out a whoo, pursing his lips. This night had turned out in a way he hadn’t expected. The auctioneer called out, “Ten-thousand, ten-thousand, going once, going twice, sold, to number 53.”

Jamila rifled through her purse, looking for her wallet. She hoped she could just put it on her black card instead of needing a check. The money wasn’t a problem; the way of paying could be. One of the team’s interns came to Jamila. “Miss, come this way to pay.”

Following the intern, Jamila gave Frances a wide smile when she passed her. Luckily, Jamila was able to use her card to pay for her bid. 

“This wasn’t expected,” a deep voice said to her side. 

Jamila smiled. “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“I’m a tool for revenge? I feel like shit,” Jonathan joked. 

Jamila shrugged. “I’ll let you know if I ever want that date.”

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Jamila walked away. She still felt some satisfaction winning the bid over that bitch, but something told her she made a crucial decision in some way.

[ibelongtowrath]

Amor Librorum - Obey Me! Satan x Reader

Satan's in heat, and you just had to wear that short little skirt, didn't you? A/N: This was a request for a Satan in heat story! My first work since my hiatus, and I hope I did it justice. I kinda went hard with Dom Satan, so please enjoy. Pairing: Satan x Fem!Reader Word Count: ~6.6k Tags/Warnings: 18+ NSFW, fisting, oral sex, degradation, breeding, rough sex, double penetration, tail sex, dirty talk, dominance, choking. NSFW under the cut!

The peaceful quiet of the library is disturbed by a loud groan of frustration, not at all surprised to find the sound originating from yourself. Your eyes open, unable to focus as you stare aimlessly at the pile of papers before you. Haphazardly-written notes cover the pages of your notebooks, some even squished into the margins, tiny doodles of demon horns and rainbows sprinkled throughout in an effort to satiate your never-ending boredom in class. God, Devildom classes are relentless, filled with endless information and not a lot of stimulation. A deep sigh falls from your lips. Rubbing your temples, you lean back in your chair, eyes closing once more.

“MC, is there anything I can help you with?”

The familiar voice startles you and you start, a small gasp escaping you as your eyes fly open. A few moments later, you finally notice Satan sitting close to the fireplace, book in hand as usual as your face heats up. 

Satan, so goddamn handsome; the one you’ve had your eye on for a while, but were always too intimidated to approach.

“Satan! I-I didn’t even hear you come in,” you stammer in embarrassment, finally beginning to collect yourself and steady your breathing.

Satan’s jade-green gaze studies yours momentarily, brows knit together before his face relaxes. A gentle smile paints his face, and he chuckles, shaking his head. His blond locks fall forward into his face, reaching a hand up to brush them back.

“I have been in here for nearly thirty minutes now,” he says. “You were so focused on your work, I didn’t have the heart to disturb you. Though now, you look a bit...frazzled, so to speak.”

“You can say that again,” you agree, making a face at your messy notes.

It wasn’t that the material exceeded your capabilities; in fact, quite the opposite. You pored endlessly over your work daily since you had arrived not too long ago, paying attention in class and asking questions, with the occasional doodle finding its way onto your notes just to break up the monotony. Your dedication to success was something the brothers, and Diavolo, admired greatly about you. 

It of course caught the attention of the Avatar of Wrath himself, even more so than his brothers. He respected you greatly, your wit and intelligence closely rivaling even his own. He felt an affinity towards you, despite your newness to the Devildom.

Feeling the intensity of his gaze, you look awkwardly down at yourself as your hand reaches to tug at the hem of your skirt, a little too short for your taste. Asmo had insisted on it, claiming R.A.D. needed a bit more excitement. Yeah, excitement for him, maybe. 

Satan’s eyes quickly move to your thighs on the chair, eyeing the way you play with your skirt. A low sound rumbles in his chest at the sight, and he grits his teeth, willing himself under control. It was that time, the few days during each Devildom moon cycle where demons felt their desire to breed skyrocket, nearly going feral to satiate the hunger deep within. The heat period.

He had grown skilled in suppressing the urge, thousands upon thousands of cycles having passed in his lifetime. That isn’t to say he never gave in to it; even he had his moments where he couldn’t ignore the need to feel release, either relieving himself with his own doing, or with the occasional acquaintance made when Asmo had dragged him to one of his opulent parties. More often than not, Satan had simply resisted the pressing need, throwing himself deep into his studies instead. 

That is, until  you  came along. You had piqued his interest, and he fully intended on studying you in his own way, eager to learn. Now you were here, in the place he went to when he was trying to escape his natural urges, wearing that short skirt of yours. That fucking skirt, tempting him like no other, and you have no clue.

Oh, the places his mind went when thoughts of you intruded were certainly risqué as is, nearly every day. He wanted nothing more than to indulge in you, capturing your lips with his in a sweet kiss, exploring each other’s bodies as lovers do. But right now, in the midst of his heat? He’ll throw caution to the wind, risk it all to push you down onto the nearest surface, a hand slipping between your legs. To hear your needy cries for him to fill you with the seed of his sin, each wet thrust laced with lust and desire...

“Well, thank you,” you say after a few quiet moments, oblivious to the demon’s internal struggle across the room. “I don’t think I need anything, at least not yet.”

Your words break Satan’s trance slightly as he nods, eyes moving back up to meet yours.

“Do let me know, in any case.”

“Of course.”

Sighing once more, your gaze returns to the mass of papers and notebooks before you, reaching for your Devildom History binder. Flipping it open to the period right after the Celestial War, each time period labelled painstakingly carefully, you begin to read over highlights of important events.

“MC!”

Satan’s voice calls out to you again from across the room and your eyes flit up to look up at him.

“Yeah?” you ask, wondering what he wants to tell you.

“I am glad you’re in here, and not around my brothers,” Satan says slowly. “I would stay away from them as much as you can over the next several days. They…are not always capable of exercising as much control as I am.”

“Ah.” The heavy implication behind his words is not lost on you, and you nod in understanding. 

You had been in the Devildom for a few months now, and demon heat cycles had already passed. For a brief moment, you wonder why Satan is choosing to warn you now, but decide not to question it, instead choosing to be grateful for his looking out for you.

“Of course. Thank you, Satan.”

The demon watches as you return to your notes before turning to his book before him, settling back in his chair. The heat from the fireplace, coupled with the smell of wood burning, wafts towards him in gentle waves. He feels the tension melt away from his shoulders, relaxing into the comfort of his book; his serenity. Or so he thought.

Satan looks at the words inked onto the page before him, flipping to the next, then the next;  seeing  the words but not actually reading them. The carefully-typed words seem to bleed together as his vision blurs, surreptitiously lifting his head gaze once more at your bare thighs pressed together on the chair. He pictures standing before you, pressing his own knee between them, spreading your legs apart and-

No. Suppress the urge, he tells himself, just like he’s done for millennia. So why is it so fucking hard this time?  His attention turns back to his book, willing himself to exercise the great control over his instinctive urges he had just told you he possessed, only moments ago.

Blissfully unaware, you continue to pore over your notes. God, I don’t even remember writing this much. Several moments pass as you double-check what the exam is going to cover, scribbled into the customized R.A.D. planner Lucifer had so graciously gifted to you upon your arrival in the Devildom. Returning to your notes, you flip ahead several pages, running your finger down the margins as you go, making sure everything in your notes coincides with the necessary topics.

“Huh…”

Your finger stops at a section with uncompleted notes, brows furrowing together in worry. Fuck. You had skipped out on classes that day with bad cramps, telling yourself you’d get the notes from Satan at a later date before the exam, knowing he’d be the only one who would have notes as thorough as your own.

Well, I can’t exactly ask him now. Pride and slight embarrassment get in the way of need. Pursing your lips together and exhaling loudly through your nose, you scoot the chair back and stand slowly. The hem of your skirt flares as you rise and turn towards the seemingly infinite expanse of books behind you. Your hand reaches instinctively to tug it down, willing it to suddenly grow longer to at least mid-thigh. Maybe I should concoct a spell for that: clothes that get shorter or longer at will.

Satan looks up and studies you carefully as you walk over to the historical section of the library, noting the contemplative look on your face. He chuckles at the serious look on your face, wondering if he should call out to you and ask if you need any help picking out a book. Instead, deciding it would be more feasible to show you, he sets his book down onto the table by the fireplace. His mouth opens, about to guide you towards the more recently-published Devildom history books when the sight of you before him slams his jaw shut.

Just several feet away, your body is bent over as you attempt to read the spine of a book near the bottom shelf of the bookcase, another tome already in hand, panties completely exposed. Suddenly, the rush of cool air on your backside as your skirt rides up elicits a small yelp from your lips, dropping the book to the floor as you hurriedly reach back to pull the skirt down. The fabric won’t move any further down, clearly not meant for coverage when your body bends. You straighten quickly, feeling your face practically ignite in embarrassment.

I'm going to kill Asmo! you think to yourself, quickly and carefully squatting to pick up the book you had carelessly dropped in your haste. Thank God Satan has his nose buried in a book and didn’t see …

The low rumble from deep in Satan’s chest as he growls hungrily tells you otherwise. Restraint,  the sweet restraint  that he had been so carefully cultivating since you arrived in the Devildom disappears almost instantaneously.

“You little fucking tease,” he growls, teeth bared.

Satan smirks, a predatory look etched into his handsome features as he saunters toward you. His jewel-toned gaze rakes your body up and down, the image of you bent over, panties barely covering your backside burnt into his mind like a brand. You feel your body instinctively tense, watching the way he moves; a wolf that stalks agonizingly slow over to his next meal, knowing the animal doesn’t stand a chance. A slight shiver courses down what feels like each vertebra of your spine, goosebumps cascading across your arms and bare legs in anticipation. You don’t feel scared, no - you’re turned on by the way he’s looking at you, the most indulgent treat ready to be devoured, and he knows it .

Satan’s smirk grows wider, almost turning into a sadistic grin as he nears you at last. His fingers slide gently under your chin to lift your face towards his, his beautiful green eyes even more mesmerizing in the proximity. They look like shimmering pools of tropical water, enticing you to jump in, and you want nothing more than to drown in them; but the blazing, carnivorous look hardens them, their majestic beauty mismatched with the sentiments currently behind them.

“Such a tease you are, little pet,” the Avatar of Wrath murmurs, his gaze never faltering from yours. “I only just warned you that it is the demon heat cycle, yet here you are, bent over in that short fucking skirt like a slut begging to be bred like she deserves.”

Satan speaks so calmly, in complete contradiction with the wanton desires carved into every cell in his body. Oh, he wants nothing more than to rip each and every flimsy piece of fabric off your pliant little body, cock twitching beneath the constricting fabric of his pants, but that will have to wait. Yes, he will wait until your arousal drips onto your thighs in the anticipation, keening for him, your voice laced with desperation as you plead with him to fuck you. After all, he is nothing if not a patient demon, and what fun is it to pounce on your prey without playing with your food a bit first?

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, instinctively continuing to tug down your skirt.

“Sorry? My dear, I am an intelligent demon,” he retorts. “Do you really think of me so unwise, so blind to my instinctual desires that I wouldn’t doubt your sincerity?”

Satan shrugs the green jacket off his shoulders, placing it neatly onto the back of a nearby chair. He takes a few more steps in your direction and leans forward, his lips now mere inches from yours.

“I can practically smell the desire rolling off your tight little body in waves right now, darling. I can see it in your eyes just how badly you want me.”

Satan’s thumb caresses your lip as his mouth moves to your ear, warm breath caressing your skin and smirking once more, watching the way you shiver, the sensation trickling slowly down your spine, nearly shaking in anticipation. You breathe in deeply, inhaling the sweet scent of his skin pressed to yours: the slight musk of old books, and sweeter notes of vanilla and cinnamon lingering on top. Your tongue wets your lips, eager to taste him on yours. 

“Now, now, Kitten,” he purrs, amused by your evident arousal. “Are you so willing, so eager for me to wreck you that you’re turned on merely by a few small gestures? Naughty thing…”

A familiar need washes over you, very nearly as strong as his, despite your humanity. Without realizing, a whine spills from your lips in the wake of another shiver; every fiber of your being  ache s for him, calls out to him to satiate the hunger. The visceral urge to feel him between your legs, sighing in satisfaction in the deliciously slow stretch of your warmth as he eases into you… If you were capable, you’re sure you would be growling as well.

Satan nibbles lightly on the lobe of your ear before his lips find your neck, placing soft, slow, sensual kisses on the underside of your jaw as he makes his way towards your exposed clavicle underneath the unbuttoned shirt of your R.A.D. uniform. You mewl, squeezing your thighs together, the action eliciting the wetness between your legs. Electricity pulses through you in every rhythmic beat of your heart, dampening your panties with each thump, thump, thump in your chest.

The demon laughs softly against you, delighting in your body’s response to him. His mouth moves to the delicate skin above your collarbone, where he nips and sucks it into his mouth, intent on leaving his mark on you. Each press of his lips on your skin leaves a trail of fire burning across, blazing a path in the form of reddish-purple welts imprinted into your skin.  Fuck . You hadn’t anticipated it feeling this good, hands reaching to entangle your fingers in his thick blonde hair, pulling him closer to you. 

You are his.

“Oh, naughty, naughty thing. Here I am, having barely done a thing, and yet…”

His words taper off as he runs his free hand down the curves of your body until it rests just above mid-thigh. Inadvertently, you tighten. The spark of arousal quickly turns into a star shower between your hips, each and every sensitive nerve-ending on high alert, every cell desperate to be touched, to be  felt .

“...you’re practically begging for me. Just what exactly have you been picturing me doing to you in that pretty little mind of yours, hm? Perhaps…”

Satan’s hand trails to the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your core. You shudder, a tiny moan escaping your lips as he continues to run his thumb across. Achingly slowly, his hand finally reaches between your legs, and he rubs the flimsy, now-soaked fabric of your panties against your heat, adding slight friction to your clit.

“... something like this?”

Your head drops back slightly as you moan, and his cock twitches again; the demon is almost painfully hard beneath his pants, but he’s not done playing with you just yet. No, despite his strong urges, he will be patient. After all, he’s waited thousands of years for a moment just like this. It’s in his nature to toy with you, to elicit those sweet, sweet sounds of anticipation and pleasure from your lips, knowing you’re so far gone to his charms.

“My, my, kitten,” Satan murmurs. “For someone who wasn’t actively trying to get my attention like you say, you are quite wet for me. Are you, perhaps, enjoying yourself?”

Without giving time for a response, he slides a finger under your panties, teasing it against your swollen clit as his lips crash against yours. His tongue presses against your lips, begging entrance; you grant it to him, letting your tongues explore each other's mouths. Moaning into him, you lift a leg to hook around his waist, causing Satan to break off the kiss; a low-pitched growl rumbling loudly from deep within his chest.

“I want you, kitten, I cannot deny that,” he husks. “But when you do things like that, well-”

Satan whirls you around to the table behind you, pushing you down onto it. A knee moves to your thighs, pressing into them to spread you apart ever-so-slightly. His finger hooks under the waistband of your panties, and, with a single tug, rips them off with a loud tear echoing throughout the peaceful calm of the library. Discarding them onto the floor haphazardly, a feral grin twists his handsome face.

“-you make it awfully hard to be sweet with you. Then again, I’m sure you love it rough, don’t you, my dirty little kitten?”

“F-fuck… yes…,” you whimper.

“Well, we’ll have to put that to the test in just a bit. But for now… open yourself to me.”

The carnal desire twists darkly through Satan’s veins as he watches you spread your legs, your dripping pussy on full display. He growls again, louder, hungrier at the sight of you quivering before him, your body begging for his cock without having to say a single word from those pretty lips of yours. Kneeling before you, his green nails find purchase on the soft skin of your inner thighs, digging in slightly. His lips part as his tongue moves, licking a few stripes up your sex. Soft moans against your skin sound from within him as he laps at your essence, pulling away after a few moments.

