#Tumblr prompt

[murrpa]

logan: *fresh out of the shower walking out shirtless*

wade: *walks by and stares down directly at logan’s tiddies*

logan: …

wade: do i need to take you to Victoria’s Secret?!

[twola]

Two words: messy blowjob.

Teehee, let’s go. 

Also, s/o to @revolversandlace, who mentioned writing a possible 1k+ scene literally describing a blowjob, so obviously, I had to give it a try myself. 😉

Convalescence

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Feelings are realized as you nurse Arthur back to health after his run-in with the O’Driscolls. Actions, however, are a bit limited during his convalescence.

Everything hurts. From the searing pain in his shoulder to the overall ache of his muscles, this definitely ranks as one of the most painful experiences of his life.

Regards sent to Colm O’Driscoll, of course.

He opens his eyes and a shadowed figure slowly comes into focus, a small, feminine frame seated on a stool next to his cot.

It’s you, but your normally tressed hair hangs limply in a ponytail, your eyes bloodshot and puffy, and it was obvious that you’ve been crying as his vision clears up.

“Wh- why are you cryin’ there, sweetheart?” He hoarsely whispers, voice rough from disuse.

You rub at your eyes, but it is mostly in vain as you can’t stem the flow of tears tracking down your cheeks. “When y-you fell off your horse when you came back, I-I thought you were d-dyin’.”  

Your voice cracks on the last word.

Arthur frowns, “Sweet girl, I ain’t worth them tears. Save ‘em for a good man.”

“You - you’re such a fool,” You grit out, teeth clenching, “You - you are a good man. The best of them, Arthur Morgan.”

“C’mon now, darlin’. Stop your lyin’.”

“I’m not lying.” You move to sit on the side of the cot, hovering over him, “Why can’t you see what a good man you are? Why are you so blind to it?”

He remains silent. Silly girl. You haven’t seen what he can do - what he does - to other men. The blood on his hands. You’d be far less likely to be praising him, far less likely to be…

…leaning in closer to him.

A pang sears through Arthur’s chest, sharp as a whip, when he realizes you aren’t pulling away from him.

“You’re by far the best man I’ve ever known.”

“Reckon you haven’t known many men then, little miss.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, and in that moment, you lean completely over him and press your lips against his, a move he’s not completely surprised by.

His good arm, unburdened with the wound on his shoulder, winds around your shoulders as you press against his chest gently, still hovering so as not to put too much weight on him.

Arthur allows it all, from the first timid press of your lips on his to the far less timid pressing of your tongue, demanding entry into his mouth. He groans in response as he lets you in, and a mewl works its way up your throat.

It's only then, with you hovering inches above his chest, lips, and tongue working against his own, that he realizes that this is quickly turning into a predicament. Of course, it is, considering the view he’s gotten down the front of your blouse.

Someone, god, hopefully not you, stripped him of his bloody union suit, which probably did need to be burned, but failed to re-dress him. He was nude as the day he was born underneath the blankets, and it became increasingly clear as he felt his blood rushing toward his groin. 

Of all the times to act like a damn teenage boy-

He cannot help the groan that wells up in him as you shift, the curve of your waist at the flare of your hip pressing against his own - pressing against his hardening member.

He internally curses when you slowly pull away. 

But your eyes are lust-blown, a red blush settling on your cheeks. 

“Darl-”

“Let me take care of you.” You say, slowly sitting up and reaching for the edge of the blanket with your small, thin fingers. 

He wants to tell you to stop, that you don’t have to do this, that you don’t have to do anything, that he’s been smitten with you since you rode in half-starved and doe-eyed on the back of Davey’s horse all those months ago. 

But silent he remains as you slowly draw the blanket down his body. Your nose crinkles as your lips turn downwards as inch by inch of his chest is revealed to you - bruises and lash marks and signs of the torture he received at Colm’s hand.

“Oh, Arthur.” You sigh sadly, eyes watering over again.

“ ‘m gonna be fine, sweetheart. Just a little uglier than usual.” He tries to lighten the mood with self-depreciation, but the deepening of your frown tells him that’s not working. You blink the tears collecting away and continue to pull the blanket downward, revealing his navel and the trail of dark, wiry hair leading downwards.

He sucks in a breath as the collecting fabric brushes against his ramrod-hard cock.

Finally, finally, your hand slowly pulls the blanket over his hips, first over the curls at the bottom of his pelvis, to expose his cock, leaking from the tip and laying heavily over his thigh. 

You look back at him, and he’s wide-eyed, biting his lower lip, looking down at you hovering over his hips. You can see his chest expanding with his breathing, speeding up as he stares at you. 

You lean down and Arthur’s good arm swings over his head to block his vision, because if he sees this, he’s sure to make embarrassing noises loud enough for the whole damn camp to hear.

He feels your small hand wrap around his cock, and he bites his lip not to make a sound as you gently pull it upright.

But he is not able to stifle the noise he makes when his cock is enveloped in something wet and warm - his arm flies upward and he cranes his head to watch you take him into your mouth. An embarrassingly needy whine escapes his mouth, but that’s better than the shout he wants to let out as you suck gently at the head, your tongue pressing against the weeping slit of his cock.

“Jesus Christ.”

You let go of the head of his cock with a pop, and he bucks up slightly, as if to follow your warmth as you look up at him.

“You alright? Need me to stop?” You ask, one hand still wrapped around his length.

“Oh, darlin’, please, please don’t ask me that.” His forearm slides across his eyes again as his other hand.

“So you want me to keep goin’?”

“Jesus fuck, of course.” He replies incredulously, flabbergasted that you could doubt this felt amazing.

You smile for a moment before turning back to his length, enveloping him once again in the velvet warmth of your mouth. His head hits the pillow as he loudly sucks in a breath.

You slowly, deliberately, work your way down his length, bobbing up and down, sucking on his skin gently as you take more and more of him into your mouth.

It feels like years you’re doing this, inch by inch of velvety skin warmed by your wet cavern. 

Finally, you gag slightly as your nose touches the chestnut curls at the base of his cock, saliva dripping down from your lips and slowly running down toward his heavy, full testicles, and he has to actively clench the sides of the cot to stop himself from bucking upward. 

“Oh, oh god, woman.” He mutters as you slide back up, fingers once again grasping the base of his length as you suck in a breath, looking up at him with a hint of a smile, your lips and chin shimmering with your spittle. His cock shines against the oil lamp’s yellowed light, absolutely dripping wet from your mouth.

You lean back down again, but instead of taking his length into your mouth, you run your tongue down its side, all the way down where you nuzzle against the globes at the base of his cock, gently sucking one into your mouth. He whines, whines, this gunslinger, this outlaw, this hardened mountain of muscle beneath you. All being torn apart as you suckle on him.

After several moments, you pull back, and he’s panting, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat developing over his clavicles, and the bandages wrapped tightly across his pectorals and shoulder.

Your thumb presses gently on the underside of his cock, and he closes his eyes and lets out a low, long moan. You smile, rubbing at his hip affectionately.

“Christ alive, woman, you’re killin’ me.”

“Ain’t done yet, Arthur.”

And with that, you resume, leaning down and retaking him, sucking harder than you have before, leaving him squirming beneath you. 

You suck, and bob, you squeeze his balls and rub at his thighs. Lord almighty, he must have died at Colm’s hand - this had to be heaven.

The burning in his gut reaches a fever pitch, and he knows he’s not long to last.

He tries to sit up, but can’t with his shoulder bound, and finds that he just has to make enough noise to tell you to get off of him.

“Darl- darlin’, I’m gonna come- you- you need to move-”

His sentence goes unfinished as you look up at him, mouth full of his cock, and slowly, deliberately, slide all the way down, saliva dribbling out of your mouth again as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat.

Arthur’s eyes go as wide as saucers, and he audibly swallows before his head hits the pillow once again. You slide up and down, sucking, tongue working around his length, the gentle suction of your mouth causing him to whimper.

He grunts, hands clenched around the wooden sides of the cot, hips moving despite his attempts not to. He is completely at your mercy - each lick and suck of his cock sends him further down that road of unabashed pleasure.

“Sweet- oh god, oh - fuck - I’m -” Arthur cannot finish his sentence before he trails off into a groan, his hips bucking up as you press down, and he shoots his spend down your throat, you pull back, gagging slightly, and as you sit up, Arthur can barely believe his eyes as he watches a dribble of his white, milky spend drip from the corner of your mouth. Christ, it makes him want to come again.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, clearing your throat, and pull the blanket up to Arthur’s chest once again, where he just looks at you, stupefied.

You cock an eyebrow at him as you slide up the side of the cot, sitting next to his chest. “You alright? That wasn-” You frown, “God, I hope that wasn’t bad.”

Arthur’s good hand grabs the collar of your shirt and yanks you down, where he presses his mouth to yours desperately, not caring at all that he can taste the bitter tang of himself on your tongue. You draw away after a moment, and Arthur tucks a strand of your hair that escaped its braid behind your ear.

“Woman, you’re the only one takin’ care of me from now on.”

[runninriot]

Small Treasures To Keep

inspired by the prompt 'Love is not in the big things but in the small ones' by @sidekick-hero written for @steddielovemonth day 9

wc: 1.472 | rated: G | cw: none | tags: Musician Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington has a crush, just sweet boys being sweet, friends to lovers

   “There were like, at least 200 people there! And they were actually enjoying our show! Can you believe that? It was amazing, Steve! They listened to us play, and banged their heads, and they cheered after every song. Some of them even asked if we had any merch with us and obviously we didn’t but we gave out autographs and- Oh! I almost forgot! I got you something! I’ll be right back.” Eddie nearly topples off the couch in excitement.

Steve watches him with a smile on his face, equally amused and charmed by Eddie’s dorky behaviour, and bites back a laugh when Eddie almost stumbles over his own feet as he hurries towards his bedroom.

Eddie is a menace. So strange and irritating at times but in such an endearing way it’s impossible not to like him.

Steve’s been listening to him talk non-stop since he arrived at his trailer about ten minutes ago. Talking himself breathless while recounting the events of Corroded Coffin’s first real gig, as Eddie calls it.

Steve can’t blame Eddie for being so over the moon, so overjoyed and proud. So thrilled to have gotten the chance to play as substitute opener for some Indiana metal band last night.

It must’ve been a blast, by the sounds of what Eddie’s been telling him. And Steve really is happy for him but somewhere deep down he’s still a little sad. Because he was supposed to be there for the show, to watch his friend perform in a venue four times the size of The Hideout, in front of an actual crowd. But Steve had been caught up at work because Keith called in sick last minute, leaving Steve in charge of the closing shift at Family Video which meant he couldn't make it out in time for the gig.

That really sucked.

Steve had been looking forward to the concert ever since Eddie asked him if he wanted to come see them play. When he told him it would mean a lot if he did. That he’d appreciate to have his emotional support there because he’d been so nervous about the whole thing.

It made Steve feel special, in a way. Like he’s important to Eddie, important enough for Eddie to want him there. For wanting Steve to witness the most exciting moment in the band’s history since Gareth’s mom had finally relented and let them use the garage for their rehearsals.

Steve had wanted to be there.

So, not being able to go was utterly frustrating. Not only because he really would’ve loved to watch Eddie play his guitar on a real stage but also because he kind of felt like he let Eddie down.

It was a miracle he even got a hold on him over the phone to tell him the unfortunate news. Eddie was just about to leave and make his way to the venue when Steve called him. (He would've already been out of the house had he not spilled a drink on his shirt and needed to change.)

Steve was gutted when he heard Eddie let out a heavy sigh, felt a pang in his heart at the defeat in Eddie’s voice when he told him that it was okay.

He felt horrible, like a bad friend. Unreliable and disappointing.

But then Eddie told him he understood and not to worry his pretty head about it. Said he wasn't angry, just sad because he wouldn’t be able to look out for Steve in the crowd when his nerves got the better of him.