Satan looks at you then, listens to your needy whimper, fingers curling into the carved wood of the table, an uncontrollable urge to lift you up, slam you against the bookcase and fuck you into it overwhelmingly strong. Eyes glazed over with lust, a blissful, almost  mindless  look on your face; need and arousal woven into every delicate feature. Blood surges deep through his vein, heart working double time in the visceral urge he feels to make you his - and he will.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, kitten,” the Avatar of Wrath purrs, pressing kisses into the soft skin of your thighs. “I’m going to make you feel so good with just my mouth and my fingers, and you’re going to ask for my permission before you cum all over this table. Then, I’m going to bend you over and make you beg for my cock to stretch your needy little pussy out like the desperate slut you are. Is that agreeable to you?”

“Yes, yes, please …” you whimper. “Please, Satan.”

"Already begging for me, hm? That’s a good girl. That’s a very good girl.”

Satan moves his face back to your core, resuming his ministrations, alternating between sucking on your clit and swirling his tongue around it. Your back arches against the table, reaching a hand forward to thread your fingers tightly into his soft, blonde locks. He slides two fingers into your quivering pussy, smirking against your skin as a lewd cry of pleasure escapes you, knowing he’s got you in the palm of his hand… exactly where he wants you.

“Oh, pet, you taste so sweet for me, like the most indulgent dessert in the entirety of the Realms. Tell me, how good does it feel?”

“S-Satan… it feels so fucking good, don’t stop…,” you whine in response.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on stopping, my pretty little pet. Not until you’re properly prepared for my cock and I make you cum  all over  this table, your face twisting in pleasure, just for me.”

Satan pumps and curls his fingers inside you skillfully, pressing exactly right against your most sensitive spot. The pleasurable pressure floods your body, every nerve ending electrified. His tongue focuses its attention back to your clit, flicking and nibbling the swollen bud, working his fingers in tandem. Eyes roll into the back of your head in ecstasy and your mind is completely fogged over, able to focus only on the demon pleasurable movements. 

Hips roll towards his face, increasing the pressure of his tongue between your legs, and he moans against your pussy before sliding a third finger into you. The onslaught of sensations is nearly too much to bear, and you gasp as your pelvic muscles tighten around his fingers, signaling your oncoming release.  

“Ngh… Satan, I want to cum. Please, let me cum,” you beg, your voice laced in pleasure and desperation.

“Oh, so soon?” Satan laughs softly. “Well, you’ve been so good for me… so wet, and making those sweet sounds just for me. I suppose I can permit you…”

He places a kiss against your clit before moving his mouth to bite down hard into your thigh, leaving a bright red imprint behind. Smiling at the mark, he nods, eager to watch as you come undone before him. Fuck, does he want to see that beautiful face of yours as it twists in pleasure from his ministrations.

“Cum for me, my sweet kitten,” Satan commands.

Your head rocks back against the hard wooden table as your body writhes, feelings of pure ecstasy washing and shuddering through your body in waves. The grip of your fingers woven into his hair tightens as his name falls from your lips, each syllable pronounced with a moan between. Body jerking forward slightly, he delights in watching the slight gushing from between your legs runs down your thighs in deliciously tiny rivulets as your fluid excitement pools beneath your thighs and onto the table beneath you.

Satan pulls back slightly and smirks, lapping at your essence. Another moan sounds from his lips, tasting your sweet release, intent on not wasting a single precious drop before standing, removing his fingers from inside you. You hear yourself whine at the loss of him inside you, desperate to feel that stretch between your walls, the need for him almost physically painful. He grins at you again, a sadistic upturn or his lips as he moves his hands to his pants, making quick work of undoing his belt and zipper to free his cock. 

Watching closely, your eyes focus on him as you come back down from the high of pleasure, collecting your thoughts briefly before the sight of his hardened length before you clouds your mind over once more. You feel nearly light-headed, dizzy with arousal, solely able to think about pushing your hips in time with his as he takes you higher and higher.

Smug, Satan grabs your arm, turning you around. He pushes an arm into your back, effectively forcing you to bend you over the table. His hand reaches around your front to grope your breast through your shirt before taking a fistful of the fabric in his hand, ripping it clean off your body. A breathy gasp spills out of you, barely able to react before your bra suffers the same fate, torn into two on the floor.

“S-Satan! My uniform!” you gasp, studying the tattered garments littered onto the library floor.

“Don’t worry, kitten,” the demon coos, “I’m keeping your slutty little skirt fully intact. I want to watch my cock disappearing between your legs while you wear it.”

Using his free hand to hike the skirt up your thighs, he kicks your legs apart, letting out a loud, animalistic growl at the sight of you, before grabbing your ass cheeks in both hands, spreading you open completely. Fucking hell. How badly he wanted to slam his cock into either one of your needy set of holes, both quivering and clenching in anticipation. Sadistic grin returning, he relishes the power he holds over you at that moment.

“Look at you, spread before me like my favorite book, your needy little pussy just  aching to be stretched out and gaping from my cock,” Satan continues, his voice lowering several notes.

Unable to resist, his mouth moves between your legs, licking another stripe up your slit. Lifting an arm back, Satan brings his hand down to smack your ass, hard. A loud crack sounds across the room, and you hiss with the stinging pain. His eyes move to your ass cheek, delighting in the bright red mark left behind, deciding to give your ass a few more smacks. A groan sounds from behind you, demon form erupting, so thoroughly turned on by your breathy moans. 

“If only you could see yourself, pet, and see just what you’re doing to me. Your pussy is quivering for me, your body so desperate for me to use you and breed you like a dirty little cumslut. Isn’t that exactly what you are, you fucking tease?”

Satan’s hand moves to his cock, teasing his length up and down your dripping wet slit, the feeling of your abundant wetness coating him combined with your needy moans nearly too much for him to bear. Back arching, your hips push back against him instinctively, whining desperation growing louder, the need to feel him almost physically painful. He, too, feels the urge, painfully hard in his own hand. He needs to be inside you  now  , his own desperation beginning to cloud his thoughts… but before that, he needs to hear you beg.

“If you want it, beg me for it, kitten,” he commands.

Without hesitation, your lips part, ready to comply.

“Satan, fuck me, please!” you plead. “I need it. I need you. Please.”

His tail snakes forward and wraps tightly around your wrists, binding them together behind your back.

“Fuck, I love that sound,” he laughs, almost sadistically. “The sound of obedience without a second thought. You’re so fucking hungry for my cock and my cum, you’ll do just about anything, won’t you, you slut?”

Slowly, Satan slides his cock inside you, burying himself to the hilt. 

“I seem to have forgotten, my sweet kitten, exactly which one of us is the one in heat,” Satan laughs. “The way you begged for me to fuck you and to fill you, my pretty little kitten must be in a heat of her own. Spreading her legs and arching her back, moaning to draw in the nearest suitors, just to be fucked, to fulfill her aching needs.”

You moan, finally satisfied at having gained the delicious stretch of his generous cock between your legs. The sound quickly turns into a lewd cry of pleasure that tears from your throat, slicing cleanly through the otherwise pure quiet of the library.

“Your pussy is so hot, tight, and wet for me, kitten. Such a good little whore. I’m going to fuck you into this table until you cum. And when you do, I’m going to fill your needy hole with my cum. I’m going to breed you like the hungry little cockslut that you are.”

“Y-yes, please!” you hear yourself begging again.

Satan shudders, savoring the feeling of your constricting warmth as he begins to fuck you from behind, watching as his cock disappear between your legs. He groans at the sight, snapping his hips into you at an unrelenting pace. His chest presses flush against your back, lips finding purchase on your neck before biting hard into it, intent on leaving more marks. Each thrust elicits a gasping moan from your lips, and he growls once more, feeling the vibration of the sound against your skin.

"Oh, fuck, yes , kitten. Keep making those sounds for me,” Satan groans. “You look so good like this, so helpless for me. I love the noises you make, taking every last inch of my cock.”

Green nails rake across the delicate skin of your back, leaving angry red welts in their wake. His pace quickens, thrusts becoming more frenzied, savoring the way you moan as the pain mixes deliciously with the pleasure. The sinful melody of skin smacking against skin permeates the room, pushing your hips back against his to meet in a harmony only the two of you know. 

His head drops back in pleasure as your pussy squeezes his cock, reaching a hand between your legs to rub circles around your clit with fervor. Your pleasurable cries grow louder with each breath, until their pitch practically reaches a sweet scream. Growing, Satan weaves his free hand into your hair, yanking your head to the side roughly, forcing your eyes to meet his. 

“Such a noisy thing, aren’t you?” he growls. “Do you want my brothers to hear you, striding through those double doors? You probably do, don’t you? My pretty little slut, so uncaring for having an audience, or how many get to fuck her, as long as they can satiate the ache between her legs.”

Satan releases his grip on your hair, moving his hand to press two fingers against your mouth. You part your lips, taking them into your mouth and sucking on them. He continues his merciless thrusts, working in perfect unison with the stimulation on your wet, now-swollen clit. It doesn’t take long before the fire pools low in your belly once more, your release threatening to take over you before you can even ask for permission.

“I want to cum, Satan, please!” your breathy cry rings out against the sounds of your sins.

“Yes, you do, kitten, because I’m making you feel  so  good, aren’t I?” Satan grins smugly with the words. “Cum for me. I want to feel that tight little pussy milking my cock, my name falling helplessly from your lips as you scream in pleasure. I’m going to breed you like the whore you are, and you had better not waste a single. Fucking. Drop.”

Time feels like it slows for a blissful few moments, your release building, more intensely than the first time. 

“F-fuck, S-Satan!”

Your eyes practically roll back as your head drops forward, body shuddering. The wildfire of pleasure roils relentlessly, burning through your veins second by sweet second, every cell in your body filled with the delicious feeling. Satan groans, his own release rapidly approaching. He continues to fuck into you as you cum before giving in to it, moaning loudly as he empties himself inside you almost endlessly, filling you to the brim with ropes and ropes of cum.

“Fuck, Kitten,” Satan pants, his chest heaving as he pulls out of you. “But I’m not done with you quite yet.”

His tail releases its hold on your wrists. Grabbing your arm again before you can drop forward, he gently turns you to face him, pressing his lips to yours in a deep, passionate kiss briefly before he flips you over onto your back. Hands move to spread your legs, pushing your knees to your chest. Satan observes you closely, peering between your legs; admiring your pussy, his seed dripping a slow trail onto the tops of your thighs before sliding onto the table beneath you. 

“I did say you had better not waste a single drop,” he muses, “yet here you are, leaking onto the table.”

Satan shakes his head before rubbing a thumb over your swollen clit. Feeling smug, he rubs just a bit faster, knowing the bundle of nerves is extra sensitive after your release, basking in the lewd noises you make.

“You fucking slut, you’re practically gaping for me. No wonder you can’t even keep all my cum inside you,” he chides, kneeling between your legs. “Perhaps I should help to ensure it stays inside of you?”

Pressing his fingers together, he slides his hand into your pussy.

“That’s my good girl,” Satan praises you, grinning at the way you continue to writhe at his touch. 

The generous stretch of your pussy with his hand feels so good, nearly as good as his cock and you moan louder and bite your lip, head dropping back. A bulge appears between your hips as he begins to pump his fist slowly back and forth inside you, the movement causing a few more droplets of his cum to spill out onto your thighs, and can't help but laugh a little.

“Oh, I suppose this just means I need to fill you up again to ensure you’re bred properly, my beautiful little cumslut,” he resolves, voice laden with silk.

Pulling his fist from between your legs, he quickly replaces it with his tail, dipping it into your slick pussy and thrusting it in and out a few times.

"Wouldn't want you feeling empty for too long, pet," Satan purrs.

The ridges play beautifully over your g-spot, and you gasp at the feeling. God, how fucking delectable you look in that moment. Eyes glazed over and blown out with lust, so far gone to him. You are his, but he isn’t done with you just yet. 

Satan smirks in satisfaction before sliding his tail out of your wet heat, moving it down and pressing the tapered tip of his tail against your puckered hole. Your eyes widen, curiosity and surprise widening your pupils.

“This time, kitten, I’m going to fuck both of your holes until you ask me to let you cum all over my cock; until you cum so  hard , you’re seeing stars.”

Satan presses his tail, thoroughly coated in your arousal, harder against your ass, a smug look overtaking his handsome features as you whine. Your legs fold back, knees pressed into your chest as you open yourself completely to him.

“Do it, Satan, please ,” you beg him, eyes pleading with urgency. “I just want to be so full of you, full of your cock and your cum. Please.”

With your permission, he slides his tail into your ass, grinning sadistically as your head rocks back against the table, clenching slightly, the sinful melody of your sweet moans the most beautiful music he has  ever  heard. He pumps it back and forth a few times, slowly at first, tapered ridges massaging the tight muscles, working to open you to him just a bit further. Feeling yourself loosen, his tail begins to move just a bit faster.

“Such a desperate little slut, begging to let me wreck your holes. I hope you’re ready now to take all of me, pet,” Satan murmurs.

“I am, I am, just please fuck me!”

“Gladly, kitten.”

Placing both hands on your hips, Satan pushes his cock back inside your needy pussy, lifting your hips and groaning at the way your tight walls quiver around him. He slams into you mercilessly, propping up your legs to rest on his shoulders, allowing him to push deeply, until he can go no further. Eyes move down to your abdomen where he is greeted by the swell of his cock between your hips. Another feral growl sounds from his chest at the sight of it, moving even faster, mesmerized by the way your body bends to his  every  move. 

“Look, pet,” he growls. “That’s right. That’s my cock swelling in your belly, stretching your tight little body out.”

Snapping his hips into you at an animalistic pace, his growls grow louder, demonic instinct taking over; the careful restraint he tried so hard to maintain completely gone at the sight of your belly distending with his cock inside it. He sees red, sees nothing but fulfilling his natural desires in the form of fucking your holes without mercy.

“Harder, Satan, harder! It feels so good, don’t hold back,” your voice rings out, words stunted by small gasps and moans. 

The demon growls in slight annoyance, reaching a hand up to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing lightly. His cock and his tail move in perfect sync, sliding in and out of your tight holes, increasing their pace as he fucks harder into you, caring little for your comfort as you bite back a scream.

“Is this what you want, kitten?” Satan’s words escape him in a feral snarl. “You like pushing boundaries, don't you, seeing exactly how much you can take or how much you can get away with? I think you may have forgotten, my sweet pet, of exactly who is in charge of your pleasure here. Perhaps you need a reminder.”

Snaking a hand between your legs, he rubs your clit feverishly. The Avatar of Wrath relishes your cries of pleasure, increasing in volume with each thrust until they near the high pitch of a scream.

“That’s right,” Satan growls. “Keep making those sounds for me, my sweet pet. Now…  cum for me for a third time tonight like a good girl.”

The sweet, sweet pressure in your ass and your pussy is too much to bear, and your release slams into you with no warning. Body writhing beneath him, your back arches, electrified ecstasy coursing through your veins as your heart pumps into every part of your body. A high-pitched scream of pleasure cuts through the air, surely loud enough to wake his brothers, but he doesn’t care.

“That’s my good girl, kitten,” he rasps, words stunted in his efforts. “I’m right behind you…”

Moving at a brutally fast pace, Satan chases his own release. It grips him shortly after you cum, and he spills into you endlessly once more, groaning and filling your pussy with his bitter seed. He pulls out of you, slowly removing his tail from your ass and keeping your legs spread, kneeling before you once more. Noting the way his cum continually leaks from your gaping pussy onto the library table, he shakes his head, chuckling again as he zips his pants back up.

“Well, I suppose that just gives me another excuse to have to keep filling you up, hm, kitten?” Satan laughs, reaching a hand out to you.