    “Promise you’ll think of me?” Eddie had asked and the promise spilled easily over Steve’s lips because-

Well. When is he not thinking about Eddie?

The guy with the unruly mane and chocolate brown eyes. The guy with the cheeky smile and a passion for teasing words. Whose small flirty gestures get Steve’s blood boiling and make his heart jump.

He’s on Steve’s mind constantly because he’s a constant in his life now. A good friend, a kind soul. Annoying, and loud, and wonderful to be around.

Eddie is-

    “Ah, fuck!”

The clattering sound of something takes Steve out of his thoughts and he can’t help but chuckle when he turns towards the noise and his eyes fall on Eddie, helplessly fumbling with the chain hanging from his belt loops that got stuck on the door handle.

When he's finally managed to free himself, he speed walks over to Steve with a big grin on his face. Eddie comes to a stop right in front of him, expectantly looking down at Steve as he triumphantly holds up a crinkled piece of paper, waiting for him to take it.

   “What is that?” Steve asks, confused and unable to identify what he’s now holding in his hands.

Upon closer look he realises it’s a flyer, or it had been one before someone decided to tear it in half. Steve can barely make out some dates and half of the name of a venue, thinks it might be one for the show last night.

   “Look at the back,” Eddie says and his smile widens even more.

When Steve turns it around, he sees the Corroded Coffin logo scribbled on the backside of the paper. Beneath the band’s name, he immediately recognizes Eddie’s squiggly handwriting, thinks he can make out the names of the other band member’s too.

Steve looks back up at Eddie, returning the smile as he realises what this is.

   “You got me an autograph? That’s so cool! Thanks, Eds!”

   “Not just any autograph. It’s the first. When people came asking for autographs we panicked a bit because no one had ever wanted us to sign anything. So we practiced. What you have there is the first piece of paper Corroded Coffin have ever signed. Gareth wanted to throw it away but I saved it because I wanted you to have it. Y’know, uh, because you couldn’t come to the show and I, uhm, I still wanted to share the experience with you.”

Eddie’s face turns bright red and he seems nervous all of a sudden.

And Steve just... stares. Lets his eyes drift between Eddie and the small treasure he’s holding in his hands.

It might just be a piece of paper, some might even call it trash. But to Steve this is something precious. Something he’ll hold onto forever because Eddie gave it to him. Eddie thought about him when he should’ve been buzzing with ecstasy over their successful gig.

   “That’s-“ Steve doesn’t know what to say.

So instead of talking he stands up and pulls Eddie into a tight embrace, feels his heart beating like crazy when Eddie returns it with his own arms wrapped around Steve.

   “I love it,” Steve says, keeps other words hidden inside.

They tentatively let go of each other, still staying close, still standing toe to toe.

   “Maybe it’ll be worth some money if me and the guys make it big one day.”

It already is Steve’s most valuable possession.

   “When, not if,” Steve says matter-of-factly, holding the paper close to his heart.

   “You really think so?” Eddie asks, voice hushed like it’s a secret wish that might come true if he doesn't jinx it.

   “Mhm.” Steve nods. “But I would never sell this autograph. I’ll frame it and keep it forever.”

   “You will?” Eddie asks, a little disbelieving but also...

    Hopeful?

And for a moment they just stand there, looking at each other wide-eyed and red-cheeked, both flustered and shy. Smiling.

   “Forever,” Steve says honestly, more meaning to the word than he’s ready to admit.

-

A few months later Steve finally gets to see Eddie and his band play on a real stage, in front of an actual crowd. He’s there in the front row, cheering for Eddie, buzzing with joy and pride.

And when their eyes meet in the middle of a song Steve doesn’t yet know is about him, he decides he’s going to tell Eddie that he loves him.

-

And when years later a reporter asks Corroded Coffin’s manager – who’s known to have been close friends with the guys forever (there are even unconfirmed speculations about him and the lead singer being lovers) – at which point in life he knew they had made it, Steve smiles and says “When I held their first autograph in my hands”.

The reporter laughs and the other band members roll their eyes fondly at the cheesy response. But Eddie looks at him and returns the smile, unnoticable for anyone other than Steve. And in that moment it means more to him than the gold ring he's secretly wearing on a chain around his neck. It means more than success and what they've accomplished in life.

It's a small thing, a hidden 'I love you'.

Another small treasure to keep.

[aesthetictarlos]

another bucktommy prompt – this one specifically because i looove how big and strong they both are: character a is having both hands full with bags (maybe from a shopping trip?) and character b says "let me hold that", referring to the bags. character a misunderstands, thinking character b wants to hold hands, so they promptly switch all bags to one hand and take hold of character b's hand. you decide who is who is this scenario!

Thank you for this prompt, I loved it! ❤️

Buck greets the young girl behind the counter and follows his boyfriend outside, putting his card back into the wallet. They're hosting a 118 hang out at Tommy's place - their place now, actually, which is why they're the hosts - and they've bought tons of food and beverage.

Tommy's hands are both full with bags and they've parked away from the grocery shop's entrance since the parking lot was packed, but as much as Buck's enjoying the view of his boyfriend's muscles bulging as he effortlessly carries the bags, he wants to help.

"Let me hold that," he says after he's pocketed his wallet and his hands are free.

Tommy glances at him and smoothly shifts the three bags he's carrying on his left hand to his right one, lacing his fingers with Buck, leaving him speechless because damn, his boyfriend is really a beast.

Buck stares in awe as Tommy keeps walking like he's not carrying five heavy bags on one hand, and suddenly his throat goes dry. "I– I meant let me hold some of the bags, you really are something else. Fuck, you're so strong."

Tommy giggles, ducking his head. "Oh, sorry for the misunderstanding, but I really wanted to hold your hand."

Buck swats his bicep, and right after they finish loading their groceries in the car, he pushes his boyfriend against the side door and kisses him stupid, his fingers digging in his ripped arms and squeezing.

(Yeah, he has a thing with Tommy's muscles, sue him.)

[yeetus-feetus]

WIP Wednesday

Tumblr prompt: Tim is the first to find out the Red Hood’s identity and from then on sticks to Jason during patrol like glue (much to Jason’s chagrin, dammit, it would feel wrong to beat up Robin when he’s that starry eyed…) Cue: panic from the rest of the batfamily who still think Hood is a 40-something year old crime lord and now assume they’re dating.

@ghost-bxrd

Jason sighs, looking up at the sky dramatically. “Robin, I know you’re following me”, he calls out into the darkness, and there’s shuffling behind him.

He turns around to see Robin step out of the shadows, letting his cape fall apart and reveal bright red and green spandex and kevlar. “I wish the outside of my cape was black, I was running around like a sparkling traffic light”, he pouts under the helmet.

“Mm, maybe you should’ve taken some initiative. I designed my Robin suit all by myself, you took whatever B gave you”, Tim replies teasingly.

Jason chuckles. “Mmm, and maybe you should try humbling yourself every once and a while”. He removes his helmet and quirks an eyebrow from under his domino mask. “Hard to believe Batman never noticed you following him, I noticed you 10 yards back.”

Tim grins, holding his camera up and Jason sticks his tongue out as he takes a photo. “That’s funny, Hood, considering I started following you 50 yards ago. I got bored and started wondering how long it would take you to notice me if I started being less careful.” he explains, looking down at the screen to check the quality of the photo he just took.

“Oh, that right huh?” Jason asks sarcastically, not really believing him.

Tim’s grin widens mischievously and he waves the camera in front of his face. “Want proof, big guy?” he asks.

Jason laughs and snatches the small device, clicking through the recently taken photos. After a moment he groans defeatedly. “Yeah okay, I should've known you’d do something like that you little weirdo. so, how’d I hold up to your little test?”

Tim shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it a test, more of a game to entertain myself really”. But Jason raises his eyebrows up at him, making him sigh. “Yeah okay, you lost the game or failed or whatever. But you did fare better than Big Blue, so there’s that.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason smirks, still clicking through photos.

“Yup”, Tim says, popping the ‘p’. And hoists himself up onto the brick parapet, back facing the city as his feet dangle about an inch off the concrete roof. He tilts his head at Jason when he doesn’t move from where he’s standing, low glow of the open camera screen illuminating his face.

“These are actually really good”, Jason finally says, looking up at him. “Like really clear and in focus. It’s impressive”. He walks over and hands the camera back, leaning against the brick.

“Thanks”, Tim smiles. “I’ve always been really into photography, y'know? It’s like capturing a moment in time and immortalising it, so it will exist forever, even when I'm gone. I really like that aspect of it”.

Jason hums in response. “Never took you as someone sentimental”, he comments.

Tim is quiet, but it’s obvious he’s thinking. And then he hums back. “I didn’t realise I was either”.

This time Jason is the one observing, watching Tim rub his thumb over the side of his camera, and wonders if Tim felt the same way about his photos from before he died, if he looked at the the same way he’s looking at these photos now… if he kept jason alive in still frames while he was gone.

Then he decides he’s making it too deep and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as Tim turns his head towards him and scrunches up his nose. “Gross, dude.”

“What?” Jason asks, mildly offended.

“I hate the smell of cigarettes”, Tim states. “I don’t care if you smoke them just, not around me, please”, he says, nose still scrunched as he shimmies away, keeping his hands braced on the brick so he doesn’t fall backwards.

Normally, Jason would roll his eyes and take a deep inhale, maybe blow the smoke back out into the other person's face just to spite them. But Tim isn’t telling him not to smoke, he’s asking him not to smoke around him. And, maybe Tim’s scrunched up nose is kinda cute.

So he snubs the cigarette out and puts it back in its box to save for later. “Fine, but I’m getting something to eat then”, Jason complains.

“Cool, I know a really good burrito place not far from here”, Tim smiles, and then he’s throwing himself backwards off the roof, laughing loudly when Jason rushes up to look over the edge.

“You little fucker!” Jason shouts out as he watches Robin shoot his grappling line and swing from a lower roof across the way. “Oh, I’m gonna get that little shit!”, he grumbles to himself, taking a breath to calm the sudden spike of worried adrenaline Tim caused before chasing after him.

Tim pays for their burritos and a tub of Mexican rice before Jason even has the chance to get out his wallet, and they end up eating them on a roof together a block away.

“Ohh yeah, this is good stuff”, Jason moans around a mouthful, and Tim giggles around his plastic spoon. “Okay, you’re forgiven for scaring the shit out of me earlier”, he mumbles, taking another bite of his burrito.

Tim sits the rice aside to take a picture of Jason with food on his face, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. Then another photo of Jason sticking the finger up at him. “Lol thats gold, I might make that my laptop’s screensaver”, Tim laughs.

“The laptop you keep all your creepy stalker folders on?” Jason asks, mouth still half-full, leaning over to try and get a look at the camera screen. “oh my god I look so stupid, please don’t!” he laughs.

“Oh gross Jason!” Tim squeals, brushing little bits of burrito off his suit. “Stop talking with your mouth full, you’re getting food everywhere!” but Jason only laughs harder, and ends up choking.

Tim rubs his back as he chokes and sputters over the edge of the roof, and laughs at his expense. “Here, have some of my water.”

Jason ends up chugging all of Tim’s water, so Tim steals his Soda in retaliation. It ends up as a game of rooftop tag until they’re both out of breath and decide to head to their separate ways to get some rest.

And that becomes a frequent occurrence on quiet nights after that. Sometimes even working together on a few cases. It’s honestly quite a lot of fun for both of them, a nice change of pace from the usual doom and gloom of Gotham’s streets.

⧫

Tim is tinkering away with some sort of gadget in the Batcave one afternoon when Alfred stops by with some snacks on a silver platter. “Everything alright with you young sir?” he asks politely.

“Yeah Alf, everything's great actually”, Tim replies cheerfully. But Alfred loiters by him for a few moments too long, making Tim lift his head to look at him questioningly. “What’s up?”

Alfred frowns. “Nothing, Master Timothy. Just, do know that you can come to talk to me about anything if you need, absolutely anything”. He pats Tim on the shoulder in some kind of gesture of comfort before leaving Tim confused at his desk.

What was that about?

But Tim is even more confused later on patrol with Batman. Which was already odd actually, usually they don’t patrol together unless they’re working on a case together, or on a mission, or just something important– there’s nothing important happening tonight. B just told him that they were patrolling Midtown and to get in the batmobile.

And so there they were, driving around in dead silence.

“So… Tim, how’ve you been lately?” B asks, voice gruff and tone awkward.

That makes Tim turn around in his seat to face the older man with his whole body, confusion and worry on his face. “I’m good… why the sudden interest?” he asks cautiously. “Is there something up that I should be worried about?”

Bruce grunts and spares a glance at him before looking back at the road. “I was just asking.” and then, after a few beats of quiet: “You’ve been spending an awful amount of time around the Narrows and Crime Alley”, he states. Oh. That’s Jason’s territory.

Oh.

“Are you worried about Red Hood or something?” Tim asks. Well, this is… complicated.

Bruce grunts again. “Or something.” he turns the car around a sharp corner and Tim braces himself against the seat at the sudden change of route.

He thinks whatever that conversation is over, but a few moments later Batman speaks up again. “Just stay away from him. He’s bad news Robin.” Tim turns to give him a look. “I’m serious. No more patrolling Uptown”.

“What!?” Tim asks. “Are you banning me or something??”

“Yes.” And Tim knows his word is final. Batman’s word is law after all.

He huffs and sits back in his seat, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Fine, he won’t patrol in Uptown. He’ll just have to figure out a way to convince Jason to meet with him in Midtown somehow. No, that won’t work. Red Hood won’t leave his turf unattended to.

Buut. there is a loophole here that he can take advantage of…

[avonne-writes]

Hello! For the Situations ask game, could I request 59 - forced to lie about something for Buck and Bucky please?

I would prefer it to be gen but if you don't fancy that then don't worry :)

Thank you for the prompt! 💖 I kept it gen. 😊 It might not be what you expected, but I hope you still like it!

Edit: uploaded to AO3 too

59. Lying curse/forced to lie about something

Gale pads across the space between two barracks on light, quick feet. He's on the prowl, his senses alert and mind happy and clear. Sweet summer smells tickle his nose and make his lips twitch. The waning moon shines bright tonight, casting long shadows over the grass that brushes his slender legs in the most pleasing way. He marvels at his own dark silhouette, stopping to admire it fully.

That's his mistake. He rarely allows himself a moment of vanity, but, apparently, one moment is enough to earn its due punishment - he’s noticed.

"Hey." The slightly slurred, cajoling voice sounds familiar. The hair stands up on the back of Gale's neck at the prospect of being caught in the state he's in by none other than his best friend. He’s frozen in place, staring with wide blue eyes as Bucky walks closer with slow steps, his arms outstretched in a way that's supposed to look welcoming.

"Hi there, beautiful." Bucky coos. "Where did you come from, huh?"

"From the pub, where you left me." Gale hisses, because he’s still a little pissed about that. He isn’t too fond of wrangling drunk, rowdy soldiers while Bucky is outside, chasing skirt in an alleyway. So, Gale came back to base, then snuck out to do some chasing of his own.

Bucky, of course, doesn’t understand.

"It’s okay. Don’t be scared." A few feet away from Gale, he crouches, almost falling over in his drunken state. With his sharp sight, Gale can see the cheerful twinkle in his eyes. "Come here. Kitty, kitty, kitty."

"I ought'a scratch you." Gale growls, irritated that his midnight fun has been interrupted. He can hear all the fucking whiny mice scurrying around the base. He could have had a veritable feast!

"I know, I know." Bucky soothes him quietly, inching closer. "I promise I'm very respectful. No tail pulling, no tummy touching. Just wanna pet you, princess."

"Jesus, John." Gale drawls. He could bolt, make a run for it. Wouldn’t be much of an effort, but then, he’d leave Bucky dejected. He doesn’t have the heart to do it, not after the last missions they had. So many lives lost, so little comfort to be had. He, too, only has the cradle of the moonlight and his best friend.

The friend whose face splits into his disarming, squinty-eyed smile as his palm comes into contact with Gale's back. "Good girl."

"I'm not a goddamn girl." Gale protests in a long meow as he’s picked up, his fluffy tail lashing back and forth. Nevertheless, Bucky's hold feels comfortable, clearly familiar with the feline form as he tucks Gale to his chest. The solid warmth of his body feels like a balm to a wound on Gale’s soul that he didn’t even realize he had. Oh, how he missed to be cared for.

"There." Bucky murmurs, holding him with one arm and using his other hand to stroke Gale's cream-coloured fur gently. Over his head, down his back and side, then scratching gently behind his ear. "What a pretty kitty."

Gale can’t help it, he closes his eyes and leans into the touch. It has been so long since he felt physical affection beyond a pat on the back or a careless arm around his shoulders, and even longer since anyone touched him in this form. He missed it, he realizes. Feeling warm and safe like this again might be even better than catching annoying pests. Within two seconds, he’s purring with the joy of it, boneless in Bucky's hold. His legs dangle over Bucky's arm. He thinks about kneading him, either to satisfy his instinct to reciprocate or to sink his claws into his skin in retaliation for being left in the pub, but it's too much effort.

"Aren't you sweet?" Bucky chuckles and sways in place as if Gale was a baby. Or, perhaps he’s just too drunk to stand upright for more than a minute. He’s silent for a long moment, just thumbing at Gale’s silky shoulder, then opens his mouth again. "Oh, Curt would've loved you."

Gale stops purring and looks up at him. Tears glisten in Bucky's dark eyes. Bucky sniffs, then chuckles wetly and goes back to massaging Gale's ear, to get him to purr again, Gale assumes. Overcome with sadness and sympathy, he obliges. Lets the rhythmic rumbling in his chest comfort them both as they grieve together in silence. In and out goes the air in his lungs in soft purrs. Back and forth swipes Bucky's gentle thumb. All around them, the night is quiet and still warm with summer, but a cold breeze sweeps over the airfield.

"Will you bring me good luck, girl?" Bucky talks to him in drunken whispers. "Gotta go back up there soon. Watch my friends get blown up." He sighs, long and hard. "'m glad I caught you. Miserable fucking night and all."

He sighs and pulls Gale higher to press his face to Gale's fur. "Had to leave the pub to clear my head. Felt fucking awful so I went back for another shot." He exhales in a long blow. "Where the hell did he go?"

Gale's heart clenches, but he refuses to acknowledge it as guilt. How could he have known it wasn’t some pretty girl John went after? John never said a word about feeling unwell.

Gale rubs his head against John's neck in apology, deciding he deserves that kneading after all, but before he could get any further than extending his claws, another man passes by and notices them both.

"Is that a cat?"

Hell no, Gale’s instincts scream, and his claws scratch at Bucky’s uniform, flailing to get away. Bucky yelps and his arms loosen enough for Gale to jump free, landing on his four feet practically running. He flees the scene without looking back, sharp ears flicked back to listen to pursuing footsteps, but all he hears is a disappointed huff.

"Great job, private, you scared her away."

Relieved, Gale runs and runs until he’s almost back where he's supposed to be, behind the Officers' Quarters. There, in the sanctuary of darkness, he concentrates and lets his limbs grow, his fur disappear, claws turn into nails, until he’s back in his human form with the clothes he transformed in when he left on his hunt. He smooths his hands over his uniform, takes a deep breath to control his rapid panting, then walks back inside.

He’s pretending to read in his bed when Bucky enters to stumble over to his own. He's uncharacteristically subdued as he makes quick work of his outer layers, and Gale doesn’t know why, but he feels he needs to snap him out of it.

"Had a good night?" He asks quietly. He hates how easy it is to sound casual and unaffected about it.

"Fantastic." Bucky says, bitter at first before he puts on a smile. "Know that redhead, down the street from the baker?" He clicks his tongue as if to say, what a fine broad. "She likes my singing."

It's a lie, Gale knows, but he can’t tell Bucky that. He can’t reveal himself, nor does he want to draw light to something Bucky wants to hide from him. "I bet."

Bucky snorts, amused. What an ironic turn of phrase. "Hey, Buck."

"Hm."

Bucky pauses, brushing a hand over his discarded uniform. When Gale squints at it, he notices the layer of white fur on it in horror. Oblivious to Gale's pounding heart, Bucky smiles. "Have you seen a white cat around? Big one, long fur."

Yeah, I've looked into a mirror, Gale thinks. He can’t say that though. No one is supposed to know. "No."

Bucky nods, running his hands over his clothes again. "I caught it, but some stupid private scared it away."

Gale swallows. "It will come back eventually."

Bucky lies down in his cot, his back to Gale. "Yeah. Maybe." For a moment, he’s silent, then he adds, "But I might not be here."

Gale has nothing to say. The night feels too fragile to hold the weight of another lie. He can’t promise something he can’t control.

"Good night, Buck." Bucky mumbles after a few minutes.

"Night, John." Gale says. His skin itches.

He wishes he could curl up and purr.

It would make the world feel like a better place.

---

[0nelittlebirdtoldme]

Speak your mind

Inspired by @perfectflowerdestiny's prompt and the Princess Mononoke scene <3

[bittersweetstargazer]

okay yeah so I made this off of that one post by @frownyalfred about Clark not understanding that human can sense like danger bc he obviously. isn't. so anyways. there's two of them and they're both short– the 1st one is 600 words and the 2nd one is 400 words because I have other things to do with my life currently and I would probably add more to them and maybe I will in the future but this is the best it's gonna get for now (unbetaed as usual)

Untitled by bittersweetstargazer:

1.

Clark stood next to Bruce as Jon and Damian scurried over to the next house in the neighborhood. He chuckled as Jon tripped and almost fell, catching himself only by using his powers of flight. Damian had grabbed him by the back of his costume like scuffing a cat.

"They look so . . . happy." Clark commented, bumping his, shoulder against Bruce's. Bruce snorted, pointing at his own son.

"Damian looks like he's about to stab Jon. I'd hardly describe that as happy."

"Fortunately, he doesn't have his kryptonite sword."

"Oh, I wouldn't trust that. It looks like his sword is covered in lead. To cover what? The world can only dream."

Clark tensed, trying to look through the (supposedly fake) sword Damian brought as part of his costume, jaw dropping when he couldn't.

"You mean he—!"

"No." Bruce snorted. "He made it out of plastic but covered it in a thin layer of lead to mess with Jon."

"Why is your son making empty threats to mine?"

"Did you really expect anything else from him?"

"Like father, like son, I suppose." They both turned to each other and glared.

"Anyway," Clark huffed, "I think it would be nice if we could just have a nice, calm night of no crime-fighting together, right?"

"And with our children."

"Together. And our children, yes."

Bruce shrugged. "Sure."

Clark's left eye twitched. "Right."

They walked off to go join their children just as Damian started scolding at Jon for messing up their innocent act.

"Imbecile!" Damian hissed. "You said the wrong thing! Did you see how many pieces of candy we got? Five! Do you remember how many we got last year? Seven!"

"I'm sorry! My suit was pinching me and I couldn't focus!"

"It doesn't matter about how uncomfortable you are, you must stick to the script!"

"But I—!"

"Boys." Clark cut in. "You already have plenty of candy. And Damian, you're rich. You can buy more candy anytime."

"It's not about the stupid candy!" Damian scoffs. "Half of these aren't vegan-friendly anyways. It's about how much candy we can exploit from these suckers."

"Damian." Bruce raised an eyebrow and his son fell silent. "Although, I must say, your current strategy is quite succe—"

Bruce tensed, falling silent. It didn't escape Clark's notice when Damian also tensed as well. Hm. His earlier statement didn't seem to extend to just murderous tendencies.