“S-Satan… thank you…,” you whimper, gazing into the mesmerizing pools of jade sea you have come to know well over the course of the night before grabbing his hand, lacing your fingers through his.

“Oh? Thanking me?” he says in surprise, a genuine grin on his face. “I suppose I have to thank you as well, my sweet kitten. Thank you for taking all of me, and for giving me all of yourself.”

Satan steps back to pull you up to sitting as you pant and try to collect yourself. He wraps an arm around your waist, bearing your weight, your eyes closing in sudden exhaustion. He lifts you up off the table, pressing soft kisses against your forehead. You protest, starting to say something about leaving your notes behind and needing to study when Satan silences you with a deep kiss, pulling away after a few moments with a wink.

“Come, pet. Spend the night with me, and we will come to collect your things tomorrow. I believe a few healing spells and a bath are in order. And then, perhaps, see if we can’t get you those missing notes you’ve been searching for.”

[ink-and-flame]

Kinktober - Intensity Undone

Kinktober Day 3 Prompts: No Prompts

Fandom: Original

Tags: exophilia, angst, hurt/no comfort, relationship arrangements

Pairing:  Orc(M)/Human(F)| Darnok/Lia,

[Authors Note: Since the plans for Darnok and Lia had changed this is completely off script now and no longer following the outline. The way the rest of this goes is going to be as much of a surprise to me as it will be for everyone else. There are only a few more parts of this left for what I am considering book 1 of this overarching story. This is a bridge story that does not fit anywhere in the Kinktober prompt list. I felt it worked better as a stand alone as opposed to trying to cram kink into it or having 2 separate stories be one. ]

Lia had been ignoring her phone and email for days now, as she knew it was Darnok trying to contact her. Double checking her messages to make sure she didn’t miss something important for work, she sent everything to voice mail and ignored the rest. That last moment in the club played over and over in her head. The look of shock in Darnok’s eyes as she mentioned his engagement. Everything after was a blur and she wasn’t sure how she made it home.

Ember had been checking up on her every day, letting Lia know that Darnok was sending her messages trying to get any information he could on Lia. It was bothersome but Lia understood. She didn’t give him a chance to say anything, but she couldn’t. If she had risked it, she might have simply fallen back into his arms with whatever excuse he could come up with. 

A part of her mind argued that she should have let him speak, should answer him, because what if she was wrong. Though that was the part of her that loved him and wanted to be with him. Lia didn’t trust herself, and whatever reason or excuse he had it wouldn’t be enough. At the end of the day she wanted more than what he was willing to offer, and she had to do what was best for herself.

The phone calls and messages continued into the next week, a few times it was Lucien or Zane calling to check on her, making sure she was ok. Thankfully they had managed to keep all of this from spreading outside their little group to avoid any drama or make things more difficult for Lia when she chose to come back to the club. Lucien had urged her, gently, to talk to Darnok and make a clean break if that was what she truly wanted. 

Thankfully for Lia he had no idea where she lived so he couldn’t just randomly show up at her home without notice. Though she wasn’t sure if he remembered where she worked and hoped that he didn’t show up and cause a scene. There was a small part of her that did want to talk to him and she considered what Lucien said as the days kept ticking by. 

Lia was in the back at work on her break when her coworker walked up to her with the strangest expression, she looked nervous.

“Uh, there is a car outside for you. A really expensive car and the driver said he was here to pick you up?”

Lia sighed and rubbed her face. “I’m sorry, I will go out there and tell them to leave.”

Lia only had a few minutes left of her break and didn’t want to waste it on this, but she had no choice. Walking outside she told the driver she was working and that he needed to leave. Regardless of his insistence that she get in. Turning around she headed back in and tried to ignore the situation. The car stayed right where it was for the rest of her shift and she was tempted to sneak out the back and drive home, but she didn’t want to risk being followed. 

“Ok, my shift is over, clearly you aren’t leaving and I am certain that if I try to drive myself home you will follow me. Right?”

“I have been given instructions to pick you up, and where to take you, that is the limit of my instructions. But yes, I would follow you.”

Rubbing her face with a sigh, Lia felt she had no choice. Giving a vague gesture of acquiescence she waited for the door to be opened and reluctantly got into the car. She knew this was Darnok and not some elaborate abduction, though it certainly felt like one. Of course it did not make her any less angry and Lia held that anger close to her chest, she would need it to keep from falling into his arms the moment she saw him. Despite everything, she missed Darnok.

When the car finally stopped Lia took a deep breath in and waited. The door opened and she stepped out. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. She was at the hotel her and Darnok would use on nights they stayed together after being at the club. She wasn’t sure how to feel about this choice, but it did make some measure of sense. 

The driver gave her  a key card and a slip of paper with instructions on it. Rolling her eyes she thanked the driver politely, none of this was really his fault, and headed into the hotel. Making her way past the desk and up to the room she was relieved to find that it was empty. It gave her a moment to prepare herself, take a few calming breaths, and sit down to relieve some tension. 

It wasn’t long before she heard another key card in the door and it opened. In walked Darnok, alone, and looking worried. Lia set her features as close to neutral as she could even though just the sight of him was enough to overwhelm her emotions. 

At first there was silence as Darnok stood somewhat awkwardly just inside the door. He stepped closer and cleared his throat. 

“Lia.”

Stopping him, Lia held up a hand. “Ms. Doran will be fine. If necessary I will allow you to call me by my full first name. Adalia. You have lost the privilege of calling me anything else.”

The startled look on his face followed by one of pain was all that kept Lia from breaking her facade. She did not feel anywhere near as confident as she sounded and knew that she would probably break before he did. 

“Of course Ms. Doran, I understand. Would it be ok if I sat at the table with you?”

Lia nodded and gestured to the chair furthest from her, waiting for Darnok to take a seat. She had not seen him in a bit, but he already looked different. It was hard to place exactly what was different, other than her perception of him, and perhaps that was all it was. 

“I know you are angry with me, upset, hurt, dozens of other things. I would just like an opportunity to explain everything to you. If you will allow it.”

Lia sighed and leveled him with an annoyed expression. “If at any point this starts to sound like excuses. I am shutting it down and leaving.”

“That is more than fair.” Darnok took a deep breath clasping his hands together on the table. 

“I should have told you of my arrangement the moment I started to consider you as my sub, that was entirely my own fault, I own all of that. All of this is my fault and I will never be able to apologize enough.” Dar held up a hand when he saw Lia open her mouth. “Please, just, let me get through this first part or I never will be able to. I will answer every question you have after.”

Lia nodded and gestured for him to continue. Though the word arrangement already had the wheels in her head turning and she was certain some of her initial suspicions about Darnok had actually been true. Maybe they wouldn’t be where they were if she had just asked questions the moment she became suspicious instead of holding it all inside out of fear of losing him.

“I am in an arranged marriage. It had been planned long before I met you, and I have spent much of my adult life trying to get out of it. Well, trying in ways that will not shame either family or get someone killed.” Clearing his throat again Darnok looked down at his hands. “It was obvious to my intended that I didn’t want this, and as a fae, she is indifferent to all of it herself. She does what her parents tell her and that is pretty much that. Though she did notice and eventually we sat down and had a discussion of what is and is not acceptable for our relationship and how we appear in public.” Dar paused and stood up. “I need a drink, do you want anything?”

“Water is fine.” Lia waited as he brought her water from the mini bar and a juice for himself. 

“Our agreement is that in public we appear a normal, happy, loving couple. Whatever it takes to convince the media, our peers, and our families that everything is working out. Privately I am allowed to indulge my sexual desires however I choose but there are rules I have to follow. I can’t be with anyone in our social circle, preferably I keep it out of the city entirely. I can’t fall in love or have feelings for my sexual partners. I cannot be seen publicly with them, and I can’t get anyone pregnant. There are a few smaller rules about visible markings and how I dress, but those are often overlooked.” Darnok took a swig of his juice before continuing.

“I did everything I could to stall the engagement or try to get out of it, but I can’t and my hand has been forced. Both families are pushing for us to be married by the end of next year.” He rubbed his face and looked sadly at Lia. “We have no love for each other, I honestly don’t even think she likes me. Our entire relationship is devoid of intimacy and even the barest shred of warmth. It is entirely a power move and my family was willing to sacrifice me as I am not the oldest son.” Pausing he shrugged. “You can ask questions now if you want. Or just leave, I honestly wouldn’t blame you. It is a fucked up situation that I made worse by not being honest with you.”

Lia sat for a moment, letting everything he said sink in. She toyed with the water bottle a bit as she thought of any questions she could ask. Really he laid it out pretty plainly. There wasn’t a whole lot of mystery, other than the whole arranged marriage part. She wasn’t even aware that was still a thing, but clearly it was. 

“I guess the only question I can think of is just why? Why weren’t you just honest with me from the beginning? It seems like such a simple thing, you could have brought it up that first night, or if not then, after the first month would have been appropriate.”

Darnok nodded, knowing Lia was absolutely right. He should have been honest from the very beginning. It could have avoided all of this. 

“It is a valid question and one I have no acceptable excuse for. The reason I didn’t in the beginning is because of privacy. I had gotten used to the arrangement and rarely had partners that I would do enough sessions with that it would be necessary to disclose it. After that though, I guess the reason was fear. I connected with you in ways I have never connected with anyone, I didn’t want to lose that. I kept telling myself you would move on, or I could just tell you the next month, but I always managed to find a reason to not say anything and it then became an issue of feeling too late.” Darnok looked down at his hands before continuing. “I guess part of me was living in this fantasy world where I could have both. I could keep the families happy, and I could have you which made me happy. I should have known it was impossible and I am so sorry for how much this hurt you.”

It was hard to stay in her seat, not run to him and throw her arms around him. She loved him, Lia knew that she loved him, but that love was poison to her heart. Even if he had been honest from the beginning, she knew she would have fallen in love with him anyway and it would have hurt just as much, but in a different way. 

“At least I understand now. I can’t say I envy your position, and you should be honest with your partners from day one going forward. Privacy or no, this is a cruel thing to do to a person and I would hate for it to happen to anyone else. I am fortunate I got my club membership on my own merits because I like the people I have met there and I don’t want to lose that too. I am sure we will see each other at the club, but I think it would be for the best if you kept your distance for now. Even though I understand your situation, I don’t think I can do any more scenes with you Darnok.”

Lia stood up. It was the most difficult thing she had ever done, but she had to let him go. Mostly for her own sake. He was never going to leave his fiance, he couldn’t, and she loved him too much to be his dirty secret. Maybe others could live with that, but she had grown far too attached and there was nothing to be done about it now. 

“So this is goodbye then?” Darnok asked, looking at her with sorrowful eyes. “You want a clean break, no friendship, no anything?”

“I can’t. I just, Darnok I can’t. Find someone else to be your sex toy. I am a sub, but I am still a person, and I refuse to let myself be used like that.” 

Turning away from him Lia headed towards the door, she could already feel the heat of the tears in her eyes threatening to fall and she did not want to cry again, not now. 

“Please wait!”

“NO! I am leaving and you are going to let me. This is on you. You broke everything Darnok, and you can’t fix this. There is nothing you can do to ever make this ok. Do not contact me again.”

Storming out of the room Lia all but ran to the elevator and stepped inside. She held it together long enough to make it down to the main floor and out the door. Of course she did not have her car, and while she did see the driver she avoided him and just began walking. The hotel wasn’t far from the club, she could see if Ember was there and get a ride back to work that way. As far as she was concerned Darnok no longer existed and she had to restart her life as best she could. 

Thankfully Ember was there, along with some of the others she knew. The walked helped to clear her head and kept her from looking overly disheveled as the tears had time to fall, but the cool air kept her face from going too red or splotchy. Ember called it a night early and headed out with Lia, driving her to her work and then following back to their building. 

Like a good friend Ember stayed with Lia all night, letting her friend rage and cry, doing whatever was needed to get it all out. It was necessary to heal, the wound had to be cleansed before the healing could begin. It was a shitty situation for certain, but Lia was strong and would eventually be able to move on. Until then, she had friends that would help her through all this. 

[yoditorian]

a law divine - 1

soulmate au!ezra/reader

this is solely the fault of one single anon who called out something i put in the tags and now it’s a whole universe but you know what?? it’s the love of my life. anon i hope u see this 💛 i also just want to say i know there isn’t A Lot of soulmate talk in this one but it’s important for the narrative okay bear with me

playlist // series masterlist // main masterlist 

word count: 7.2k (a Big Boy)

warnings: swearing, my usual allusions to smut bc we keep things neutral in this house, brief food/alcohol mentions, 18+ please no babies

It might be the ugliest ship you’ve ever seen.

Not that you’re really one to judge, the one you charter out when you’re running point on a job is a mismatched patchwork of rusty panels held together with electrical tape and hope. If there’s the slightest possibility you might be a teeny tiny bit disappointed in it, it’s only because agency jobs are usually a little cushier. A little safer for once. You could do with a bit safer. 

Your family might prefer a lot safer, but you’d sooner take your chances in open space without a suit than take a job working scrapyards. At least risking your life on digs gets a decent payout.

“You the danger mouse?” 

It’s not an accent you hear often on the Pug, the majority of the station’s population is human, but you turn with a smile to meet the bright purple eyes of the Thanne. Armour-strong scales and sharp teeth, but he seems kind and mild mannered despite his clear predatory biology. You nod as you readjust the pack on your shoulders.

“I’m Iras.” He holds his hand out to you. A distinctly human gesture made a little awkward by the sharp edged scales and extra fingers, but you shake it nonetheless. He’s your captain for this job after all. You wonder where a Thanne became so well versed in human custom, the species as a whole tend to keep to themselves instead of branching out into the universe like so many others, until his crew members appear on the boarding ramp.

Iras gestures to each of them in turn. Summer, a blonde woman with dark skin and a kind smile, and Milo, an older man with a swirling tattoo above his left eyebrow that matches the navy blue of his eyes.

“Is it just us?” You ask. You could have sworn there was a fifth name on the manifest you’d been forwarded, but teams are always subject to change. You just hope you’ll have your own room.

“Ezra always leaves things down to the wire, he’ll show up right before we’re due to push out.” Summer laughs fondly, throwing an arm around your shoulders like she’s known you her whole life. You’re usually a little wary with brand new teams but the way she’s already chatting away makes you feel at home. The last agency job you were sent on got dicey, fast, somehow you’re sure the same won’t happen with this lot.

“There he is.” Milo leans out of the ship to point out into the docks. 

You turn to see a man sauntering through the throngs of harvesters towards the ship, and it’s odd. The rest of the crowd seems to melt away as he closes the distance, even the weight of Summer’s arm on your shoulders feels not quite there. You take the moment to study him. He looks all business with his dark hair and his charcoal grey shirt and the neat pack slung over his shoulder, but his pants and boots have seen better days and the streak of blonde at his temple makes you smile. It’s nice to finally be with a crew without a single stuffy addition. 

“It’s not often I get to congregate with like-minded souls.” He grins when he’s in earshot, a flash of something feline in his eyes. You don’t want to admit that you like it.

“Like-minded?” You tilt your head at him as you follow Summer up the ramp and into the ship. Ezra slips in behind you just as it starts to raise. Just like the others said.

“We’ve all got the same death wish, Sunspot.”

The launch, at least, is smooth despite the beaten up ship and it’s only about twenty minutes before you’re far enough from the Pug to punch a lane to the next system over. At least it isn’t far, there’s only a day between now and making planetfall. Somehow, you’re not surprised to find that it’s more of a barracks and bunk beds situation rather than each having a private quarters. Last time you were hired by the agency, you definitely got your own room. But it gives you a chance to chat with the others as you unpack. 

Milo explains the air isn’t breathable, so he’ll need to double check to make sure everyone’s filters are running at capacity. But he reassures you that it’s a comfortable temperature, so it’s good to know you won’t be sweltering in your suits or freezing your asses off. 

You pick the bed on the wall beside the door, taking out a few essentials from your pack and tucking the rest safely away in the storage compartment. Just as he did back at the docks, Ezra is the last to find his way to the room. He settles his things on the bunk opposite yours because the universe has it out for you, apparently. 

“Did I hear one of them call you the danger mouse?” 

You struggle not to roll your eyes at the nickname awarded to anyone stupid enough to do your job, although admittedly he doesn’t sound like he knows why. You offer him your name instead and pretend the way he rolls it around in his mouth doesn’t send a shock right down to your bones. You’re not in the habit of sleeping with colleagues, not until the job’s over at least. But you’d be lying if you said you’re not tempted.

“They call me in when a site’s unstable but too profitable to close.” You answer, tugging your sleeves up as the climate control settles to a comfortable temperature.

Ezra raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue, and you pull off your gloves. They land on your thin mattress as you hold your hands out between you. Not even the slightest twitch.

“Steadiest hands on the Pug.”

“So they are.” There’s a challenge in his voice that threatens to send a shiver up your spine. It’s clear he doesn’t doubt your skill in the field, but the return of that glint in his eye from the docks has you wondering exactly what else he’s thinking about as he studies your hands. It’s not hard to work out.

It’s been so long since you had to travel out of the system, you forgot how much inter-system lanes can fuck with the human brain. You’re half asleep for the thirty minutes you spend sorting your things for the morning, barely enough energy to change into the sweatpants and ratty t-shirt you call pyjamas, before you crawl into bed and settle down almost immediately.

Only you don’t get to sleep for as long as you’d like. The rest of the crew seem to have filtered in after you, the shift of sheets and snores float through the dimmed room. Except, it’s not just that. There’s shuffling and bed creaking from further down the line of bunks. A hushed giggle sounds in the silence and-

 Oh god. Oh no.

They’re not. They can’t be, they- they are. 

You’re very awake all of a sudden, eyes wide as you keep them firmly on the ceiling and wishing as hard as you can for an alarm to start beeping or something. Anything to get whoever’s banging Summer to stop. A deep voice hushes her when she laughs again. Iras. Knowing is somehow worse. The mechanics- you don’t even want to think about it. 

You turn onto your side slowly, but loud enough to hint that maybe they should find somewhere else for their escapades, and fold your pillow around your head as a kind of makeshift set of earmuffs. Whether they’ve quieted down or it muffles the noise, you’re not sure, but it seems to have worked enough. You catch Ezra’s eye in the almost-darkness, much in the same position as he holds his pillow over his own ears. 

It’s embarrassing for the both of you, even as you share a conspiratorial look. But somehow, it’s less awkward to have to hear Iras and Summer going at it when you know he’s awake. He winces when a particularly loud squeak echoes through the room, and it takes everything in you not to bust out laughing. You fall asleep again eventually, making faces at Ezra in the dark until neither of you can keep your eyes open anymore.

You’re surprisingly well rested come the morning, when the whole ship jolts as it punches into the system and you’re almost thrown out of bed. So much so that it’s easy to forget that you woke up at all until you shuffle into the main living compartment of the ship. One of the crates by the wall has been cracked open, Milo hands out granola bars for breakfast.

Summer and Iras are sitting in the same chair, feeding each other, and it might be cute if you’d been awake longer and hadn’t been woken up by their activities in the middle of the night. You slump into a free chair,  face twisted in disgust for a moment. You’re pretty sure nobody else sees until Ezra laughs and drops into the seat beside you. They’re nice people, from how they took you as a friend immediately, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s just a bit much for your perpetually single heart to take. 

“It’s a week-long job, they can’t take a break?” You watch as they finally pry themselves apart to start, you know, actually working. But not without a genuinely gross kiss that definitely toes the line of public decency. Suddenly the half-eaten bar in your hand isn’t all that appealing anymore.

“Soulmates take no breaks, Sunspot. I’m sure yours would be hard pressed to be anywhere but in bed with you whenever they get the chance.” Ezra winks and it takes you a moment to remember where you are. A glance at the pair makes your new knowledge obvious, the way they seem to be touching, even now, on opposite sides of the room. 

“I’m not sure I believe in all that red string stuff.”

Once the ship is safely landed a short walk from the site, the days you spend digging pass with ease. The deposit is a decent size, it takes all five of you to cover it completely, and the payout should be enough to keep you all comfortable for a little while even with the agency’s cut. The crew around you fill the time enough that you barely notice the week coming to a close. 

Summer sings in the mornings as she cleans her equipment and readies her pack for the day. Miles talks gently to the cells as though they can hear him, shushing them any time he worries a gem might corrupt. Iras seems to have a secret superpower when it comes to the ration packs, they always taste better when he’s the one on lunch duty. And Ezra spends the afternoons regaling you all with tales of ancient beasts, laying eggs that fossilise into the very gems you’re harvesting. Although you’re not sure how true they are. 

You almost get through the whole dig without a hitch. Almost. But aurelac is a tricky thing, even a change in the wind can turn a site for the worst. You’re all sitting around at lunch when it happens. The telltale smoke wafts up into the air for no visible reason at all and although you’ve collected enough to cover the quota, you’d still rather not lose viable gems.

“Get to what you came here for.” Iras gestures in your direction and you dive into the pit head first.

You’re not even sure you stop to think as you follow the harvesting steps at lightning speed, salvaging half the corrupted cells before someone tugs you out by the collar of your suit. The rest of the site starts to smoke the moment you’re out of range, spitting and hissing and rendering the rest of the gems worthless. 

“Danger mouse indeed.” Ezra chuckles over the comm system, hand still fisted in the fabric of your suit. For once, the nickname makes you smile.

While you all go your separate ways after the ship has docked back on the Pug, Summer makes you all promise to meet later at a club you’ve only heard of in your friends’ messy night out stories. Still, you pinky swear when she holds her hand out to you and try to remember if you have a single item in your wardrobe that’ll pass as club attire. Or at least something that isn’t so worn there are holes in it. 

Even if it’s a song he knows, there’s no chance that Ezra could recognise it with the volume cranked so high through the cheap speaker that everything but the beat is distorted. Still, it doesn’t stop people from dancing. 

He’s a little late, as usual, but he doesn’t need to worry as Iras appears behind him and claps a hand on his shoulder, pointing to a booth across the room where Milo is looking increasingly uncomfortable.

It doesn’t take long for Ezra to spot you and Summer in the middle of the dance floor, as he follows Iras around the edge of the space to the booth Milo’s claimed. You’re both more jumping than dancing, yelling the unintelligible lyrics of the song into each other's faces. He can’t hear your breathless laughter as Summer spins you in a circle, smile wide and bright, but he can feel it in his ribs. The drums of the song kick in at the same time the swirling lights of the club light you up like some kind of celestial being, just as you catch his eye through the crowd. And everyone else disappears. The rest of the world, rest of the universe, fades into the background. Just like they did the first time he saw you, glaring suspiciously at the ship on the docks.

Summer’s dragging you back to the table when the song comes to a close, the both of you out of breath and laughing, and Ezra has to try desperately to remember how to speak when he watches a little bead of sweat slide down the side of your neck. And stop himself from just licking a line straight up it. His silent suffering only increases when Milo holds out a shot of the most potent alcohol the Pug has to offer and you down it without so much as a flinch, winking at him when you return the glass to the table for good measure. 

Milo calls it a night only an hour later, clearly only having braved the crowds of the club to celebrate the job. Summer and Iras are tangled in each other on the dancefloor, or the booth, as they keep the shots coming. You, at least, decide to keep your wits about you, declining every drink after the one Milo had handed you. Nobody’s going to fuck with a Thanne, even in as seedy a club as this, so you don’t worry about Summer as she gets sloppier and sloppier. But there’s no spiky non-human boyfriend looking out for you down here, it’s just you and the knife you keep at your hip.

You pull yourself from the dance floor, eyes tracking the room for the missing member of your party, until you feel a set of eyes on you from above. Ezra’s leaning on the bannister of the stairs, his unflinching gaze set solely on you. And you can’t help but smile. You follow him up to the mezzanine without hesitation when he glances upwards and back to you. The buzz of the shot has mostly faded from your veins, replaced by something much more dangerous by the way he’s looking at you. The way he’s looked at you since you met him.

It’s not hard to spot your friends from up here, leaning over the barrier with Ezra to people watch. He crafts stories about every stranger who catches his eye. The man hunched over the bar in a beaten up jacket, the waitress who fiddles with her necklace any time her hands aren’t occupied, the pair of lovers tucked away in the dark corner on the other side of the mezzanine. You find yourself sliding closer to him the more he talks, wrapped up in the warmth of his voice even in the rundown club. Your shoulder knocks into his as you mindlessly bop to the music and listen to his made up stories. Utterly enchanted. It’s hard to remember a time when you felt this way with anybody, if you ever did at all. To tell the truth, it’s hard to remember anyone before Ezra. And neither of you have even made a move yet.

He's got his arms braced on the barrier, and you find yourself lifting the one closest to you so you can slip in between them. Surrounded on all sides and you couldn’t feel more comfortable. To his credit, he doesn’t falter in his vivid storytelling about the group now settled in the booth your crew had claimed earlier, not even a stutter as you turn in his arms to face him. He’s decided they’re here to celebrate the beginning of a new job, rather than a successful harvest. His eyes flick to you for the barest moment, enough to notice yours are firmly focused on the way his lips move around his words, before searching the club below for another story. Another way to keep his mind and mouth occupied so he doesn’t accidentally admit all the sinful things he wants to do to you when you press your ass up against him like that. 

“Ezra.”

He shouldn’t be able to hear you over the music, but you’re nose to nose and he’d be hard pressed to ignore the way you practically purr his name. He’s expecting you to make another flirty comment in that voice that sends his mind reeling into all manner of indecent places the same way you have been all night.

“Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t expect you to just outright ask him. 

“Yeah.” Yeah. Hell of a time for his eloquence to fail, not that it matters anyway. You’re on him the moment he stops speaking.

It’s like the sun explodes inside him, the way his stomach bottoms out the second your lips touch his. There’s nothing soft about it, not the way he might have imagined there would be. If he’d been so bold as to let himself imagine what kissing you might be like. You’re all warmth and heat and you still taste a little bit like the shot you’d thrown back earlier, and he finds himself falling. Not that Ezra minds, he hopes his parachute never opens if it means you’ll keep kissing him like this. 

You let your fingers roam under his jacket, twist themselves in the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and you sigh into his mouth. God, you knew he’d be good at this. His hands leave a trail of starlight as they trace over your body, never quite choosing a place to rest. They start to settle on your shoulders, only to skim down your arms and squeeze harshly on your waist, to play along the strip of skin he finds just underneath the hem of your shirt, to grip harder than he might mean to onto the meat of your ass through your pants. You gasp, break the kiss for barely a moment, and stop his apology in its tracks. 

He doesn’t protest when you walk him backwards, still groping at each other like it’s just the two of you in the whole club. Ezra only groans when his back hits the wall and you push even closer into him, as if there was even any space left for air between your bodies already. He’s not about to complain. He could kiss you for a thousand years and it still wouldn’t be enough. It’’ll never be enough, not for a soul as hungry as his. You pull back too soon, far too soon, and it takes a solid minute for his brain to kick in and break the vice grip he still has a little too low for the public eye.

Oh, that look on your face. He’s in trouble.

“Where are you off to?” Ezra asks, flushed and breathless, a hand stretched halfway out to where you’re backing toward the stairs.

“Home,” You say with a sly smile, “You coming?”

He can’t push off the wall fast enough. 

You don’t live far from the club, a ten minute walk at the most, but Ezra manages to make it a solid twenty with the way he keeps pulling you to him. Not that you’re about to complain. You’ve been waiting a week to let him get his hands on you. At the press of his lips on your neck, the shudder it sends down your spine, you wonder if part of you has been waiting even longer than that. 

You’re trying, desperately, to type in the keycode to your apartment. If Ezra could calm down with the grabby hands, you might have gotten it right straight away. 

“No roommates?” He asks, kissing along your shoulder, and you take the temporary reprieve to kick your brain into gear and remember the fucking numbers. 

“Hugo won’t be too upset if I make him sleep on the couch.” 

The door slides back into the wall to reveal a dark apartment, a strip of light from the hall falling on a very orange cat. He stares at you for a second, clearly not particularly pleased that he’s been so rudely roused from a nap, before he settles back to sleep stretched out on the couch cushions. Hugo. Ezra is silently relieved that the roommate is just a cat, he’s not sure he’s got the self control to stay quiet tonight. Or to make sure you do. 

You waste no time once you gesture for Ezra to walk in ahead of you, flicking the switch on the wall to slide the door shut and pulling him back to your lips. He doesn’t hesitate to crowd you up against the cold metal. 

Although you could devour each other until the closest sun explodes and swallows the station whole, Ezra has to break away. To think, to breathe, to tease you a little about the moan he just swallowed from you. But you beat him to it.

“Gotta catch your breath?” The smile on your face threatens to make his knees buckle, and with you pressed up against the closed door the way you are? He might just let them. 

“What do you want, Sunspot?” 

You left a lamp on in your bedroom, the door cracked just enough to let a little filter through to the main living space. Still, he’s almost completely silhouetted against the warm yellow glow. As if he’s some kind of ethereal being, maybe he is.

“Make me see the stars.” You pull him in as close as you can and let your lips brush over his as you whisper. His next words make you shudder almost as much as the way he drags the zipper of your jacket down, slowly, tooth by tooth. 

“As you wish.” 

And boy, does he deliver.

You’re expecting things to feel more unfamiliar than they do, as you explore each other for the first time, but it’s like you’ve been here before. Once, twice, a hundred times before. Every move feels oddly choreographed. Ezra knows exactly how to take you apart and put you back together again, the way he pulls every twitch and moan out of you so expertly. You’re no different, as your fingers map the plains of his chest like it’s muscle memory. 

You shake it off, put the thoughts to the back of your mind. You’ve been around the block a little in your time on the Pug, it only makes sense that he has the same kind of experience. But shared experience or not, you can’t deny how much having him so close feels like a homecoming of sorts.

It’s the best sleep of your whole fucking life and, honestly, you’re not that surprised. Ezra makes a damn good pillow. Even if you both wake hours later into the day cycle than either of you normally would. Even if he’s more of a morning person than you are. It’s kind of nice, to sit still snuggled in your pile of blankets and watch him potter around your apartment as Hugo winds around his ankles like he’s been there for years. 

Your fridge, however, is heartbreakingly empty and renders his offer of making breakfast pointless. Instead, he pulls his shirt on and offers to take you to the best little diner he knows, tucked away in the heart of the marketplace. It’s a hard offer to turn down.

“What kind of gentleman would I be to have so much income at my disposal and not treat such a beauty as yourself to a good meal?” He winks as he flashes his credit chit at you as if you didn’t scan in for your paychecks at the same time. You laugh as you empty a food pouch into Hugo’s bowl, and tell him he better show you all the good breakfast spots. You shrug off his raised eyebrow and mutters of a ‘next time’. As if he didn’t already know.

Still, Ezra takes you by the hand the moment your apartment door secures itself shut behind you, leading you through the hall and out into the street, and you’ve never felt more wanted.

It’s like everything’s brighter, walking leisurely through the bustling market stalls with Ezra. The smells are stronger as spices in the air cling to your nose, the cacophony of vendors calling out almost sounds like music, and you start to laugh. Hand in his, in the middle of the maze of stalls full of food and tools and trinkets. As if it’s just the two of you in the whole universe. 

At least Ezra doesn’t look back at you like you’re crazy. He smiles too, just as big, and you feel bathed in warmth the same as when the sun comes out planetside.