"Bruce?"

Bruce shushed him. "Something's not right."

"Not right?" Clark and Jon shared a look. "Everything seems fine. How do you know? Get a report from O in your earpiece?"

Bruce shook his head, eyes looking around sharply. "Someone's watching us."

Before Clark could even begin to think of a response to that, Bruce jumped forward right as a gunshot rang out, covering Damian.

Jon screamed as Bruce grunted, a blossom of red blooming from his right bicep. Damian scowled, pulling out a sword from a hidden sheath on his body. Jon went white.

"You had that on you the entire time??" He whimpered, backing towards Clark. "Relax, dimwit. It's not made of Kryptonite."

Bruce pulled off his shirt, craning his head to inspect his wound. He hissed as the fabric brushed against the broken skin, spreading the blood further across his arm.

"We should get out of here before our mystery sniper takes another shot. We're easy pickings out here in the open."

He pressed his shirt against his arm, attempting to stifle the blood flow. Clark picked him up and tried not to brush against his gunshot wound as Bruce struggled to get back down.

"My arm is injured, not my legs."

"I still don't want to risk any side effects you might get from blood loss. I know you have a high pain tolerance but transportation would be much easier this way. Also, the faster we can get you to Alfred, the better."

Bruce sighed as he settled back into Clark's arms, lip curling as he was lifted into the air. He heard Damian start to curse in another language as Jon attempted to lift him as well.

"Language." Bruce muttered, head sliding down to meet Clark's chest. Clark simply chuckled and flew down the familiar path to Wayne Manor.

2.

Bruce grit his teeth as Clark landed on his balcony, the familiar feeling of his neck hairs rising washing over him once more. He tried to focus back on his book, but he found it difficult with his body desperately trying to warn him about a nearby threat, which happened to not be a threat at all.

"Hey B!" Clark greeted, his smile unnaturally bright, like the sun on the earth, like warmth on a cold day. It made him shiver.

"Hello, Clark." Bruce replied simply. It was always hard to grit out more than a few words in his presence, as he constantly felt like he should turn tail and run. It was one of the reasons why he chooses to communicate with grunts rather than speaking.

Clark walked inside, plopping himself on Bruce's bed. "Busy today? There's a game tonight and Gotham is playing against Metropolis. I got some tickets, if you'd like to come? I've already asked Lois, but she's too busy following her newest Lex scoop."

"Which is?"

"She's convinced that Luthor's been ordering sex toys filled with Kryptonite as a way to avoid detection. After he was caught last press conference, he tried to play it off as a new product they were planning on branching out to, but everyone knows that—"

"That Luthor's bald head is probably the last thing you'd want to get off to? Yeah, I figured."

"Yeah. Anyways, I'm pretty sure that one she finds what she's looking for she's gonna get one for me as a 'souvenir'. God, I hope she doesn't. That would be awkward to explain."

"Mhm." Bruce hummed, placing his book face-down on the table, unable to even continue the farce of reading it.

"So, about that game? I'll pay for everything if I have to." Clark waved the tickets in front of him, trying to tempt Bruce into accepting.

"Clark, you are aware that I'm a billionaire."

"Yeah, I know." Clark huffed. "Can't I just do something nice for my friend every once in a while?"

Bruce shook his head fondly, reaching over to grab his ticket from Clark's hand, trying to ignore the spike of fear he felt while getting closer.

"B, you good?" Clark frowned at him. "I heard your heart skip a beat or two."

"Fine." Bruce waved him off. "Let's talk about the game. I can't let you sit there thinking your team is going to win while I know very well the Knights are."

"Hey!"

[hexedwinchester]

hi! can i request a Sam Winchester x reader (established relationship) smut where he basically just manhandles reader, and afterwards its all cute and cuddly with aftercare?

hi smut-reader noni!

Not sure if you are same one who requested the last smut, but if you are, it's safe to say enjoyed that smut, right? :)

Not very Pro with smut writing to be honest, but I'm having fun practicing. So for this request, I've gone with Sam x fem! Reader. There's manhandling, hair pulling, pinning and sweet after care. You can either read it below or check it out on ao3. Keen to know your thoughts. :)

Thanks for the ask and Happy Reading!

A Lesson In Following Orders

The door slams shut with a loud bang, making you flinch as you drop the weapons bag. Sam is mad; you can tell. The quiet that fills the room is deafening, making you wish Sam would say something—or at least scold you, because you know you have it coming.

"Sam..." you start to apologize, turning around to face him.

"Don't start!" Anger seeps through his voice. "I explicitly told you to wait for my signal and you didn't listen."

"I know, but it got the job done. That's what matters, right? You kill the bad guy and save the day."

"The vamp almost ripped your neck off!" Sam never shouts. At least, you haven't heard him since the last few months you've been with him. And there have been occasions where he could have, but he never dropped his calm. Somehow, you managed to push that button today.

"Well, he didn't!" It's a lame response but that's all you have.

Sam clenches his jaw, takes a deep breath. "You are no longer coming on hunts." He makes the decision, leaving no room for discussion. 

It pisses you off because how dare he think he can make that call for you. You stomp in his direction, blocking the path to the tiny bathroom. "You don't get to say what I can or can't do. You are not the boss of me!" 

In that anger, you shove him hard but the mountain of a person that he is, it doesn't do damn to even rock him on his heels. What it does instead is flip a switch he managed to turn off a minute ago.

His hand snakes around your waist drawing you closing till your chest is flushed against his. Another hand tangles into your hair yanking it with a force. "Sam-" but he cuts you off by crushing his lips to yours.

The kiss is a ravaging storm, intense and all-consuming. You respond with fervent abandon, your hands grasping the broad expanse of his shoulders as if clinging to a lifeline. The muscles beneath your touch flex and ripple like they have a mind of their own, as the hand tangled in your golden locks slides down to grasp your jaw. He turns your head with a gentle yet firm pressure, exposing the vulnerable curve of your neck, drawing a helpless moan from your lips as his mouth skims over the sensitive skin, his teeth sinking in with a tender brutality that makes you cry out in exquisite surrender.

Sam's usual gentle touch is replaced by a fierce passion that leaves you breathless and bewildered. "Sam, what are you doing?" The words tumble from your lips like a desperate plea. His lips curve into a triumphant smile against your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "Teaching you a lesson in following orders," he whispers, his voice husky with desire.

Another nip at your collarbone turns your legs to jelly, and you cling to Sam's massive form. He takes advantage of your weakness, lifting you with ease and pinning you against the wall. You're grateful for the support, as your body threatens to melt into a puddle of desire. Rough hands yank off the bloodstained tank top, discarding it carelessly. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, his eyes blazing with a fierce, unbridled lust.

Half-hooded, his gaze roams over your dazed eyes, your quivering lips, and your heaving chest, as if devouring every inch of your being. You're trapped in the inferno of his passion, unable to escape the all-consuming flames that threaten to reduce you to ashes. And yet, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You try to wring your wrists free, but his grip is unyielding, tight enough to leave bruises. His hips are flush against yours, restricting your movements. At this point, you can only squirm with wanton desire as he claims your lips in a bruising kiss that leaves you aching for more.

Cupping you jaw, he tilts your chin up as he delivers a sharp bite on your throat. 

"Oh Sam!" you moan, your voice trembling with a mix of need and excitement.

"Shut up!" he orders, playfully slapping your cheek. It doesn’t sting or hurt but sends a rush of warmth through your belly. Whatever has gotten into Sam, making him treat you like a ragdoll, you hope it’s here to stay. There's something incredibly erotic about being pinned by him.

His breathy moan warms the heated skin of your neck, and the hard length pressing between your legs ignites a swirl of molten lava in your belly.

You are acutely aware of all points where his body is touching yours. Your skin feels alive as his fingers trace an unknown path from your base of your neck down to your chest. The tips graze the swell of your breasts sending jolts under your skin. 

"Sam!" You mewl when he squeezes your breast, the flesh soft and malleable between his calloused fingers.

He chuckles in the curve of your neck, licking a spot he bit and answers with another firm squeeze that has you pushing your chest further into him. His thumb dips into the cup of your bra and swipes over the sensitive, hardened peak. Pulling his face back, his eyes drop from your face to your chest.

The thin fabric of your bra is pushed aside, freeing your nipple. The cold air on your warm skin hardens it to a point of exquisite sensitivity, making you yelp when he rolls the pad of his thumb over it. Shivers and sparks from your nipple shoot down to the core between your legs. He rolls the bud between his expert fingers, pinching until you release a litany of moans.

That smug look on his face is infuriating. You don't know if you want to kick him or beg him to screw you senseless against this wall. 

As if reading into your turmoil, he slowly lowers his face to your chest. Looking into your lust laden eyes, his mouth closes over your painfully hard button. 

Stars explode behind your eyes when his soft, warm tongue laps the little bud. Each flick of his tongue is a sensual torture that leaves you yearning for more. Pain mixes with pleasure as the licking turns into sharp nips and nibbles. You want to break free, but you also want more of this delicious torment.

Somehow he has managed to keep your hands pinned overhead with one hand whereas the other one is splayed over your hips. You are at his mercy until Sam decides to give you a break, which doesn’t seem to be in the cards for you anytime soon.

He frees your nipple from his mouth and blows gently over the abused bud. He does the same to the other one until you are a writhing, moaning mess in his hands. Then, standing to his full height, he looks at you with those lustful eyes and turns you around, pushing you face-first into the wall.

The pale blue wallpaper rubs against your sweaty skin, the rough texture amplifying your heightened senses. He lowers your hands, letting them rest at your sides, and you hear some shuffling behind you. Before you can turn, Sam presses his now bare torso into your back, his warmth seeping into you.

"Sam, what's going on?" You mumble, trying to look over your shoulder.

"Shhhh, babygirl. Gonna teach you how to take orders."

His finger slip under the strap of your bra. He pulls it away and then releases it to snap against your skin. It barely stings but your senses are so heightened, it feels sharp and electric.

Rolling the strap down your arm, he kisses you shoulder tip. His teeth graze over the sensitive spot as he bites into your skin hard enough to leave a mark. Your body tries to shrink away from the pain, but Sam locks your wrists behind your back, holding you in place as he leaves another bruising bite, this time on your shoulder blade. The grip on your wrists loosens as he unhooks your bra, tossing it away with a flick of his wrist.

He turns you around and pulls you into a tight embrace, lips hungrily latching onto your swollen ones. Your naked bodies rub and slide together, the friction igniting sparks of pleasure. His hands hook under your thighs, wrapping them around his slim waist. He hoists you up like you weigh nothing and walks to the double bed.

Instead of lowering you gently, he throws you onto the bed, the force giving you a whiplash. The springs groan as he crawls over you, fingers intertwining with yours. He spreads your arms open, pinning you down as he dips down to steal kisses, his hands roaming and squeezing your soft, supple skin.

Slender fingers brush your waist, dipping under the waistband of your jeans. He pops open the buttons and slides them off your legs in one quick, fluid motion. Your panties see the same fate as your jeans leaving you completely exposed and at Sam's mercy. A blush creeps up your face as Sam's eyes take in your body, as if he's seeing you for the first time even though it's not.

Sinking back onto the bed, he bends your leg as he nuzzles and kisses the swell of your calf. Inch by inch, his lips brush the inside of your thighs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His breath is hot against your skin, each kiss and nip sending shivers down your spine.

Your breath hitches as he reaches the apex of your thighs, his lips hovering just above your most sensitive spot. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, your body trembling with a mix of fear and desire. His eyes meet yours, a wicked grin playing on his lips as he finally closes the distance, his tongue flicking out to taste you.

You gasp, your hands clutching at the sheets as he teases you with slow, deliberate strokes. Each movement is precise and calculated, designed to drive you wild with need. Your hips buck against his mouth, desperate for more, but he holds you in place, taking his time to savor every moment.