You’re both still grinning when he leads you deeper through the market, down an alley and up a flight of stairs to an unassuming door.

“Is this where you murder me?” You joke just as the door opens to reveal a short older woman with an eyepatch, who pulls Ezra down into a tight hug as soon as he’s in arms reach. He introduces her as Merse, the woman who’s run the best diner no one’s ever heard of on the whole station. She slaps his arm for his cheek, but her grin grows twice as wide when she spots your intertwined hands. 

Ezra pulls you through the doorway after him as he follows Merse, chatting about how she always keeps the best table open just in case he brings a friend and you try not to smile too wide when she wiggles her eyebrows at you. He says something to you, but you’re too distracted by the view from the big windows. 

The far wall is completely glass, overlooking the main docks, lined with booths. A small family sits in one of them, their two children standing up on the seats to watch the ships come and go. You’ve never seen it from this angle before, always down in the masses and scanning the boards for new jobs. It’s kind of beautiful. In a rusty, patchwork sort of way.

Merse points you towards one of the booths with a promise that she’ll bring you the best breakfast you’ll ever have, something tells you she’s not lying. 

It’s not long after you slide into the booth that she comes marching out of the kitchen with two plates, wafting steam that makes your mouth water and your stomach rumble. Rice and vegetables and eggs and all sorts of things you’ve never even seen pile high, and you’d worry you wouldn’t be able to finish it all if you weren’t so hungry. 

“You know I won’t break, right?” You push your fork around in the remaining rice on your plate as you watch Ezra absorb your words. He thinks about it for a long moment, dark eyes over you before settling on your own.

“What’s this about?” He knows, you know he knows. More importantly, you know he’s going to make you say it. In the middle of the day cycle, in this family friendly diner. 

“Just,” You exhale sharply, “Making sure you’re aware.” Your body floods with a shyness that’s alien compared to the confidence you had last night and suddenly, your breakfast is the most interesting thing on the Pug. You can practically feel him smiling at you, but you don’t dare look up to meet it. 

He was right though, the food really is some of the best you’ve ever had.

It’s not until you’ve wandered back through the market, still hand in hand, and found your way back to your apartment that Ezra decides to bring it up. He may have been more than a little distracted last night, but he’s sure he spotted a set of old books sitting on a shelf above your couch. You freeze, ready to go on the defensive about how ink and paper will never be obsolete, until you realise he’s genuinely interested. He’s not judging you by any means. Something about the curiosity shining in his eyes makes your heart flutter more than you care to admit. 

He could watch you talk about your books all day, every day, for the rest of his life. How your eyes lit up when you recognised his interest, a paperback lover himself. You can’t seem to stop yourself as you dive into the intricate details of your favourite classics, two or three hundred year old texts that make you feel like you’ve lived a thousand different lives at once. He wants so badly for you to keep talking but the more impassioned you become, the more he wants to kiss you.

You trail off at some point, he loses track when you climb into his lap to point out notes you’ve made in margins and the books lie scattered on the couch beside you as you kiss him until neither of you can breathe. You’re still a little achy from last night, deep in your bones, and you hiss when his teeth scrape across your shoulder.

“Won’t break, is that right?” Ezra chuckles darkly and nips at your jaw, “Can I try?”

“Please.”

You wake at the creak of your bedroom door, sometime in the early hours. Hugo noses his way through the narrow gap and hops up onto the bed, curling up on the unclaimed pillow by your head. Ezra sleeps deeply, face buried in your neck, and you let the warmth of him wash over you. It ebbs and flows like a tide, that familiarity. The undeniable fact that something about this just feels right. You’ve known this man a week and yet you’re here wondering, as he rests in your arms, if he might want more than just this with you. 

Oh, but you are so afraid. Afraid to put a name to anything about him because what then? Will he tell you that you’re simply a placeholder in his life for something better, or that his heart might bleed through his skin when you’re apart? You’re not sure which is worse. Not that it matters, there is no word in any language that would be able to explain exactly how you feel about the man asleep in your arms. It’s enough, you think, to have him with you at all. In any capacity. Whatever pieces of his soul he bares as your breathing evens and his mind wanders. That is enough, and you will protect it with your life.

You have to part ways at some point, of course. Another week of rolling around in your bed sheets together, on the couch, on your pitiful kitchen counter, up against the wall, and Ezra gets a call from the agency. It’s a last minute job, the crew only need an extra set of hands to fit the safety standards, but it’s several systems out from the Pug. It’ll take him away for at least a month. You trail after him at the docks, with promises of messages in his absence and all manner of unsavoury activities on his return. It’s with a deep kiss and a wolf whistle from a couple of dock workers on their break, that you wish him luck. And ask him to hurry back.

Summer’s message surprises you when it dings through on your tablet. Some gajillionaire on Dallore T53 has found an aurelac deposit on the grounds of his new estate and wants it gone. She’s preoccupied, already out on another dig with Iras and a new crew. But it’s the kindness of her even thinking to offer it to you that makes your heart swell. It’s been a while since you’ve had real, honest to god, friends. 

You’d go in alone, normally, for something like this. But now? Now, you’re punching in Ezra’s comm pin before you can even really register what it is that you’re doing. He only got back a week ago, and you made him settle in back home before he could settle in yours. It’s not like the two of you would be doing any resting on his return to your apartment, exactly. The job was a pain, he’d told you, it ran months longer than anyone expected and you’re sure he’s still exhausted. He won’t agree, but you find you have to ask. Just in case.

“Sunspot?” He sounds happy, rested. And you breathe a sigh of relief, at least he can follow your orders when he wants to.

Hugo snakes around your ankles at the familiar voice, the same way he does any time the man himself walks through the door. If you didn’t know that the little orange devil’s alliances lie in who feeds him, you might think he loves him more than you. 

You explain about the job, make sure to stress that he doesn’t have to come. That you don’t even really need to take it if he’d rather you stay close by. Okay, you don’t say that out loud, but the smile you hear in his words through the speaker makes it known that he’s heard you. Loud and clear. 

It doesn’t matter in the end, not when he accepts before you even have a chance to give him any details. You don’t know why you were so worried he might say no.

“Any excuse to be warmed by your light, Sunspot.” Hugo brushes up against your leg at the same time Ezra’s voice practically drips through the speaker, smooth as honey.

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Do you want it to be?”

You choke on your breath and he laughs like you’ve told the funniest joke in the universe. He’ll kill you one of these days, you’re sure of it.

You charter the ship you usually take on private jobs, the space a little smaller than you remember with another person on board, but it’s not like either of you aren’t used to being in close quarters with each other by now. At least Ezra has the decency not to be mean about the beaten up exterior, she still flies true. He’d grinned at that, told you how a rough outside often means the opposite of the interior mechanics. The glint in his eye is enough to know he’s not just talking about the ship. 

At least the planet is in the same system as the Pug, so there’s no need to punch through to a lane. You fly in silence for a few hours, the familiar feel of the controls under your fingers as you guide it through the sky. Ezra’s eyes remain firmly on you although you pretend as though you don’t notice, and it takes him a moment to come back to the present when you ask him to flick a few switches and prepare to enter the atmosphere. 

The coordinates the client gave you to land are only a short walk from the house itself, a great stone castle-looking thing. It’s kind of ugly, the way the limestone juts out above the treeline. A big white block among the rich reds and oranges of the leaves. They grow that colour all year round, perpetually stuck in spring and summer. It must be nice to have the kind of money to find somewhere like that and decide you’ll build a house there. The air is breathable, and a quick look at the planet file proves it’s never too hot or too cold. A perfect place to build a house really. Although, if it were you making that kind of decision, you’d maybe go for a design that’s a little less cubist. 

The deposit isn’t huge, but it’ll be a good payout nonetheless providing the cells are all in good nick. You and Ezra wade through swathes of long grass and wildflowers until you find a spot to set up camp. At least you’re not stuck in bulky suits and having to lug around your equipment.

You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect dig if you’d tried. Each of the cells sit far enough away from each other that even if one were to fail, it wouldn’t corrupt a whole mess of the others. Although with both of your talents, it doesn’t surprise you when you collect every last crystal without a single misstep.

You’d told Ezra the profit would be split down the middle, equal pay for equal work. But it doesn’t stop him from sliding an extra gem into your pack to cover the ship charter. After all, you’re the one who was offered the job in the first place. He’s just following his heart, the one that walks around outside of his body and throws itself into deposits mid-corruption.

You hold one of the little gems aloft in the sunlight and watch as it sparkles.

“I used to think it was weird how rabid people go for these. But the more I dig the more I get it, isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

Ezra tilts his head like he’s studying the rock, but his dark eyes don’t leave yours.

“It’s a close second.”

Sap.

Night falls before either of you realise just how late it is, clearing out the last few cells of the deposit. It’s not worth going back to the Pug now, he reasons, and you find it hard to disagree. The ache of the few days you’ve spent digging has settled deep in your muscles, the thought of having to run through docking procedure when you’re so tired is enough to make you wince. 

You let him take you for all you’re worth under the watchful eye of the heavens, and find there’s more stars behind your eyelids than you could ever hope to see in the skies. It’s all you can do to cry out the name of the only god to ever make you feel this holy. Ezra. 

He wakes with the sun, the same way he always has on jobs, to find you curled so tightly against him that it bubbles up from his toes all the way to his throat and he finds his eyes threatening to spill over. Everything in the universe seems to slot so perfectly together when you’re like this. Ezra sighs, content to never let the moment end. You are so beautiful.

He shifts up onto his elbow a little, still cradling you against him, and lets his free hand trail softly over your face. Tracing the shell of your ear, the curve of your cheekbone, the bridge of your nose. The dawn’s sunlight breaks over the trees and filters through the fabric of the tent, bathing you in soft green light. He could stay here, holding you, until the universe implodes. Ezra doubts he’d notice such an insignificant thing with you beside him. 

But end it must, and he rouses you gently with soft whispers and kisses against your temple. You stretch in his arms, not unlike Hugo, and sigh as your joints pop and settle. Packing up happens slowly, moving around each other so naturally it’s as though you’ve done it a thousand times before. Every time Ezra passes, you drop a kiss wherever you can reach. His shoulder, the arm of his jacket, that little patch on his jaw. He pretends not to blush when you catch his hand and carefully press your lips to the little tattoo between his thumb and index finger, you pretend not to notice when he does.

You’ll be the death of him, he’s sure of it. The way you keep watching him out of the corner of your eye, the way your smile is so bright when he catches you that he can barely stand to look at it. With the tent and equipment packed up, his fingers itch to thread through your own as you start the walk back to the ship, there’s not a word in the universe strong enough to describe just how much he hates that both his and your hands are too full.

It’s odd, thinking about it. How you met by pure chance, hired by the agency just because you were on the same station at the same time. Would he have ever met you if you’d chosen a different career path, if he had? Maybe somewhere, centuries before or after this moment, where you’re meeting again. Different lives, different times, spanning across all of existence. Maybe, right here and now, you’re starting to feel the way he does about you. Just a little. Maybe he’ll get up the courage to ask what you think, how far you want to take things. He’d give himself to you in a heartbeat, without question. In a way, he already has.

Ezra can’t stop himself.

“What do you make of the red string of fate?”

“All you’ve seen of the universe and you still believe in soulmates?” 

“Maybe I’m more foolish that I made myself out to be.” He shrugs, trying not to let his eyes fall to the little finger of his right hand. Trying not to clench his fist to show you exactly how much your disbelief affects him down to his bones, as though his soul itself is frowning. You’re smiling. Uncharacteristically quiet, but you seem appropriately pleased by his answer and stray a little further out into the long grass.

Curiosity gets the better of you.

“Can you see yours?” You have to call out across the gap you’ve unintentionally created, yellow stalks swishing in the breeze between you, and for a moment you’re not sure he heard.

Ezra looks at his right hand, at the thin red string tied neatly at the knuckle of his little finger, and follows the line as it threads through the grass to where it’s knotted at your left. 

“No.” 

TAGLIST (add yourself here):

@bee-dameron @keeper0fthestars @thevoiceinyourheadx @firstofficerwiggles @1800-fight-me @ew-erin @chatterbean @gotta-have-faye​ @freeshavocadoooo​ @darnitdraco​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @fire-is-catching-always

[remuscore]

Baby Shopping

Summary: Remus and Patton go shopping after Remus and Roman move in with little to no supplies left. They run into a bit of Judgmental Judies along the way and Patton and Remus have a talk.

Warnings: Swearing, some mention of bad parenting, Remus being Remus.

———

“I really think we should wait until Halloween to buy Roman some new baby clothes,” Remus gently flicked at his son’s hands as he reached out to grab at his fingers, smiling when that excited a giggle out of Roman. “People already think I’ve stolen him, I want to make him look scary back so that people mind their fucking business.”

“What did I say about language around the kids, Remus?” Patton scolded from the front seat of the car. He looked back at Remus through the back mirror.

“Roman is three months old. He can’t understand a word I’m saying.”

“Still, if you make a habit of swearing, then your munchkin over there’s first would be something awful!”

“I would love that!”

Patton sighed, smiling fondly as he shook his head. He parked the car in front of their destination and got out to help Remus unload all of Roman’s things while he focused on the baby.

With all that done, Patton held the bag while Remus held Roman on his hip. They didn’t have a basket for him at this age and Remus’ old stroller was busted, so the teen had to carry Roman around. He didn’t mind very much and neither did his clingy little baby.

“You still don’t have to do this,” Remus said as they walked towards the store. Patton was in the middle of double checking that they had everything before entering. He looked up. “My old clothes fit fine. We just need some small things.”

“Kiddo, Roman is gonna be able to wear your old clothes much longer,” Remus fiddled with the missing button on Roman’s shirt. He had busted through that just by wiggling. “And a baby needs the proper gear. If not for his comfort, then for yours.”

“It’s not my fault that Roman’s such a fatty. I probably wasn’t this chunky as a baby and that’s why my clothes don’t fit.”

“A chunky baby is a baby that is well taken care of and loved.”

“Oh, so I definitely wasn’t a fat baby.” Remus snickers and pokes at his baby’s belly. Patton frowned at him as Roman giggled and bounced on his dad’s hip. Every time Remus mentioned his parents, Patton gets closer and closer to risking everything to deal with them. He would never risk his kids and Remus’ and Roman’s safety like that, but everything Remus says about them fuels his anger more.

They enter the store and Remus was already pushing past people to get to the baby section, leaving Patton to rush to grab a cart and throw the bag in.

“Remus!”

When he caught up with the teen, he found him already gushing over the tiny clothes and holding them up to Roman. Right now, he was holding one of those bowtie and suspender outfits.

“Look! Pat, this is fucking adorable as shit!” If people weren’t giving him looks before, they certainly were now.

“Remus, swearing,” Patton laughed nervously as he looked at all the mom’s glaring at them, voice high and squeaky. “It is a very cute outfit, but it’s for more formal settings. We should focus on getting him clothes for winter and everyday clothes.”

“Roman’s a Prince! They’re always dressing formal.” He tossed the outfit into the cart and then went off to the other adorable tiny outfits.

“Honey, you’re wearing tights as a shirt and pajama pants right now.”

“This is my Sunday best, Papa Bear.”

“I’m glad you’re having fun, kiddo, but we have more necessities to get too,” Patton watched helplessly as Remus threw more baby clothes into the cart, barely even looking at the age on the tag. “We still need to stock up on diapers, formula, a new blanket, and we should probably get a stroller and a car seat that we can carry while we’re at it.”

“But I want to hold my happy little accident.” Remus used his baby talk voice as he whined, poking Roman’s belly again and giggling along with him as he wiggled.

“Sweetie, soon he’s going to be too heavy for you to hold and you’re already so skinny.”

He groaned. “Fine! We’ll look at some. I still think he should just stay this size forever.”

“Every parent wishes that.” Patton smiled and pulled the cart back around away from the tempting baby clothes. Remus followed, still happily bouncing his baby.

By the time they had finished their shopping, Patton was piling things on the conveyor belt for the cashier to scan. Remus was busy shaking Roman’s new Simba plushie in front of the baby. The cashier smiled at the baby.

“You have an adorable kid.” She said towards Patton. Remus’ smile twitched and Patton felt his mood dampen.

“Oh… thank—”

“He’s mine actually!” Remus interrupts. He grins at the cashier, unabashedly in all his chains, fishnets, and pierced glory. The cashier smiled uncomfortably.

“Oh…” she whispered. She cleared her throat, looking back down at their supplies. “I just thought you were his brother. You look a little… young… to have a kid.”

“I am, yeah. I’m going into my senior year of high school in a few weeks!” Remus tilted his head as Roman grabbed at and pulled his gauges. She shared a look with Patton, who really didn’t appreciate the judgemental look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry to rush, but can you just ring up our things so we can head home?” He smiled even though he really didn’t want to be polite to someone that looked down on Remus like that. She nodded and the rest of their time together was spent in silence, besides Remus’ “ow” and “hey” as Roman continued to tug in his piercings.

As they left the store, Patton was still thinking about that cashier.

“She had no right to treat you like that, Remus,” he said as they headed to his car. Remus looked up. “She doesn’t know you! You’re an amazing father and she shouldn’t be judging you because of your choices and mistakes. Especially since it gave you your son!”

“Patton, you need to chill,” Remus opened the door to the back seat and started strapping Roman in. “I’m used to all this negative attention. Being a single, goth, teen dad that’s also disowned and homeless, doesn’t really bring a lot of sympathy. I’m not gonna bother with what other people think, I’m just gonna worry about being Roman’s hot and sexy dad.”

He buckled Roman in and bopped his small pink nose. “I still can’t believe something this precious and adorable came out of my loins.”

Patton smiled and closed the trunk. “That’s not how it works, kiddo.”

[grantzarrr]

Just a thing g.d

summary: Y/n and Grayson don’t like labels but they fuck around with each other and feelings are definitely there, but what happens when they are revealed?

warnings: poorly written smut :)

tags: @fangdolan @gothlydolan @onlyyyarii (idk why it didn’t work :(( )

There she is, in her sexiest piece of lingerie that she could find. What was she doing? Well, she was taking mirror pictures for her boyfriend—fuck buddy—? To everyone besides them, they were seemed to just be dating but Y/n and Grayson just didn’t want to put a label on it yet. They never claimed each other but would always deny that they were fuck buddies, they just wanted to enjoy each other without having to feel like there was a need to call- what they have- something. Just taking it slow.

But while she was setting that up, Grayson was in the middle of filming for his podcast with Ethan and Ryan and she knew far and well what he was doing. She knew exactly what time it was, she knew that if Grayson’s phone ‘blew up’ a few times, everyone would be on his case ready to ask questions. And that's exactly how she wanted and what she wanted.

“So gray, are you still trying to figure your love life out or—like what’s going on there?” Ryan asked, being very keen on his relationship.

“Uh, ry you mean fuck partner?” Ethan teased knowing where to push him.

“Oh fuck off e, we’re not fuck partners nor in a relationship—just enjoying each other for a bit.”

Then he felt it, his phone buzzing notifying him that he received a message, he only glanced though, roughly seeing your name and turning his phone back over. But then, that notification went off again back to back. That right there caused some heads to turn as Grayson saw it was you again and going to see what’s up this time. And oh- was he surprised, there you were sitting on your knees in some lingerie, giving him that little smirk he would love to fuck outta you. He noticed the first little remark of 4 that you sent, that one just stuck out more it seemed like you were talking as if you had known what exactly he was doing.

here’s something to talk about on ur little podcast. p.s ik u wanna tell them were together so go on ;)

And that fucked Grayson up, as much as he wanted to fucking call you his just for you to say that did something— but he couldn’t be quite sure. But as he continued staring he started to shift in his seat a little, only staring at your tits in that, looking so perfect for him. Only him. All he wanted to do was to cover them in hickies. Oh, how bad he wanted to flip you over your vanity and force you to watch him through the mirror as he pounded into you miraculously. Then to place you on your knees and shove his dick down your throat until he saw the tears himself.

“Yo gray? seems as if someone got you a little tensed there? You’re shifting bro..” Ethan chuckled, he knew it was you asking to get dicked down or something. He just wanted to fuck with his brother and see how long it would take here. “Oh no, it’s nobody.” He blurted out quickly but he knew for this to stop he had to respond, to at least say something so he did it swiftly as possible.

Y/n you better fucking stop or I swear you won’t even have free hands to type.

He was pissed, aggravated he was so mad that you were getting away with that, and he couldn’t do shit. He had to sit there and film his podcast for about an hour and he just fucking knew you wouldn’t let this go, not even for a second. And he thought everyone forgot until Ethan brought it back up and he had to say at least something they wanted to hear now.

“Is that uh is that your girlfriend? Hm? Is she asking for you to come over again?” Ethan lightheartedly joked but still, he was so determined to get Grayson to boil and steam over like he did every time just on camera. “Jesus e, would you let it go already.” Grayson gritted being so easily tempted to just end the podcast, it's been at least 58 minutes he can firmly say.

“Oh no go ahead, I would like to hear about this so to be fuck buddy, what is it only on Fridays? like a club? because I would love to be invited” Ryan joined in with Ethan on the little joke but he seriously wanted to know about this just in the goofy little way to make of it. But just as Grayson was about to answer, another one of a more scandalous photo sent. This photo made its way to his number one spot on the “Private Folder” of his. Grayson felt like he was gonna explode but the explosive was straight at his dick and his face went beat red. Not of embarrassment but because holy shit— look at you.

It was you legs spread and the camera hovering just where to leave the imagination running wild but still enough to tell you were wet, even if he has already seen it all. It still fucked him up in ways he couldn’t even began to fonder over. And it was just enough for him to say enough of that teasing.

“Yo, um, I gotta go- but finish the pod ok? Alright, I’ll be back...later.” Grayson rushed off quickly. Everyone in the room just watched in silence as he quickly gathered his phone and a few small little things he carried with him and he left. “Yup, booty call- where the fuck is my 10 dollars, Ryan!” Ethan shouted, happy he won this little ‘bet’. “Wow-.” Was all Ryan could say.

Once Grayson got to her house, he didn’t even bother to knock, he knew that the spear key was always under the 4th rock to the left. And when he got in...oh boy was he furious. Talking as he closed and locked the door back, not knowing she was right in the living room getting herself off. “Y/n what the fuck was that!? I told you that I-.” He was stopped dead in his tracks when he heard her wimpier his name softly, he gulped quickly and turning her way to watch exactly what she was doing. “Oh-, I see you’ve started without me—and that’s the biggest mistake of your fucking life babe.”

And with that, he went and grabbed both her hands and held them above her head, diving in with a very heated kiss. Y/n begun mumbling words against their kiss as she tried rolling her naked hips against his crotch for some friction. “You wanna go and send shit like that to me when I’m filming? Then have the audacity to finger yourself? Instead of simply telling me you wanted to fuck—god why are you so risky.”

He tried to not rage at her, there was no point she wasn’t his girl but nor was she a ‘fuck buddy’ well technically yeah, but to them, they weren’t. But the shit she pulls sometimes fucks him up, having him thinking about it for days and easily getting hard at the smallest memory and he can’t say shit or it’ll be over, and boy he fucking loves it, who wouldn’t? The adrenaline is what Grayson Dolan is all about. He doesn’t know if she feels the same or he just really knows how to fuck her right yet. “ Mhmm I did and I’ll do it multiple times until you boil over because I’m your little risk maker.” She smirked—oh did she just say-

“You wanna fuck with me like that hm? Have me thinking about it for days? Well, I’ll show you a good fucking alright.” He growled at her, having a good reason to give it to her good after that claim. He started attacking her neck. Sucking and licking, little nibbles here and there and he then moved down her body. Still having her hands above them. He stopped right at beginning of her pussy.

“Get up and bend over on the couch, now.” He demanded and was very determined to show her what she could have if they were together. He still didn’t quite know if she meant what she said but shit... he’ll take it. As she was getting up he smacked her ass giving her more of a little pep in her step, and she didn’t dare to say anything. As she was getting in the position, he got behind her and started to scrip, he just wanted to see her bend from behind, getting some of the action in. Once he did he started to stroke his cock, eyes fully on her pussy from behind and her ass. Her being impatient and hearing his short little breaths, she peaked from her shoulder at him and God was that a sight to see.

“Does that feel good, angel?” His deep voice rumbling within her, he knew he wouldn’t get anything out of her. His dick is big enough to keep anything but moans and groans from escaping. So all she did was nod quickly. The couch was snacking, she was shaking he was pounding into her giving out everything he had built up. “Fuck, I love the sounds my fucking pussy makes.” He gritted. She already knew face down on the couch, ass up and he hammered, Y/n wasn’t even sure she would be able to walk after this. And oh wait— did he say?

He just filled her up to the brim with his cock alone, the thickness and fullness of it alone would fulfill her. God was he good, gripping a handful of hair for a leverage of their position, “Graysonn, don’t stop, please.” She begged and since she asked so nicely he didn’t stop and wasn’t going to until her orgasm had her in tears. “Come on, baby. I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.” But she couldn’t, her neighbors recently complained about it since their baby was born. But when he was going at it like this, all she could say was “Neighbor. Babies—FUCK!” He understood completely- on both ends. The neighbors that had their baby and that she was gonna cum, he also felt her pussy clench so he knew for a fact. He was already at the edge of his orgasm.

“Did you claim me?” They both coincidentally said at the same time but who was gonna answer it...

A/N: helloo, hope you liked it!! im gonna drown in holy water now :D

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

One Shot: We’re Going For A Ride, Doll...

Summary: Steve’s been away for a few weeks running a mission, and whilst he’s been away Katie hasn’t exactly had a relaxing time. What better way to relieve a tension than a little night time bike ride… Warning: Language! Smut (NSFW, 18)

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark.

A/N: Biker Steve smut…yeah..it’s a kink and this was written purely for my own self-gratification reasons.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

March 2014

Katie let the scorching hot water cascade down her body, loosening her muscles and washing away the last of the tension from her meeting earlier that day. It had been frustrating, middle aged men in trousers trying to prove who had the longest dicks as per usual until her temper had snapped and she’d called time on the finance review, and told them to come back in a few days when they had finished trying to see who could piss up the walls the highest.

Pepper had smirked when she had stormed out of the meeting and declared she was flying back to DC and then her smirk had turned to a frown when she’d seen the look on Katie’s face, instead asking the youngest Stark if she was okay. Truth was she was far from it. She was exhausted having not slept properly for the best part of two weeks now. And the reason for the lack of sleep was that for the first time since she’d started dating Steve, they’d been snapped out on a date and the offending photos splashed all over the internet.

Her flight in from DC had been smooth and, feeling rather refreshed actually all things considered, Katie clutched her coffee as she walked down the corridor, her Louboutins clicking on the tiles as she pressed her palm to the door and strode into the publishing office. She glanced around, nodding to a few people as she made her way to her office, frowning as she felt eyes following her. She turned her head over her shoulder and saw one of the junior admin assistants hastily avert their gaze. She paused for a moment before she shook her head, walking into her office and dropping her purse on her desk. No sooner had she done that, than JARVIS spoke.

“Miss Stark.” “Morning J.” “Mr Stark has asked you pop up to see him.” “Tell him to come here. I’m busy.”

“He said you would say that. He told me to tell you it’s important and he doesn’t want people listening in. He’s waiting in his office.” With a groan she grabbed her coffee and walked back the way she had come, ignoring the glances that were coming her way before heading to the elevator and selecting the floor that housed Tony’s office.

“What do you want?” She demanded as she walked into his office, to see Tony and Happy both looking at something on the screen.

“Good morning to you too, Sunshine!” Tony quipped and Katie let out an angry noise.

“Tony, I’ve got meetings all day. I have a potential author coming in at twelve so…” Tony waved his hand and the screen he was looking at projected the image onto the holodisplay in front of her and her eyes widened. It was a photo of her and Steve sat in her car in the middle of a deep kiss. Steve’s hand was cupping her cheek as hers was tangled in his hair, and she knew exactly when it had been taken, the previous night when they’d been out on a date. Steve had been called right in the middle of their evening for an urgent mission so their meal had been cut short and she’d dropped him home and he was kissing her goodbye.

“Shit.” She groaned, and looked at Tony who grinned and shrugged.

“Yeah, you got papped.” He explained before he paused. “Actually papped isn’t the right word seeing as it wasn’t a professional photographer, they know now to not even bother. This was some member of the public. First we saw was when our daily Social Media monitoring reports picked it up.”

“Are there anymore?”

“A few.” He said, flicking through the photos which basically were snapped in succession. There was one of them breaking from the kiss, Steve pressing his head to hers, then pecking her lips again, before climbing out of the car.

“Can we get rid of them?”

“Oh yeah.” Tony waved a hand. “We already deployed the algorithm, usual stuff…and I tracked down the person who took the original shot and offered him an obscene amount of money to hand over the rights. At first he wasn’t going to do it, but then I told him it was that or I fired a virus straight down the line to blow up his phone.” Katie rolled her eyes “And he believed you could actually do that?” Happy shrugged “Well, we can in a way. Maybe not the blowing up bit but…” “Thing is we don’t know how far this has gone.” Tony shrugged “We can keep the photo off the net but, well, it was already trending when we saw it.” “Under what?”

Tony grinned and waved his hand, revealing the hashtag.

“Stark Spangled Man?” Katie groaned “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, I was tempted to leave it just for that tag.” Tony mused and Katie rubbed at her temple.

“If the guys at SHIELD have seen this…”

“Already had the Goth Pirate on the phone.” Tony shrugged “Told him I’d deal with it. It’s not like the public didn’t know you two are…you know.”

“Has Steve seen it?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Tony looked at her “He’s your boyfriend. You ask him.”

“I can’t, he’s on a mission and it’s radio silence.” She bit her lip and ran her hand through her hair. “I can’t see him being particularly pleased about it.” “Maybe he shouldn’t have been eating your face in the front of your car then.” Tony shrugged.

“Oh piss off.” Katie snapped at her brother, who simply raised his eyebrow, smirking slightly.

“Kiddo, we can stop the photos.” Happy looked at her, “But the comments and tweets, it’s a huge job and…” “Yeah I know just…” She shrugged “Oh whatever, they’ll get bored eventually. Just make sure no fucking trashy tabloids get hold of it.” Thankfully they hadn’t. But the comments on social media had continued for a week. Most of them were actually pretty nice, saying it was cute and they made a nice couple. Some of them not so nice, commenting on Katie’s appearance and the like, not that she gave a fuck. She’d dealt with comments like that before, knowing full well it came from a place of jealousy most of the time, what she was struggling with, however, was the fact she hadn’t managed to speak to Steve about it at all.

How he was going to react was worrying her a little. A general interest in their relationship was a risk they knew they were running, having gone public in December at the New Years’ Eve gala, but up until that point they had been lucky. They were also careful in that when they were out, they kept to quiet places as much as possible and, as Steve wasn’t huge on public displays of affection in general (holding hands and the odd quick kiss being as far as he went), there wasn’t really anything of interest to pap. Until that night. And it wasn’t just the social media side of things. The gossip at the tower had also pissed her off. It was like some huge secret had been revealed which wasn’t the case. The fact they were dating was public knowledge, but it was more the fact that people had seen the photo in the way they had and she felt like it was undermining her authority at work, which is what had contributed to her lack of sleep and her outburst earlier that day.