When he finally pulls back, you’re panting, your body thrumming with unfulfilled desire. He smirks, clearly enjoying the sight of you so undone beneath him. With a swift motion, he pulls off his pants, followed by his boxers freeing his throbbing erection.

He climbs back over you, positioning himself between your thighs. His hands slide up your body, tracing the curves and dips of your form as he aligns himself with your entrance. His gaze locks onto yours, a silent promise passing between you.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, he fills you completely, a moan tearing from your throat at the sensation. He starts to move, his pace unhurried and controlled, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your bodies move together in a perfect rhythm, the connection between you is palpable and electric.

His mouth finds yours again, his kiss deep and demanding, his tongue tangling with yours in a heated dance. His hands roam your body, exploring every inch, squeezing and caressing, heightening your pleasure with every touch. You arch into him, your nails digging into his back, urging him on.

As the pressure builds, your moans and gasps fill the room, mingling with the sounds of skin against skin. Sam’s grip tightens, his control slipping as he chases his own release. His thrusts become more erratic, each one harder and faster than the last, driving you both closer to the edge.

He suddenly grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. His hips snap into you with a force that leaves you breathless, his pace unrelenting and rough. Your body arches off the bed, your back bowing as he takes you harder, his growls mixing with your cries of pleasure.

"Take it, babygirl," he commands, his voice a deep, rough growl that sends shivers down your spine. "You’re mine."

His hands travel down your sides, squeezing your hips before lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. The new angle has him hitting deeper, each thrust making stars explode behind your eyes. Your free leg wraps around his waist, pulling him even closer as you both spiral towards release.

The intensity is overwhelming, his dominance leaving you breathless and desperate. His fingers dig into your flesh, his grip bruising as he drives into you with a fervor that has you teetering on the edge. Your nails rake down his back, leaving red trails in their wake as you cling to him, your body shaking with the force of your impending climax.

"Come for me," he orders, his voice rough and commanding. "Now."

With one final, powerful thrust, he sends you over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you shatter into a million pieces. He follows you moments later, his release spilling into you as he groans your name, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm.

When the aftershocks finally subside, he collapses beside you, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. The intensity of the moment lingers in the air, but his touch is now soft, tender, a stark contrast to the raw passion of just moments before.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his fingers trailing down your cheek. "You okay, babygirl?" he asks, his voice a soothing balm.

You nod, feeling the warmth of his concern seep into your bones. "Yeah, I'm good," you whisper, your body still buzzing from the experience.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

He helps you sit up slowly, supporting your weight as you move. The bed shifts as he stands, and you watch as he moves with a grace that belies the power he just displayed. He disappears for a moment, and you hear the sound of water running before he returns with a warm, damp cloth.

Sam gently wipes your skin, his touch careful and precise. The warmth of the cloth soothes the lingering aches, and you close your eyes, leaning into his care. Once he's satisfied that you're clean, he tosses the cloth aside and crawls back onto the bed, pulling you into his lap.

"Lie down," he instructs softly, guiding you onto your stomach. You comply, stretching out on the cool sheets.

His hands find the knots in your back, his fingers pressing and kneading the tense muscles with expert precision. You melt under his touch, the tension draining away as he works out the kinks and aches from your body. His thumbs dig into your shoulders, coaxing the stiffness from your muscles, and you let out a contented sigh.

He continues to massage your back, his hands moving in slow, deliberate circles. The care he takes with each stroke, each press of his fingers, makes you feel cherished and safe. He moves down your spine, working out the tension with a practiced ease, and you can't help but marvel at the contrast between his tenderness now and the fierce passion he'd shown earlier.

When he's finished, he pulls you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You nestle into the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. His fingers trace soothing patterns on your back.

"Y/n?" He calls you.

You are tired and want to fall into a blissful abyss but the concern in his voice dissolves the sleep. "Yeah, Sam?"

"Don't do that to me again," his voice is a plea. "I can't lose you. Not like this, not a hunt."

You look up, his face is back to his old self, full of concern and worry. It was reckless of you to not listen to him. He came so close to losing you today, to losing himself. 

"I'm sorry, Sam." It feels like an empty apology since you didn't do anything to make it better for him. So you swear to him and to yourself that you will follow his orders.

"I love you too much to lose you."

You smile, feeling the weight of his words settle around you like a protective blanket. Wrapped in his embrace, you drift off to sleep, knowing that with Sam by your side, you're loved, cherished, and cared for in every possible way

[a-writers-blurbs]

Curiosity... the Dog?

As promised, I've got two updates for you guys! Here's the first one!

Ao3

WTTPD

FFN

Huge shoutiut to @ladydanitar for helping me edit this artwork! She's an awesome editor (yall should check out her ko-fi)

Preview:

Sesshomaru watched as the Miko quietly walked away from the campsite. Pain and depression radiated from her aura, causing Sesshomarus instincts to be on edge.

It was unnatural, the dynamics of their pack. Unlike what would be expected, the Miko herself presented as the alpha rather than a son of the greatest alpha to ever live, as one would expect.

And the disrespect she suffered at the hands of her first packmate as an alpha was unheard of. It made him wonder if she even understood her position as leader of the group.

[twola]

If you're comfy with it: high honor!Arthur comforting an F!reader's shame and insecurities in regards to being badly scarred in some way? I'm talking large patches with burns, scars, whip marks, what have you; enough to make someone jump if they saw her beneath her clothes. Esp bc she feels weak for already being smaller than most of the camp. Ty if you do this!!

Getting back to writing, it was great to bang this one out (teehee). Working on clearing up my request queue, along with a renewed vigor for writing my longfic, Devil’s Backbone.

Painted Ribbons

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Arthur’s new lover refuses to bare herself to him, and he’s dying to know why.

Arthur’s gaze lingers, for longer than is socially appropriate, at the swing of your skirts as you carry the overflowing tub of dirty laundry on your hip toward where the other women have set up for the day.

His thoughts drift to the night prior, where his hands dove up those skirts, eliciting soft mewls from your throat like music to his ears. He might have to pull you away from that damned laundry pile to do it again. His blood pulses through his veins like a livewire at the thought of it.

As if you could hear the conversation he was having with himself in his mind, you look up and make eye contact with him, a small, shy smile gracing your face before your eyes bat back down toward the laundry.

You’re a pretty little thing - short in stature, shy, and quiet - except when he has two fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. He has no idea how this started - he had been admiring you from afar, enamored by the way your nose scrunches up when you think, or how your pretty little eyes seem to always be looking down, lined with dark lashes that bat innocently when you look up. But whiskey - whiskey was your downfall, as many a poor girl, a night when you had partaken enough to shed your shyness and approach him, threading your arms around his neck as he eagerly pulled you into his lap. The meeting of your lips - well, that was his downfall. He had hummed into your mouth as he pushed his tongue against your lips and the moan that bubbled up from your chest - he knew he was a goner.

Was that only a week ago? 

Was it only two days ago that he took you out into the woods a short distance from camp and kissed you until you were both breathlessly clinging to each other?

Surely, this all must be some strange dream - last night must have been a strange dream, where you snuck into his tent in the middle of the night and crawled into his cot. He must have been unconscious when you allowed him to draw your skirts up and touch your knees, trail his fingers up your thighs, cup your core in his big warm hands, drown out your sigh with a kiss of his own.

Sliding a leg of your bloomers to the side, fingers working through the thatch of hair and brushing against the seam of your body, wet already, ready for him.

The slide of his index finger into your cunt went straight to his cock. God, what it would feel like to press another part of him inside you, to cleave you, to fully make you his. The thought alone was enough to sustain him as he worked his finger inside you, thrusting into your wetness enough to press his middle finger inside as well. Pleasing you, working you, giving to you, until you shudder beneath him, back arching up, your perfect little cunt clenching around his fingers, and it's everything he is not to come in his pants then and there.

Arthur shakes his head slightly from his seat near the small campfire, blinking back into the present. It surely couldn’t have been a dream. Could it?

But no, because you look up again, catching his eyes, and flush slightly, smiling like you can’t help it. 

Definitely not a dream.

-

To his delight, you’ve snuck into his tent again late at night, clad in a shirt over a simple petticoat skirt, barefoot and giggling softly as you climb into his cot, into his waiting arms. 

After several moments of bodies tessellating and the shedding of a skirt into a heap on the ground next to the cot, Arthur grunts and settles you next to him, hand creeping up your stomach over your shirt.

You shake your head, swatting his hand away as he reaches toward the buttons of your blouse.

“C’mon now, little darlin’, let me-”

He is cut off as your other hand sneaks into his open trousers, wrapping your little fingers around his cock, and pumping it heartily. His protest is forgotten quickly as he thrusts his hips forward nigh uncontrollably. He quickly works his pants down his thighs, kicking them off and climbing further up the cot as you scoot backward upon it, bare-legged and your shirttails hanging between them, hiding your cunt from his view. 

But when you lie down completely, smiling up at him while spreading your legs, he swears he’s died and gone to heaven. He drops the request to strip you down and strokes his shaft as he leans over you. 

“Y’wanna do this now?”

You respond by sitting up on your elbows and chasing his mouth, pressing your lips against his as he smiles into the kiss. He presses his hips forward, running the head of his cock up and down your slit, covering it in your wetness.

“Oh - oh,” You moan, and he shushes you quietly as he presses the first inch of him through the tight ring of muscle at your core, gritting his teeth against his own moan as your tight, wet warmth welcomes him in. 

By the time he’s slid completely within the sheath of your cunt, you’re a gasping, quivering mess beneath him, a silent whine erupting from you as he pulls his hips back to begin thrusting. The cot beneath you creaks as he settles into a rhythm, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he fucks you.

Your hands ball up his shirt, fingernails digging into his back as you turn your head into his neck and moan into his skin, your cunt clutching around him and your little frame shuddering as you come. 

God, it's so good.

Arthur groans, jerking himself from your warmth, stroking his length twice before his hot spend splatters on your inner thigh, causing you to mewl aloud for a moment before you have the wherewithal to slap your hand over your mouth to stifle the sound within his tent.

He collapses to the side of you, breathless, the cot creaking more as he lies on the very edge of it.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do that in camp.” You laugh into his ear as he breathes heavily.

Arthur places a hand on his chest as he turns his head toward you, throwing his other arm around your frame and dragging you bodily against him.

“Have any plans for tomorrow night?”

-

He’s spirited you away in the lull of activity right after supper - where Grimshaw and Pearson weren’t going to be missing your labor after you’ve washed dishes, and where Dutch was unlikely to send him out on something without advance notice.

The town just a few miles from camp isn’t much to talk about - but a hotel with clean sheets and blessed walls it did have. He’s paid up at the desk and all but dragged you up the stairs, you yelp in amusement when he pulls you against the door and leans down to capture your lips as he slides the key into the lock, pressing his hips against you for a moment before opening the door. 

You back in, smiling, breathless, and he’s barely latched the door behind him before letting his gunbelt clatter to the hardwood floor, kicking off his boots and shedding his jacket to crumble in heaps on that floor. You giggle lightly as you kick your shoes off as he gets close enough to encircle your waist with his large hands, pulling you into another searing kiss for a long moment before pulling back.

“C’mon, this big ol’ bed ain’t gonna break in itself.”

You smile, moving to untie your skirts, the layers of cotton hitting the floor, and shimmy your bloomers down over your hips, letting them pile with your skirts. You reach toward him, bare from the waist down, and he acquiesces to your grabbing at his clothing, quickly unbuttoning his shirt as he shrugs his suspenders down and pushes his pants to fall to the floor. 

He reaches for your shirt, and you scoot backward, onto the bed, just out of reach.

Arthur frowns, reaching toward you again, and your smile immediately falls, moving further back on the bed. 

As if he were approaching a skittish deer, he sits on the bed next to you and reaches toward your hips, very clearly staying away from your shirt.