With a heavy sigh, she turned around and let her face soak in the stream one last time, then she turned off the water, stepped out and grabbed a towel before she headed back into her room.

Steve had been gone for three weeks now, on an undercover mission. Something to do with some guy planning to flood the US with dirty drugs. She didn’t know much, no longer being at SHIELD she wasn’t party to the secrets and, despite the fact Fury was actually pretty good at keeping her as updated as he could, she always felt stressed and anxious when he was away, not knowing if he was okay. It had been easier when she had been an Agent herself, something which made her sometimes question her decision to quit.

Especially on days like today, with meetings like that one.

Having dried off, she pulled on a pair of leggings before tossing one of Steve’s hoodies on which still vaguely smelt of him and quickly blasted her hair with the hair-drier, letting the waves naturally set before she wandered into the living room. It was nearing dinner time, and she couldn’t be bothered to cook, intending instead to indulge herself in a bottle of wine and a pizza from Seconds.

The pizza arrived when she was halfway through the bottle of wine and by the time she’d had her fill, she’d finished said bottle. She was just on her way to grab another when her phone rang, the familiar sounds of “Only One In Colour” hitting her ears, which was the tone she attributed to just one person.

She hastily ran back to the living and grabbed her phone which was on the sofa cushion, smiling as she saw the photo of her and Steve filling the screen.

“Hey!” she said a little breathlessly and she heard a chuckle on the other side.

“Am I glad to hear your voice” Her soldier spoke and she felt herself tearing up.

“Me too.” She sighed, taking a deep breath “I take it the mission is done?”

“Yeah, took a little longer than we thought. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to call,Doll.”

“It’s okay” She smiled, “When are you home?”

“Yeah, about that.” He said softly, and she took a deep breath, bracing herself for bad news before he spoke again, a playful quality to his soothing voice. “Look out the window, Baby girl.”

Katie felt a huge grin cross her face as that could only mean one thing. In a flash she yanked open the doors that led to her balcony and ran out, peering over the edge. And there he was, in all his glory, waving up at her from where he sat on his bike.

“What you down there for?” She teased as she looked down.

“We’re going for a ride, Doll.” He replied simply and she grinned.

“I’ll be right down.”

“Three minutes. Captains Orders.” He shot back and she turned and headed back into her penthouse.

“I love it when you get all masterful”

“I know.” He gave a little laugh. “Now hurry up.”

She cut the call and headed quickly into her bedroom, pulling off the hoody and exchanging it instead for a long cashmere sweater that finished mid-thigh. It had been a gift from Steve not long before he had left and she knew he loved it on her. It was a deep green colour- “It matches your eyes, Doll”- The fabric was soft, and the turtle neck line scooped slightly so that you could see a flash of her collar bone at either side of her neck. She cinched the waist in with a tan belt and shoved her feet into a pair of matching ankle boots. Grabbing her biker jacket and her helmet, she grabbed her keys and ran to the elevator.  

She emerged onto the street and stopped as Steve turned to face her. She gave herself a second to take him in, scanning his dark jeans, white t-shirt and open jacket all set off with a distressed leather belt and matching boots, before she gave a squeal and ran towards him. Steve stood up off his bike and strode towards her, meeting her halfway as she threw herself into his arms.

“Hey.” He whispered softly, his face pressing into her hair as her legs circled his waist. “God I missed you.” “Missed you too.” She mumbled, before she pulled back and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Like, really missed you.”

And then she suddenly became conscious they were in the street. She threw a glance around, looking for any sly public amateur photographers and Steve frowned, spotting her change in demeanour.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She looked at him as he set her on her feet, his hands on her waist. “Let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t press her further, simply led her back to the bike and she swung her legs over the back, clipping the straps of her helmet into place. He settled in front of her and she laced her arms around his waist, under his jacket as he fired up the bike with a roar. Steve took another glance over his shoulder, her eyes visible through the visor of her helmet and they were shining with excitement. Flashing her a smile he turned round and set the bike off, heading up the street.

He drove the familiar route to Rock Creek and after half an hour or so pulled the bike to a halt in the spot he always parked at, a hidden little clearing just off the main parking lot. It was deserted due to the hour, which suited him fine. Cutting the engine he felt Katie shift behind him and he set the stand on the bike before he turned to see his girl taking her helmet off. She fluffed her hair out slightly and then grinned at him as he patted the space between his legs. She jumped off the bike, hung her helmet over the handlebars before she climbed back up, this time facing Steve, her back to the handlebars of the bike.

The little wooded area was dark, bar the moon shining through the lattice of leaves above them and Katie took a deep breath, inhaling the rich scent of pine needles, fresh air and the slight smell of the early spring flowers. The babbling of the brook was loud in the quiet of night providing them with a little background noise as Steve reached out, his hands cupping her face as he drew her to him. Katie closed her eyes, allowing him to take the lead as his tongue slid across her bottom lip and she opened her mouth slightly, his movements smooth and graceful as he kissed her passionately before he pulled away, her bottom lip caught between both of his. He released it gently, pressing his forehead to hers, their noses bumping together slightly.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked her quietly. Katie sighed, and looked down at his long legs which were stretched towards her. Leaning her own legs forward, she hooked her calves around his, the denim of his jeans rustling as it bushed against her leggings. Her hands dropped to his knees and she ran them up the outside of his thighs, her fingers skating the strong muscles as they stretched the fabric of his dark blue Levi’s slightly. “Katie?” he asked again and she took a deep breath before she reached for her phone in the pocket of her jacket.

“Someone papped us, well I say papped, it was more some nosey bastard member of the public…” she sighed, scrolling through to the photo. She handed it to him and he took it from her, fingers brushing hers gently. He glanced down at it and after a second he screwed up his face and let out a breath from his nose.

“Crap.” He muttered before he handed her phone back and looked at her, rolling his eyes.

“Tony managed to get rid of it from the net but…” She shrugged “It’s been a pain in the ass, Steve. All the fucking mumbled little comments in the office and…” She rubbed her neck slightly “Not being able to warn you either.”

“Warn me?” He cocked his head to one side. “About what?”

“The fact you were all over the internet eating my face.” She shrugged and he gave a snort of laughter “Didn’t want you walking back into base and being blindsided. I know you’re not big into PDAs and I figured if the guys from STRIKE got hold of it, hell, if Nat got hold of it…”

“Doll, I couldn’t care less.”

Katie looked at him, blinking “You don’t?”

“No, well, I mean it’s not great but, well, I’m more pissed that you got a hard time in the office about it.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” She shrugged, before she grinned. “If they carry on I can just fire them all.” Steve chuckled, his hands dropping to hers as he laced their fingers together. “Bet Tony had a field day.” “Yeah, he thought it was pretty funny, especially the hashtag it was all trending under.” “Which was?”

“Stark Spangled Man.” She raised an eyebrow. Steve paused for a second before he tipped his head back, his broad chest and shoulders shaking with the force of his laughter before he shook his head and peeked up at her slightly. “Ten outta Ten for imagination, huh?”

“Well, they’re not wrong.” He said simply, his hands leaving hers and they slid under her ass as he pulled her forward so she was straddling his lap. “I am completely and utterly Stark Spangled…”

“I never wanna hear you say that ever again.” Katie narrowed her eyes as her hands slid up his arms coming to rest on the firm planes of his chest just below his collar bone.

“No?” He asked gently, his hands splaying on her back gently underneath her jacket.

“Not unless you want me to start singing an amended version of your chorus song.” She grinned.

“Shut up.” “Make me.” She retorted, a childish tone to her voice and arched an eyebrow as he looked up at her.

“Brat.” He mumbled, his hand sliding up to her neck, pulling her face to his. The kiss was fierce, his lips warm on hers, the familiar tingle spreading up her spine making her shiver slightly and a soft moan escaped her mouth to his and she felt his lips curl into a smirk against hers before they moved gently from her mouth to her jaw line. He peppered soft, warm and wet pecks down her neck before he gently moved her sweater to the side a little more, exposing more of her shoulder.

The feel of his mouth on her skin was electric, and Katie let her head fall back, eyes closing as Steve’s hands splayed on her back, holding her in position as he kissed every inch of her skin he could find. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed, thickly as he paused his fingers digging into her back.

“You’re not wearing a bra.” He mumbled.

“Not wearing any panties either.” She said softly and he pulled back to look at her, a groan escaping his mouth.

“You’re killing me, Doll.” “Well I was in my comfy stuff and you gave me three minutes to get ready.” She shrugged “Captain’s orders, remember?”

“Because you always do exactly what I tell you.” He said sarcastically, looking at her with those baby blues which were now a dark midnight shade through desire.

“When it counts I do.” She smirked, rolling her hips, pushing down on his crotch. He hissed slightly, his hands gripping her tighter as he bit his lip. Steve took a look round the deserted clearing and his attention turned back to her, his eyes challenging.

“Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish, Sweetheart.” He warned her sternly, his voice low and the tone he spoke with had her twitching even more. She wasn’t one to back down to a challenge, and he knew that, but despite the fact she knew he was playing games, she simply smirked and her hands slid down his chest to his belt, fingers making short work of the buckle before she moved her attentions to the button on his jeans, popping them easily before she slid down the zipper.

“Who says I wasn’t gonna finish it?” She shrugged, as her hand worked into his boxers and wrapped her palm around his warm cock and he gave a low moan, his head falling back as she began to work him.

Katie simply watched his face, his soft lips parting slightly, eyes fluttering shut. Long lashes lay against his rosy cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbed and he gulped slightly when her movements and grip grew stronger. His eyes opened and locked onto hers, his pupils completely lust blown, speckles of moonlight reflecting in them gave her the impression she was looking at the starry sky and he leaned up and pressed his lips to hers in another hungry kiss, their teeth clashing slightly. She felt the heat pooling between her legs as his hands slid under the side of her long sweater, fingers gripping her skin tightly as he squirmed underneath her.

Katie moved her hand more rapidly, loving the effect she had on him. The fact she could undo the stoic, taciturn Captain in matter of minutes was a fucking turn on and she grinned as he buried his face into her neck as she alternated between fast and hard, long and slow strokes. She felt him attempt to thrust desperately into her palm as he let out a low sigh of her name and she tilted his face back to hers with her spare hand and captured his mouth in a hard kiss as she gave him another slow stroke. At that, clearly done with the teasing, he growled into her mouth, standing up suddenly, spinning her round so her back was pressed to his chest. Katie let out a squeak of surprise as one hand kept her supported easily as it hooked over the front of her chest, the other pulling down one side of her leggings then the other. He sat back down, pulling her over him and in a single thrust upwards had buried himself inside her.

The sudden intrusion made Katie cry out as she felt him fill her, and once he was fully seated and she was stuffed as full as possible, he began to thrust upwards, controlling the speed completely. Her thighs were tight around him, and she was powerless to spread her legs apart much as they were clamped together thanks to the fact her leggings were bunched round her ankles, restricting her movement. Instead, she leaned back, arching her back, head falling to his shoulder, shifting the angle slightly which allowed him to drive up into her even deeper. His hands moved, sliding up her sweater to cup her breasts and as he gently tugged on her nipples she gave a loud wail as the sensation speared through her and she pushed down as hard as she could, rotating her hips slightly. Steve’s breath was hot on her ear as he pulled her down with every thrust up that he made, grinding right up against her spot.

“Such a needy little thing, aint you…” he said, his voice low and punctuated by his heavy breathing and she gave a low keen as he nipped at her neck, his fingers tugging her nipples harder.

“3 weeks Steve…” she panted, and he gave a dirty chuckle, pushing up again, bottoming out completely. It was a movement he repeated again and again, his mouth chaining kisses to her neck. One hand moved down from her chest, calloused fingers brushing lightly against her skin, over her stomach, and she shivered at his touch as he gently reached the spot between her legs. As he pushed up again he gently rubbed against her clit and she cried out, her head falling forwards slightly before his other hand moved upwards, gently wrapping around her neck as he pulled her back, his hand turning her face to his where he caught her mouth in a sloppy kiss.

The feeling of being manhandled like that, in the open air, one hand between her legs, the other round her neck, his cock thrusting slowly against her spot was almost too much, and she groaned, writhing on his lap, her mouth falling open, and when she finally found her voice it was raspy as she struggled to form her words.

“Please, Steve…I need…” her hand grasped the wrist which was between her legs, trying to speed him up. He looked down at her, his face contorted in a mix of pleasure and concentration, sweat beading on his brow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” she nodded, and his fingers picked up their pace as did his hips. Her legs shuddered slightly as she felt the white, hot heat rising in her belly and she let out a low cry of his name.

“Come on, Doll.” he murmured, “Cum for me, Sweetheart.” And she did, with a force so intense she couldn’t stop herself letting out a loud “Fuck” as she shuddered, the world fading to dark around her, as the waves of pleasure racked her entire body.

“Shit, Katie.” Steve stuttered, his thrusts growing erratic as be bit down gently on her shoulder and he came with a groan, his hips slowing to an eventual stop as he sagged forward a little, forehead buried against her shoulder.

They stayed still for a while, the silence of their surroundings bar the trickle of the stream providing a soothing background as they both recovered themselves. Katie tilted her head round to look at him. His expression was dazed, mouth open in supplication and she loved seeing him so utterly wrecked. A fresh fucked Steve was the most beautiful thing in the world to her. All golden haired, slack jawed, kiss swollen lips and long eyelashes framing that stunningly handsome face. Taking a deep breath, Steve pressed a soft kiss to her neck before he cracked his eyes open and gave her that beautiful smile she lived for.

“For the record,” she hummed into his mouth as she captured his lips in a small kiss. “I’m well aware you totally just played me.”

He gave a soft chuckle and looked up at her, his blue eyes sparkling “Guilty as charged.” His hands ran up her sides underneath her sweater, fingers gently trailing down her ribs. “But I did tell you we were going for a ride.”

**Original Posting**

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.XII.ii

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Behold, a new - very emotional - chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕

come take a look at the incredible art for this chapter by the one and only @gen-syz-art right here ✨

and please, mind the tags on Archive

______________________

Geralt keeps himself busy with taking notes from a bestiary he’d found on one of the shelves in the library a few days ago, and he doesn’t even notice as a few hours go by.

It’s only when he hears the familiar tap-tap-tap of Asra’s and Lucio’s claws against the floor that he realises Jaskier must’ve woken up and let them out of the room.

The dogs make their way to Geralt, wagging their tails and licking his hand when he reaches out to pet them, and he needs to shift closer to one side of the chair to make space for Asra that has taken to curling up next to him and sleeping with her head in his lap.

He doesn’t mind it though he knows that it makes Lucio a little jealous.

“Would you look at you two, simply made for each other,” Jaskier teases, coming into the room.

He’d changed from the clothes he’d had on in the morning, and is now wearing a chemise of black silk, adorned with intricate emerald-green lace on the cinched wrists and the high neckline. It’s a pattern of leaves and flowers, all woven together close enough for there to be barely any skin showing.

“You look beautiful,” Geralt says, without even thinking about it, and Jaskier blushes under his gaze.

“What did you do here without me?” he asks, coming closer and giving Asra a jealous little look.

Geralt gestures to his notes on the table beside the chair and the open bestiary on top of them. He wants to get Asra back onto the floor, and have Jaskier in his lap instead of her, but she might take offence in that, and Geralt just isn’t willing to risk it.

He is, however, fully entitled to just stand up and move to the settee, which is exactly what he does, taking Jaskier with him by the hand.

Asra raises her head and snorts at him but doesn’t really protest, especially when Lucio jumps up onto the chair, and they curl up together.

“Can’t get your hands off me, can you?” Jaskier teases when Geralt pulls him down onto the settee, but he goes willingly, regardless.