“Why won’t you let me look ‘atcha?” Arthur asks, his hands around your hips edging on gentle as compared to lustful.

“Ain’t nothing you wanna see.” You grit out, your hands fisting in your shirttails, unable to make eye contact with him.

“Course I wanna see all of you, you’re the prettiest little thin’ I’ve ever set my eyes on.”

You breathe out heavily as he reaches for the first button. He pauses, not reaching any further. Instead, he leans over and places his lips on your forehead, in an attempt to comfort you.

When he pulls away, you look up at him, let out another shuddering breath, and pull his hands toward your buttons, allowing him to continue. You look at your lap as he unbuttons your shirt, baring your breasts to him, and put up no struggle as he pulls the sleeves of your shirt down your arms, bare to him for the first time.

“Sweetheart, what is it? I ain’t seeing nothin’ that doesn’t make me want you more.” Arthur leans in and cups one of your small breasts in his large hand, thumb grazing your nipple and you shiver in response.

“M’ back.” You whisper, continuing to avoid eye contact with him.

His hand moves up from your breast, up your shoulder, rounding that long curve, and down your back.

You close your eyes and are unable to stop the tears that slide down your cheeks as you feel his fingers pass over the raised ridges of your skin. He pauses, and you can’t hold back the sob that boils up from your throat.

Arthur immediately draws you into his embrace, pulling you to him, settling you in his lap, drawing your head into the curve of his neck.

“M… my daddy,” You sob into his skin, “He was a right asshole… H-he ain’t never forgive me for my momma dyin’ giving birth to m-me.”

He pats the back of your head, his other arm swinging wide across your waist, his bare skin against yours, fully against the stripes of scarring painted across your back.

“Used me as his personal whippin’ p-post. I ran away when I was old enough to.” You clutch at your arms, trying to make himself smaller in his embrace.

“ m’sorry, sweetheart.” Arthur rumbles out, his hand moving down from the back of your head to your upper back, rubbing in circles gently as you shiver in his arms.

“But some scars ain’t gonna change the fact that I think you’re the prettiest girl this side of the Lanaheechee.” He presses his lips against the crown of your head.

“Cause you haven’t seen ‘em yet. Ugly. The last man I was on my back for threw me outta the room after seein’ me.”

“Well, he’s a goddamn fool then.” Arthur snaps back, letting go of you as you pull away, your watery eyes finally making contact with his. You sigh and turn around in the bed.

Arthur frowns. Your back is absolutely covered in scarred-over lashes, pink and raised, from your shoulder blades down the curve of your spine to the dimples above your hips. Your shoulders shudder as you try to stifle a sob.

You feel his breath against your back first, then, his impossibly soft lips kissing down your spine, against the raised and pinkened lash marks that litter your skin. You gasp as he catches you off guard - instead of recoiling, he’s leaning in, instead of pushing you away, he’s pulling you closer.

You shiver, turning immediately toward him and surging against his lips, pulling him downward as you lay back on the mattress.

He slots himself between your hips, pulling back from your lips to look down at you. He brushes a lock of your hair from your forehead. 

“Now I don’t want you hidin’ from me no more. Got it?”

You roll your hips against his, relief and desire palpable between you.

“Got it.”

[artaxlivs]

Lie On My Front

“Lie to me.”

“What?” Stiles flails, rapping his knuckles painfully against the door jam as he spins to face Derek. “Why? Why would I do that?” He sticks the knuckles of his injured hand into his mouth, sucking at the pain, knowing it won’t help but the placebo of thinking it does being too well trained into him.

“Because I can’t go back to the way we were.” Derek growls, glaring at Stiles’ hand until he drops it from his mouth.

Oh.

“Because of the–”

“Yes,” Derek growls, cutting him off and taking a step away from Stiles. “Because of that.”

That.  

That part of their day yesterday when Stiles and Derek had woken up, tied together in a crate that was clearly on or in a moving vehicle. A crate that was only wide enough for one person, only long enough for one and a half people and not nearly tall enough for two people to be stacked on top of each other.

That part where Stiles had woken up in the dark, a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth and rubbed his face into his pillow - a pillow that turned out to be Derek’s junk. He was facedown between Derek’s splayed legs, their forearms were bound tightly together Derek’s right arm to Stiles’ left, and vice versa, Derek’s splayed fingers cupping Stiles’ elbows. Not only was it a horribly awkward way to be tied together, it made it impossible to reach for anything because neither could bend their arms while the other was strapped to them.

“Stiles, get your face off of my–!” Derek growled but it was low and sounded pained.

Scoffing, Stiles said, “Sure thing, where- where do you want me to go?” He tried scooting away but pulling on Derek’s arms just caused a thunk in the dark where he must have hit his face off the ceiling of the crate.

“Ow, what are you–”

Stiles pushed himself upwards this time, trying to crawl so his face was on Derek’s washboard abs. Jesus, those washboard abs. Here he was, finally within licking range of them and he couldn’t even do it. Could he? No, no he couldn’t. Consent and all that. But god, Derek smelled so good. All clean sweat and musk. And Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to smell that no matter what Derek’s arguments to the contrary, he was turned on by having Stiles’ face in his lap. Which was definitely a revelation.

It wasn’t just the rush of earthy musk giving him away either, it was the growing bulge that brushed against Stiles cheek and jaw, even the tip of his nose, every time one of them attempted to adjust their position again.

Stiles was pretty fucking sure that he himself smelled of desperation and need. Which he probably used to smell like all the time, back in high school. But it’s been a long fucking time since he was a desperate bisexual virgin forced to watch the hottest man alive walk around shirtless all the time. No, over the past six years, he’d not only grown into his long arms and legs but he’d also learned to use his Bambi eyes and full mouth to his advantage so desperation and need were not something he experienced anymore. He was a card carrying queer now who had dated a full rainbow spectrum of people. 

But.

Derek. This was Derek. It didn’t matter that Stiles was twenty-two years old, a college graduate, and got laid on the regular now. Put him in an awkward position with Derek freaking Hale and he was reduced to a bumbling horny teenager again. Stiles pressed his hips down against the wood of the crate, trying to gently crush the hopes and dreams of his inappropriate boner. Because hope was happening. Derek had kept Stiles at arms length for years. And Stiles had tucked his crush way down deep because he knew that Derek had *trauma* and he didn't want to step on his toes.

But.

Derek lied. He'd lied to himself and to Stiles. He was a lying liar who lied. On his back. And his front. 

“Hey, did you know that only when you lie on your front is it actually called prone?”

Huffing, Derek mumbled, “Stiles, what the are you even talking about?”

“Supine. I’m actually talking about supine. That's what it's called when you lie on your back but Scott and I decided it’s a secret word for a werewolf STI, thoughts?”

“I think you’re an idiot.” Derek growled but it was fond. 

“Oh hey! I have an idea,” Stiles exclaimed as it hit him. He tried to wriggle up a bit so he could rest his chin on Derek’s belt buckle. Derek whined, trying to pull his knees up to protect himself probably but only managed to squeeze Stiles between his thighs instead. Which, of course, was a wet dream come to life and Stiles’ boner completely ignored propriety and fattened up in his too tight jeans. Jesus fucking Christ.

Derek’s boner had the same idea apparently because it was currently pressed into the side of Stiles’ throat. It was actually pressing up against his jaw as well. Stiles gave an indelicate snort as he wondered how appropriate a monster cock joke right now would be.

Probably not very. 

“Stiles.” Derek seethed through clenched teeth, squeezing the backs of Stiles’ elbows with his fingertips. Thankfully he was sans claws.

“Stop moving!” Stiles choked out, feeling the press of Derek’s bulge against his Adam’s apple.

“You stop!” Derek hissed, closing his legs around him until Stiles was forced to lay perfectly still.

“Okay, okay, listen - I’ll press my elbows together and you grow just your pinky claw out and try to carefully cut the binding off the other arm.”

They tried it. It didn’t go well. Stiles elbowed Derek in the dick trying to keep his face out of his crotch and Derek drew blood on the first attempt at cutting the binding.

“Dammit!” Derek cursed. “I can’t do this because I can’t see the angle well enough. I’m going to knick that artery in your elbow. You’ll have to direct my claw.”

“How do you propose I do that?” Stiles asked incredulously, “My hands are kind of,” he attempted a jazz hands maneuver which jostled both of them and Derek bucked up, hitting Stiles in the chin with his huge freaking dick, “...tied,” Stiles finished lamely. 

Sighing, Derek got them back into position. “With your teeth,” He finally said, knowing full well that Stiles was going to laugh his ass off at the irony of that.

Barely, just barely, Stiles managed to avoid dropping his face into Derek’s lap to giggle like a schoolgirl over that. Turning his head, he pressed his face into his own bicep and stifled his laughter.

Still chortling a bit, Stiles groped around with his mouth in the dark until he found Derek’s bent pinky, he took the knuckle between his teeth and felt Derek’s claw slide out of the end. It’s slow going, made worse by their position and the heat of the small crate. It’s got small ventilation holes so they won’t suffocate but it’s doing nothing for the temperature. If only one of them wasn’t a freaking werewolf who wasn’t basically a giant furnace on legs.

Nice legs, muscular and hairy, currently closed around Stiles in a way that is definitely going to be featured in his Stiles’ time later. Above him, Derek keened and his hips made an aborted thrust up into Stiles throat. He bit down hard on Derek’s finger so as not to lose his grip on it and then Derek’s hips did roll up.

He tried not to but the hard cock pressing into his jugular made Stiles gag reflexively then he moaned and his eyes rolled back in his head. Jesus - he could just pull Derek’s zipper down with his teeth and see how much of that freaking monster he could in his throat instead of against it. Sixteen year old him would have been mortified and freaking out but now Stiles is more experienced at reading the body signals of other people. He knows that Derek is feeling the same thing and holy shit is that a turn on. Why are they even bothering to pretend otherwise?

“Stiles, the binding, cut it loose. Please.” Derek practically begged, all of his muscles tense like he’s a second away from saying fuck it and humping Stiles’ face. And Stiles is into that. He’s also very into Derek begging and finds himself wondering if Derek ever bottoms because honestly, it would be a travesty for no one to enjoy that ass. “Stiles!”

Stiles couldn't answer, his mouth was still clamped around Derek’s knuckle. He got back to it, using the claw like a tiny saw and it’s not as simple as he’d hoped. The binding isn’t ropes, it’s more like a sleeve wrapped and wrapped and tied in several places so it doesn’t just start to unravel when they cut through the first one finally.

They tried to pull their arms apart anyway but it didn't budge. Mother fucker. Whoever did this to them deserves props first because Stiles has never been tied up in a way that he can’t get out of alone and second, deserves a kick to the face because fuck them, seriously.

“Okay, let’s go again,” He told Derek as sweat pooled at his temples, on the ridge of his upper lip, the back of his neck and at the base of his spine. It’s hot and he’s got a raging boner. He wants a bottle of water and a bottle of lube, it doesn’t even have to be in that order.

They carefully shift around, adjusting their arms for the new angle. Stiles has to wedge himself around Derek’s hip to where he’s almost lying on his side so that he can be under their bound arms to get his teeth around Derek’s pinky again.

Everything got awkward much faster this time. Stiles bobs his head up and down, back and forth. Derek curled his hips toward Stiles to give him more room to get to the bindings but it also brought Derek’s junk into contact with the hollow of Stile’ throat and his collarbone. He moaned around the finger in his mouth, resisting the urge to bury his face in Derek’s crotch and let himself be ridden until his toes curl.

They’re through the next section of binding and they don’t stop this time by silent agreement. Stiles wriggled up a bit, adjusting his body deeper into the V of Derek’s legs. The heat of him there is almost burning through Stiles’ thin cotton T-shirt and he can feel the tight rounded swell of Derek’s balls as they tap against him with every jostle of the back and forth sawing motion.