He settles comfortably against Geralt’s chest, a pleased little rumble escaping his lips when the witcher pulls a blanket over both of them, keeping out the cold. It’s not winter just yet, but there are only a few more weeks left. And Redania has never really been warm.

“You don’t have to stay in the mansion all the time, you know,” Jaskier murmurs after a little while of comfortable silence. “If you want to go hunting or maybe just take Roach out for a ride, you can. I don’t want you to feel like you must stay on this side of the gates just because I do.”

Geralt hasn’t really thought about it. But knowing that Jaskier cares makes his chest feel warm.

“I like it here with you,” he says, running his fingers through the bard’s hair. “But I could bring you little things from the outside, like berries or herbs, make you feel more connected to the world.”

Jaskier hums, nuzzling against his chest and pressing a kiss to it through the fabric of Geralt’s shirt.

“Little rocks,” he says.

“What was that?”

“Little rocks. Pebbles from the river. Sometimes there are colourful ones, I used to collect them when I was in the Academy.”

“I’ll bring you little rocks, then,” Geralt agrees, and it might just be the most sentimental thing he’d ever said to anyone. “The colourful ones.”

Jaskier raises his head from his chest and leans in, leaving a warm, grateful kiss on Geralt’s lips. It makes the witcher shiver all over.

Before Jaskier can break away, he kisses him again, just as soft, and the bard returns it, shifting just enough to get a better angle. Even as he breaks the kiss to take in a breath, their lips still touch, and then Geralt can feel the wet brush of his tongue on his lips.

Jaskier doesn’t deepen the kiss, just teases, and though Geralt allows him to play his little games, he’s got a few tricks of his own.

Leaving one hand where it’s resting on Jaskier’s waist, he brings the other one higher, running his fingers up the line of the bard’s spine, and the way he gasps when Geralt brushes over the mark in-between his shoulder blades might just be the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Unfair,” he whispers into Geralt’s ear, but the next moment he’s already shifting to straddle his hips.

Geralt doesn’t let himself give in that easily.

“No,” he grins, rolling his hips just enough for Jaskier to feel it. “What was unfair is you teasing me when I was here last time, making it harder and harder to resist.”

Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers over the top three buttons on Geralt’s shirt, and they open, giving him better access to the witcher’s neck. Geralt nearly whines at the little pinpricks of magic against his skin.

“You didn’t have to resist, Geralt,” Jaskier murmurs, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the witcher’s neck, right under the sharp of his jaw. “You could have just taken what you wanted.”

Feeling braver, Geralt tugs on the hem of Jaskier’s chemise, untucking it from the waist of his trousers, and slips his hand under the thin fabric, nearly burning himself with the heat of Jaskier’s skin. He wants to be more patient, but it’s been months of all those feelings burning in his chest, and he just can’t bring himself to.

Jaskier arches his back and presses his hips closer to Geralt’s as the witcher rucks his chemise up to his chest and runs both his hands up his sides, catching Jaskier’s lips in a kiss just in time to drink in his trembling little moan when he runs his fingers directly over the mark on his back.

“Is it really that sensitive?” he murmurs when Jaskier breaks away, his breathing hot against Geralt’s skin.

Jaskier nips at his lower lip in revenge, almost hard enough to break the tender skin.

“Yes,” he growls, pressing a hard, possessive kiss to Geralt’s neck and rolling his hips against his. “And if you keep doing that, you’ll pay for it later.”

Oh, but that is just way too tempting to resist.

“You need to work on your threats,” Geralt grins, dragging his nails down Jaskier’s back, gentle enough not to cause any pain.

Jaskier sucks in a breath, back arching, and hides his face in the cure of Geralt’s shoulders, shuddering all over.

Geralt medallion hums against his chest with the magic radiating off Jaskier, and on the desk by the window, all the books fly open, the pages turning as if disturbed by a sudden gust of wind.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes, and it’s so close to a whine that Geralt nearly loses his mind. “I can’t fucking control my magic when I’m with you.”

And gods, that might be the most incredible thing anyone’s ever said to Geralt.

He’s very aware of just how hard he is from merely a couple of kisses, and there is nothing he wants more than to flip them both around, lay Jaskier down onto the soft cushions and take him apart bit by bit, until he’s whimpering and shaking, but even more than that, he’s aware of just how important it is not to rush.

“We can slow down, if you want to,” he murmurs, pressing a warm, comforting kiss to Jaskier’s cheek. “I want you to be comfortable.”

Jaskier hums something, leaning into Geralt’s touch when he wraps his arms around his waist, gently brushing over the soft skin with his thumb.

“I am comfortable,” he says, averting his eyes almost apologetically. “I just need to adjust a little. I can barely contain my power when you touch me like that.”

Geralt tips his chin up and pulls him into a long, calming kiss.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he grins once Jaskier breaks away.

Jaskier rolls his eyes affectionately, and settles in more comfortably again, resting his head on Geralt’s shoulder.

It takes a little while for Geralt’s veins to stop burning but Jaskier’s steady breathing calms him, and really, just having him in his arms is enough.

There’s going to be time for everything else.

***

They stay in the library for the entire day, never really letting go of each other, and when Arthur comes in to bring them hot wine, he gives them a little look and Geralt could swear that he hides a smile beneath his moustache.

At some point, Asra and Lucio try to join them, but the settee isn’t big enough for all of them at once, so Jaskier gives them an apologetic look and feeds them treats that appear in his hand out of thin air.

Geralt can’t help but kiss him every chance he gets, still not quite able to believe that he’s allowed to do that now, and Jaskier smiles into his lips and kisses him back every time.

Dinner seems like an insufficient reason to get up, so they both just skip it, earning themselves another look from Arthur, this one slightly more disapproving. Jaskier gives him a charming smile in return and pointedly kisses Geralt on the corner of his lips.

It’s comfortable and easy, like they’ve known each other forever. Like everything has finally fallen into place.

“You know, I’ve had a lot of people in this mansion over the years,” Jaskier murmurs, tilting his head to sneak a look at Geralt. “But I’ve never spent entire days in the arms of any of them. Only you.”

He reaches up to brush his thumb over Geralt’s cheek, the sleeve of his chemise riding up, and the witcher already parts his lips to answer when he finally notices.

A cold shiver runs down his back, breath getting stuck in his throat, and Jaskier must notice that, because within seconds, he’s on his feet, holding his arm to his chest like a broken wing. His eyes are widened with fear, and the scent of it comes off him in waves, so strong that it’s overwhelming.

Still feeling like he’s unable to breathe, Geralt sits up slowly, careful not to startle Jaskier with any sudden movement, and his heart is beating so hard in his chest that it hurts.

“Jask--” he says softly. “What is that?”

He stands up to take a step towards the bard, but he backs away from him, terrified, tears shining in his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he says, voice shaking.

Slowly, Geralt takes another step, holding both his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. Jaskier doesn’t move away from him, but he still holds his arm to his chest, shaking all over.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries again, carefully closing in the distance between them until he is standing right in front of him. “Please. Let me see?”

Jaskier shakes his head stubbornly, clenching his fingers tighter.

“It’s nothing, Geralt, really--”

“Please,” the witcher repeats, cutting him off and holding his hand out. “I won’t hurt you. Just let me see.”

The seconds that go by in silence feel like an eternity, disturbed only by Jaskier’s soft sobs, until finally, very slowly, he takes his arm away from his chest and places his wrist in Geralt’s hand.

Geralt undoes the three little buttons on the side of his sleeve with shaking fingers, and Jaskier turns away, closing his eyes shut, tears glistening in his cheeks, as Geralt rolls his sleeve up.

There, on the perfect pale skin, is a long vertical scar, running from the bend of Jaskier’s wrist and all the way up to the middle of his forearm. Geralt knows enough about the marks that blades can leave on skin to know that it’s deep without having to touch it.

Geralt can feels his ears ringing even as he says:

“And the other one?”

Jaskier gives him his other arm without any words or resistance, but the broken sob that escapes his chest shatters Geralt’s heart into pieces.

“Jask--” he calls softly, reaching with his other hand to brush the bard’s hair out of his face, but when he tries to turn him towards him, Jaskier resists, refusing to open his eyes and look at him.

He’s still holding his other arm out, and Geralt takes it gently, forcing himself to take in a breath.

He undoes the buttons, and though he knows that there is going to be another scar on that arm, it still feels like a stab to the chest to roll up Jaskier’s sleeve and see it.

It’s identical to the one on his right arm, just as long and deep, and Geralt feels like his heart rips open in his chest with pain.

He should be used to scars but these ones take all air away from his lungs.

“I didn’t want you to know,” Jaskier sniffles, voice still shaking, and when Geralt raises his head, he finds the bard looking at him, blue eyes clouded up with tears. “Thought I could hide them from you for just a little longer.”

He looks so scared, so broken, and he’s still shaking all over as Geralt pulls him into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest. His eyes burn with tears, and he shuts them, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s temple.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair to comfort him. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

Jaskier clings onto him, shaking with silent tears, and Geralt holds him, whispering comforting little things and leaving kisses on his temple even as his own heart bleeds in his chest.

The thought of losing him long before they even met hurts much more than he ever could’ve thought.

Time stretches and passes by without Geralt knowing if it’s been minutes or hours. After what seems like an eternity, Jaskier’s sobs quiet down, and his tears dry, but he doesn’t let go of Geralt, his body still trembling.

After seemingly just as long, Geralt finally takes in enough air to ask:

“Why did you do it?”

Jaskier doesn’t respond for a few long seconds, just breathing, before breaking away to look at Geralt.

“I was scared,” he says quietly, letting Geralt take his wrists into his hands again. “I’ve been here for a little over three years when I noticed that I’m changing, that I’m growing older. I was only twenty-one, and no-one else would’ve noticed the difference, but I did. And it was-- gods, it was hard enough already, with being unable to step outside, trying to get a proper control of my power and just being alone, but that… it just hit me so much harder than I was able to take.”

Twenty-one. He could’ve died at twenty-one.  

“I tried not to think about it, I really did,” Jaskier says, his gaze falling onto his forearms. “But it became something that I couldn’t get rid of. Every time I saw myself in the mirror, I felt like it was getting worse. And I was so scared, so fucking scared of just slowly growing old and dying in this mansion, without ever taking another step outside, that one evening it just-- it just became too much.”

There are tears in his eyes again, running down his cheeks in wet lines, but he doesn’t take his hands away to wipe them off.

“I wanted control over at least something in my life, Geralt. And if I couldn’t choose the way I lived, I wanted to choose the way I died. I couldn’t stand the thought of just slowly rotting away within these walls, torn away from the outside world and completely forgotten by it, so I just… I decided to end my life before it could happen.”

Geralt can feel himself shake, and the longer he looks at the scars on Jaskier’s arms, the worse it gets. Just the thought of how scared he must’ve been to try and take his own life feels like it re-opens all of Geralt’s own scars, making him burn and bleed all over.

He can’t think of anything that he would not have done for Jaskier not to have those marks on his arms.

“Arthur found me,” Jaskier chuckles humorlessly. “The dogs felt the scent of blood and started barking, waking him up. I was unconscious by then but from what he’d told me, he’d knocked on my bathroom door for about a minute before breaking it down. Found me in the tub, stopped the blood, carried me to bed. I slept through four days straight, according to him.”

Geralt forcibly makes himself calm down, recalling everything he’d even been taught in Kaer Morhen. His mind keeps racing, but his body reacts like it had been trained to, and finally, he manages to stop himself from trembling.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that--” he says, barely above a whisper. “Gods, Jask, I’m just--”

He hates that he can’t find the right words, and he shuts his eyes again, leaning down to touch his lips to Jaskier’s wrists, leaving hard, dry kisses on both scars.

Jaskier flinches but doesn’t take his hands away.

“It took me a long time to recover after that,” he says quietly. “Not only physically, but mentally. I’ve spent a month in bed, barely getting up and just fucking crying. Everything hurt, especially the scars, and every time I moved my arm wrong, the pain just paralysed me.”

He sways a little on his feet, and pulls Geralt down onto the hide in front of the fireplace with him. Asra and Lucio jump down from their chair and come closer, sniffing and licking at him, and Jaskier smiles through the tears, hugging them both.

“They were still fresh when one night Arthur woke me up and said that there is a woman at the gates, begging to be let in,” he says, leaning into Geralt’s arms when the witcher opens them. “She turned out to be a mage. She was badly hurt and on the run from the witch hunters, so I hid her here.”

He seems to be calming down now, resting his back against Geralt’s chest, and as his breathing evens out, Geralt can feel himself being able to breathe again, as well.

He holds Jaskier in his arms, rocking gently from side to side, and presses soft kisses to his neck and shoulders. His heart is still beating too hard and too fast for a witcher but he listens without interrupting, letting Jaskier say everything that he needs to.

“I will tell you about her some other day, if you want me to,” Jaskier says, and Geralt can hear just how tired he is, how much this conversation is taking out of him. “But she stayed with me for a little over a month, healing her wounds and planning her next steps, and when she was ready to leave, she told me that in return for my kindness towards her, she would like to grant me any wish I choose. Of course, I asked her to break the curse. But even as I was saying those words, I knew that it’s too intricate to be broken that way.”

Asra and Lucio poke at him with their noses, whining in concern, and Jaskier smiles at them, leaning down to kiss both dogs on the noses.

“It’s alright, my loves,” he reassures before tilting his head to brush his lips over Geralt’s jaw and address him again. “But when she told me that it’s a curse that can only be broken by the mage that had cast it or by meeting the requirements, she also offered me something else. Over her days here, she’d noticed the healing scars on my arms, and when she asked, I just told her. So she offered me a deal. You’re going to stay young as long as you have a reason to live, she said. It seemed a little too good to be true, but I still took it.”

Jaskier turns around in Geralt’s arms and gently brushes a stray lock of his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. Geralt leans into the touch, closing his eyes, and it’s almost unexpected when Jaskier touches a gentle kiss to his lips.

And just as the meaning of Jaskier’s words fully sinks in, he says:

“Now, I don’t look twenty-five, do I?”

Geralt’s eyes fly open and it feels like he sees Jaskier for the first time, like he properly sees him for the first time. Because he’s right, He doesn’t look twenty-five. He looks twenty-one.

“It worked,” Geralt whispers.

The smile that Jaskier gives him is tired and small, but it still reaches his eyes.

“It worked,” he echoes. “And it gave me a reason to go on. Made me feel like I have it in me to keep looking for a way to break the curse without the constant fear of running out of time. And, gods, I’ve always been grateful for it but after I met you-- I’m happy I didn’t die that night.”

The words echo through Geralt’s mind what feels like a hundred times, and his chest gets so tight that he’s more than sure that his ribs are about to break.

He pulls Jaskier to his lips, kissing him with such desperation that it hurts, and Jaskier returns it fully, clinging onto Geralt’s shoulders. There is barely any air to breathe, but that doesn’t matter with just how much everything that he’d just heard makes Geralt feel.

“We’ll find a way to break it,” he whispers into Jaskier’s lips in-between kisses. “We will.”

“I know,” Jaskier nods. “I know, darling.”

He sounds exhausted, and though he’s not trembling anymore, Geralt knows that he needs to get some proper rest, needs to recover.

“You should go to bed,” he says softly, pressing a warm, chaste kiss to the bard’s forehead. “You’re tired.”

Jaskier hums something, hiding his face in the curve of Geralt’s shoulder for a few long seconds before breaking away and getting up, unsteady on his feet. Geralt does the same, never letting go of the bard’s hand.

“Geralt?” Jaskier calls softly, raising his head to meet the witcher’s eyes. “Could you stay with me for the night? After everything I’ve told you, I don’t want to be alone.”

Stay with him for the night.

Geralt’s heart skips a beat.

“Of course,” he says, closing his eyes when Jaskier leans into his arms again. “Of course, my love.”