Derek moaned through what sounded like closed lips, possibly over fangs. His other leg moved to clamp around Stiles and his hips rolled up, grinding his erection against Stiles’ chest. Stiles swallowed hard, closing his lips around Derek’s knuckle and unconsciously dragging his tongue along the back of the finger. Swallowing his own moan, his body rolled up to meet Derek’s and he sawed faster and harder, giving up any pretense that they weren’t dry humping their way to freedom.

Stiles could feel Derek’s hips straining to press his cock against Stiles for more friction but it’s become impossible with how he’s now pretzeled under their arms and still sawing away. There’s a ripping noise as they cut through the next section and finally Derek pulled, tearing the fabric bind to free that set of arms The binding was still unraveling even as Derek growled low in his throat, reached down to cup the back of Stiles’ nape and thrust his crotch into Stiles’ face.

Stiles didn’t mind at all. He gripped Derek’s hip with his blissfully free hand, pulling him closer as Derek humped against his cheeks and nose. His lips catch on the fabric of Derek’s jeans and he’s probably going to have rug burn but he doesn’t give a single fuck. He just breathed Derek in, mouthing at the huge bulge as he dry humped Derek’s knee where it’s trapped between his thighs.

His blood was beating to the rhythm of his own racing heartbeat in Stiles’ ears and he could hear Derek grunting and whimpering when suddenly Derek arched into him, let out a low pitched whine and came. Hips stuttering and bumping against Stiles through the aftershocks. It was hot and bitter in Stiles’ nose and mouth, made his eyes burn a little but the knowledge that Derek basically just came on his face sends him over the edge and he’s coming too, fingers dug into Derek’s hip and rutting against Derek’s leg as he grunted through his own orgasm.

He’d love to have lied there, sated and content in this warm enclosed space with Derek but Derek had other ideas apparently. They’re both still panting and sweating when he sliced the other bind open like butter, shoved hard enough at the lid of the crate that it exploded outward. Stiles doesn’t even have a chance to access their damage or location before Derek is throwing the roll up door up at the back and climbing up onto the roof.

There had been no chance to talk after Derek had dragged the driver out and figured out he was only a driver and knew nothing. Then they were too busy helping all the other supernaturals that had been trapped in their own crates in the back of the truck. The box truck had been headed to Los Angeles to the harbor but there’s no info in the truck about where it was going from there. 

Stiles had shown up today, at Derek’s, ready to research the how and why and who with him but instead, Derek has decided to have a melt down apparently.

Stiles would be pissed about it but he knows Derek. He knows him really well after all these years. He’s probably blaming himself. Paige, Kate, Jennifer Blake - even Braedon who’s been a mutually agreed upon no-strings-attached booty-call - all of the people Derek has been with had ulterior motives or didn’t want an actual relationship with him.

Stiles has his work cut out for him. Because he’s pretty sure he and Derek have been slowly moving toward this since the day they met. Now, this idiot thinks he took advantage because he’s somehow unaware that Stiles’ isn’t still a sixteen year old kid. Well.

“It’s your fault.”

Derek’s face falls but he nods, “I’m sorry. If you–”

“No,” Stiles tells him, shaking his head like Derek doesn’t get it. “You said lie to me. So I did.”

“What?” But then he realizes what Stiles is doing. “No, I shouldn’t–”

“Have walked away from me afterward?” Stiles says. “Yeah, you shouldn’t have.”

“No.” Derek growls. “Stiles, I used you to…to...”

Stiles rolls his eyes and crosses the room, pushing Derek until his shoulders hit the wall, “Derek, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a consenting adult and I consented - very enthusiastically. You’d know that if you’d stop punishing yourself.’

Crowding Derek further against the wall, Stiles lets one of his hands fall to Derek’s hip, pulling their bodies flush. The other hand is up on the wall next to Derek’s head, caging him in. It’s a callback to all the times Derek threw Stiles up against a wall or backed him into something. This time though, Stiles has the upper hand.

His nostrils flare and Derek breathes out, “Stiles, please.”

Groaning, Stiles leans in and brushes his lips against Derek’s softly because he was right, Derek begging is a thing of beauty. He wants to take him apart, soothe all the broken parts that other people left behind and then put him back together again. He wants Derek writhing and out of his mind with need just like yesterday, begging Stiles to let him come.

But he wants something else more.

“Please what?” Stiles taunts, squeezing Derek’s hips and dipping down to run his teeth along the tendon at Derek’s shoulder and neck. 

Whimpering, knees almost buckling at the touch on such a vulnerable spot, Derek keens, “Please fuck me.”

“I don’t want to fuck you,” Stiles admits and when Derek’s shoulders stiffens and he tries to pull away, Stiles presses in, clarifying, “I want to love you,” he shrugs one shoulder and adds, “and fuck you. I want both.”

Derek snorts but relaxes into Stiles’ touch, “Is that all?”

Smirking as he leans in to capture Derek’s mouth, Stiles whispers, “That’s just the beginning.”

This fic can also be found on Ao3 at Lie On My Front.

Thanks @okdeannawrites from the prompt "Lie to Me" and the challenge to write something short just for fun. I needed to shake out some writer's block and this was the perfect exercise!

[aesthetictarlos]

not sure if you’re still open for little prompts but i’ve been thinking about buck and tommy having a little argument about something inconsequential before they go off to work, but then one of them gets (mildly) injured on the job. and when they get home the other helps tend to their (little) cuts and bruises. and idk there’s lots of softness and little i’m sorries and we’ll try not to leave mad again because you never know what can happen in their line of work and now we have something important to come home to, etc. 🥹

Thank you for the prompt, it took me a while but here we go ❤️ I'm not sure about this one because angst is not my thing but they're so cute together so I hope it's good enough!

Buck nearly jumps out of his skin as he hears the key turn into the lock. He's been staring at the ceiling for the past two hours or so, losing track of the time and missing the fact that Tommy's shift ended twenty minutes ago.

His stomach churns at the unfamiliarity of all this; he'd normally stand up real quick to go greet his boyfriend with a hug and a soft kiss, but today he remains on the couch, silent and tense. Waiting.

"Evan?" Tommy calls from the hallway, and Buck can picture him toeing off his shoes and throwing the keys in the bowl on the small cabinet near the door. There's a bit of uncertainty laced to his voice, and Buck hates it.

"I'm on the couch!" He says, clearing his throat, and braces himself for– he doesn't even know what.

"Hey," Tommy murmurs, padding into the living room. "Wait, why are you home already?"

Home. They've been living together for a month now, but he's still not used to hearing Tommy say it.

Buck cautiously lifts his head up to meet Tommy's eyes and something breaks in his chest as he notices how Tommy's face crumples in worry as soon as he spots the purplish bruise adorning his cheekbone and the nasty scrapes along his arm.

"What the hell happened? Fuck, Evan, are you okay?" He asks, and instantly sits next to him on the couch, reaching out to grab his chin and angle his face towards him. "And why didn't you call me?"

Tears prickle Buck's eyes as he stares at him, mouth suddenly dry. "I– I tackled a man on the asphalt. I'm fine, just a bruise and some scratches, nothing broken even if my ribs hurt a bit. That's why Bobby sent me home."

Tommy caresses his cheekbone and his gentle touch feels so good that Buck might cry. "You don't look fine. Your face is swelling, and– Why didn't you call me?"

Buck ducks his gaze and shrugs. "I didn't– I didn't know if I could call you. We– We argued this morning and we haven't spoken all day long and–"

"Oh, Evan," Tommy sighs, shaking his head. "Of course you could've called. You should have," he cuts him off softly, cupping the side of his face that's not bruised. "I don't even remember why we argued but having an argument doesn't mean that I don't care about you. Evan, I wasn't avoiding you, I had a gruelling shift and I thought you wanted some space. You– You told me–"

"That I was glad we were both on shift so we wouldn't see each other for a while," Buck supplies, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry, I– I was mad. I didn't mean it. I missed you."

"Me too," Tommy whispers, bringing their foreheads together. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

Buck collapses against him, curling his arms around his neck to pull him close. "I love you. And I'm sorry," he repeats, voice raspy.

"We can't let this happen again," Tommy says, brushing a hand up and down his back.

Buck pulls back to glance at him. "We can't," he agrees. "What about we promise each other to never leave mad again? We don't argue that much, but we both know it will happen again and–"

"And when it happens, we will find a way to clear the air before one of us has to leave for work. And I also don't want us to go to bed angry with each other," Tommy says, reaching for his hand and squeezing.

"Neither do I," Buck admits, and smiles as he holds out his pinky. "Pinky promise?"

Tommy chuckles, hooking his finger to Buck's. "Pinky promise."

[thefairywithboots]

Just Pretend (Robert Plant x fem!Reader)

Hello! So this is a fic filling out a request that I got from an anon request chosen from a bed-sharing prompt list. Prompt #6: "our cover is that we're a couple and it only makes sense to sleep in the same bed."

Summary: This is a story of an unnamed female reader who is friends with Robert Plant in 1968. She has recently broken up with her boyfriend, but he simply does not like being told no, and continues pursuing her. Robert offers to "pretend" to be her boyfriend to scare the guy off.

Ratings: T(?) preferably like 16 and up. There's no smut but there's high sexual tension and a bunch of innuendos, because I am apparently incapable of writing Robert stuff without it. So I wouldn't consider this entirely NSFW but reader discretion is definitely advised.

I tag:

@bijouxcarys @ourshadowstallerthanoursoul @jimmysdragonsuit13 @elliotironmaidenfan @tangerine1969

@callmethehunter @firethatgrewsolow @brownskinsugarplum76

@m-faithfull @dzdndcnfsd @friccinfricks @starstruckfangirlsposts

@elliotts-personal-property @jimmypage7 @teaforqne @chromations @n0quart3r

If you want to be tagged for future Robert Plant fics, feel free to let me know and I'll add you to the list. :)

~~

1968

It was early evening as the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow through the windows of the small record shop where I worked. It had been a quiet day, it being Wednesday, with only a handful of customers dropping in to browse the stacks of records and chat about music.

The familiar sound of the bell above the door drew my attention from organising the records as it gently chimed, announcing the arrival of two familiar faces. I walked to the front of the shop and saw Robert Plant and John Bonham - affectionately known as Bonzo to all who knew him - enter the shop with easy smiles on their faces, clearly in the midst of talking about something that had happened at the band rehearsal that day.

The three of us had been friends for several years. Robert in particular was a regular customer of the shop and I always looked forward to him coming in. We talked endlessly about the music we loved and lent each other records to listen to.

I smiled as I greeted them, happy to see them after a long and slow day at work, eager to catch up. Bonzo was already flicking through the new releases at the front of the shop, concentrating on what he wanted to listen to next. When I looked at Robert and saw the sunlight making his golden locks look brighter than usual, I looked away.

He was my friend, and I felt guilty for finding him attractive. But over the past few months, I couldn't help but notice how much he had grown since we were teenagers. I had the urge to brush his hair from his face to feel how soft it was and to see how blue his eyes were.

And I would get extremely jealous when I saw how the girls would flock to him when he and Bonzo would perform a gig. This was expected; he was heartachingly beautiful, and he was only approaching his 20th birthday. But what I detested was when he would acknowledge these women and often vanish for several hours. It didn't take much imagination to know what he was doing with them.

I knew I had no right to feel this way. I had been in a relationship until recently and had no claim on Robert. Nevertheless, his presence continued to make me increasingly flustered.

As he leaned against the counter, he asked if we had any new blues records. He was looking for something new to listen to. It wasn't long before I was showing him the piles of records. We were in the middle of a conversation when I heard the bell over the door ring again.

I left him alone to browse the stacks while I went to the till to take care of the new customer. My heart sank when I saw Adam, my ex, casually looking at the records in the front. He had never been here before. He had always found my love of music rather annoying and couldn't understand why I would want to work in a shop full of dusty records. Which could only mean that he was here to see me, not the records.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, feeling the need to keep some distance between us.

Adam's green eyes met mine as he took in the sight of me. "Why didn't you call?"

My brow furrowed as I shook my head. "I have nothing to say to you, Adam. We're over."

Adam moved closer to me. I backed away from him, bumping into a shelf behind me. "We can't... you can't throw away what we had because of one stupid mistake."

My eyes flashed with anger. "You fucked my best friend," I said through gritted teeth.

Adam looked away in shame. "I'm sorry. I've told you how sorry I am."

I turned away from him to go back to the till. Adam reached out and grabbed my hand. I tried to pull it away, but he was much stronger than me. "Let go of me!" I said, trying but failing not to sound panicked.

Adam tried to pull me against him, to hold me. "Y/N, you can't do this, I still love you..."

"I'm pretty sure she told you to let her go," John's voice cut through Adam's pleading. He was standing at the edge of the aisle, glaring at Adam.

John was intimidating enough, but Adam had always been genuinely afraid of him. It took a lot to set him off, but he was known to do serious damage when he got into a fight. Adam let go of me immediately, refusing to meet Bonzo's gaze.

"Fine, fine. I can take a hint." He turned and walked out of the record shop, afraid to look back at me for fear of Bonzo breaking every one of his ribs.

Bonzo turned to look at me. "Are you all right?"

I took a deep breath and nodded. "Thanks..."

Robert came out of the back room, his arms full of records. He had missed the whole debacle with Adam. As he and Bonzo paid for their records, I did my best to calm down. With no one else in the shop, I thought it best to close up early in case Adam came back in after they left.

After all, I had to get ready for my friend Celia's birthday party tonight.

After paying for his purchases, Bonzo announced that he had to go home to Pat to check on the baby. This left me alone in the shop with Robert. I started to get ready to close up after he left.

"Do you need a lift home?" he asked me as we left the shop and I locked up.

I usually walked home, but Robert was a vintage car fanatic and loved to show them off to everyone.

"Um..." Before I could answer, Robert looked over my shoulder at someone behind me. I turned to follow his gaze and saw Adam watching me from around the corner. "Oh, shit."

"Isn't that your boyfriend?"

I shook my head. "Ex-boyfriend. We broke up last month after I caught him screwing Leila, my now former best friend. He came by while you were in the back of the shop, and... he wasn't happy about me ending things."

Robert's eyes narrowed as I explained. "Come on, I'll drive you home. I don't like the way he's lurking around watching you."

I didn't argue with him. I didn't want Adam to follow me home. I let him lead me to his pick-up truck and he opened the door for me as I slid into the passenger seat.

As he got in, I saw him glare at Adam from behind the wheel.

"You know, I never liked that bloke."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He seemed so... possessive of you. Like he saw you more as a trophy than an actual person."

I rolled my eyes at the idea of someone seeing me as a trophy.

Robert's gaze hardened when he saw that Adam was still watching me. "Hey, Y/N, can I ask you to do something?"

"Hm?"

"Lean a little closer to me."

I blushed at the thought but did as he asked. I didn't know what to expect, but what he did next made me yelp in shock. He pulled me closer until his lips were on my neck.

"Robert!" I gasped. "What are you doing!?"

He shushed me before trailing kisses up my neck and to my ear. His lips were even softer than I had imagined, and the sensation of him leaving soft caresses along the sensitive nerves of my neck made me dizzy.

"Showing this tosser that you don't belong to him any more," he murmured into my ear. His voice sounded like it was made of clouds.

I saw that Adam was still watching me, watching Robert kiss my neck. I stared back at him. Glaring, more like. I wanted to show him that I wasn't intimidated by him any more.

I felt Robert's teeth start to nibble gently on the skin of my neck and I felt a jolt of pleasure shoot straight between my thighs. My mouth opened as I moaned softly. The way my face contorted with pleasure must have been too much for Adam to watch as he finally walked away to his car, although he was clearly pissed off at what he had just witnessed.

I breathed heavily as I looked at Robert as we broke apart. The sound of my moaning had cut through the haze of lust that clouded my judgement and I realised what Robert and I had just done. Or rather, what he had done and my reaction to it only betrayed the attraction I felt for him. He had only done what he did to make Adam realise that I no longer wanted him, and my knickers were damp as a result.

I sat in the passenger seat, unable to look him in the eye. Robert started his truck and started to drive me home.

"Sorry about earlier," he said after a few minutes of silence. I stared out of the window, my face flushed. My hair was down around my neck. I was afraid to look at it in the rear-view mirror, to see if he had left a mark there. "I just... hated seeing the way he looked at you."

I turned to face him and saw that his eyes were on the road, looking sheepish.

"It's... okay." I stammered. "It... got him to go away, so..." I was afraid to tell him that I liked it and that I had fantasized about him doing that for so long. But that would ruin everything about our friendship.

He kind of already did that himself with the kiss, I told myself as we pulled into the driveway of my house.

As I was gathering my things, Robert was looking at me with an amused smirk on his face.

I felt my face flush even more. "What?"

"You plan on going anywhere tonight?"

"Celia's holding her birthday party tonight at her house. Why?"

"Just... wear your hair up when you go," he told me.

I felt my heart sink into the pit of my stomach, as I rushed out of the car.

~~

The hickey was even brighter than what I had feared it to be. I spent a good five minutes staring at it in the mirror of my bathroom as if I could will it to fade away. It instead only seemed to grow bigger.

I quickly covered my neck with my hair and started getting ready for Celia's party. If Adam happened to be there, then he would most definitely know where the hickey came from - he had witnessed Robert give it to me in the car park.

I showed up at Celia's house right at nightfall, and the party was already in full swing. Celia stumbled towards me as she exited the front door, giggling, barefoot, and already drunk. "You made it!" She threw her arms around my neck and handed me a plastic cup of something that smelled very strong.

She led me inside and the rest of our friends were playing drinking games. I however was unable to enjoy myself because I saw Adam watching me across the room.

So he had shown up after all. He didn't even like Celia. He didn't like any of my friends who didn't somehow benefit him, so why would he show up to her birthday celebration?

When Celia left me alone to get another drink from the bar, I had barely even sipped the strong substance that was in my plastic cup. It was also when I was alone that Adam decided to storm over to me, his glare piercing into me.

"So, you and Plant, huh!?" he demanded, so angry that I thought he was going to smack my cup out of my hands.

"W-what...?"

"Don't give me that shite. I saw you in the car park earlier this evening." His face was getting redder with rage the longer he spoke. "What do you see in him, huh!? Is it because he likes the same noise that you call music!? Is it because he got a job in a band with Jimmy fucking Page? Are you a rock star fucker now? Are you a groupie now?"

I backed away from him slowly but he wasn't finished yelling at me. He stalked towards me.

"Answer me, you whore!"

I backed into something solid and a pair of warm hands caught me to prevent me from falling. I turned around to find Robert standing over me; towering was more like it. He was so tall, he made everyone else around him look short.

He snaked his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. I felt my face go hot as he pressed his lips to my ear and told me to "just go along with it."

Adam's demeanor changed as he took in Robert holding me close to him. "What are you doing here, Robert?" Adam wasn't necessarily afraid of Robert but knew that if he tried to pick a fight with him, Bonzo would hunt him down and break his ribs.

"Attending a party with my girlfriend, how about you?" I felt myself jolt in shock at this claim. Robert gave me a slight reassuring squeeze. His tone wasn't friendly like it normally was. He glared daggers into Adam.

Adam narrowed his eyes, and I could see him trying to suppress a scowl of disgust. "Oh, so you've moved on so quickly?"

"I don't know what has your knickers in a bunch," Robert said while swishing his drink around in his cup. "From what I heard, you were the one who stepped out on the relationship, not her."

Adam didn't try to hide his scowl this time. "That isn't any of your business, Plant."

Robert's eyes met with Adam's his expression cold and angry. He turned to me, and his eyes melted into what looked like a warm ocean. "Let's get you another drink, love."

My heart melted when he called me "love." I looked down at the cup in my hands and didn't realize that I had been squeezing it so hard, I crushed it, causing the contents to spill everywhere.

I blinked as Robert led me away towards the bar. He asked me what I was drinking. I did not like whatever strong substance Celia had given me so I asked for something lighter.

"What are you doing here, Robert?" I asked him once he handed me my drink. He took a sip of what looked like whiskey.

"I saw Adam's car following us from the shop. I figured he would be following you to the party to try and get you to get back with him."

My stomach turned at the thought of Adam stalking me. "Why did you tell him we were dating?"

I felt Robert's eyes on my neck, which was still covered by my hair. "I thought we could pretend to be a couple to scare him off."

"Pretend?"

"Yeah. Like we did in the car. We don't actually have to do anything. Just... while he's still here."

This was completely unnecessary, and we both knew it, but the thought of Robert holding me again, of having his lips on my skin for any reason was too enticing. If it had been any other party, I would have just left and gone home early, but I wanted to be there for Celia.

I went back with my friends, and they were all playing Never Have I Ever with Celia, getting drunker by the minute. I sat down with them. They all recognized Robert and noticed his arm around me, and asked if we were a thing now. Robert responded yes, and I thought about how I was going to explain this to them in the morning.

Chances are, they'd be too drunk to remember anyway.

They poured us each a shot and the game picked up where it left off.

The questions got progressively raunchier ("never have I had a threesome" and "never have I ever eaten food off of someone's naked body" and "never have I ever eaten someone's arse out") all of which Robert drank to, and I sat there awkwardly holding my shot glass. The girls would giggle and say that Robert looked so cute and innocent, and that he didn't look like a sex fiend.

Adam had apparently been watching us because Robert would randomly kiss my neck and murmur in my ear sweet nothings. He was getting way too into the couple's facade for it to be just "pretend."

I had only had two shots out of the whole game, and was already feeling dizzy-headed. Celia told me where the guest bedroom was and Robert led me there with his arm around my waist.

"I'll stay out here and keep guard," he said while holding me upright. "To make sure that Adam doesn't come and try anything."

I leaned against him, my arms around his neck as I rested my head against his chest. He was so solid, so warm...

"No... come in with me... our cover is that we're a couple and it only makes sense to sleep in the same bed."

Robert led me inside. As soon as the door was closed, I pressed my lips hard against his, kissing him passionately, wanting to breathe him and take in every part of him. He kissed me back for a few moments, and I ran my hands through his soft hair, not caring about the consequences that would come in the morning.

"Let's get you ready for bed," he said while laying me down on the bed.

I sighed heavily and sprawled out on the bed with my legs apart, my skirt falling up around my hips. "Undress me..."

Robert's curls bounced as he shook his head, taking the comforter and covering me with it. "I'd want nothing more, but we should wait until you're sober."

I pouted and looked at him with big eyes. I tried sitting up but the quick movement made my head spin. I laid back down.

Robert took off his jacket and lay down beside me. I rested my head on his chest, breathing in his scent. I felt his hand run over my forehead and down my scalp, the feeling helping with my nausea.

Something about the two shots that I had made me candid, and I felt like I could say whatever I wanted, and claim that I didn't remember it in the morning, so I admitted what I would never admit sober: "I actually wish we weren't a pretend couple," I said while resting my head on his chest and my arms around his waist.

Robert looked down at me, as if he were contemplating whether or not I meant that or if it was the alcohol talking.

Finally, he pressed his lips to my forehead before saying "I've wished that same thing for years, Y/N..."

I had barely comprehended his confession before I felt the haze of sleep taking me over, and I fell into a sleep while blanketed in his warm embrace.

[lonelychicago]

"if you love me, you don't love me in a way i understand" pretty please?<3

my hand slipped and this ended up being a little longer than i hoped.

buck/eddie | 1k words | getting together

Buck is not dumb. He's not stupid. He's not oblivious.

Against popular belief, Buck knows that what Eddie and he have is not just friendship— he knows the way Eddie looks at him is not platonic.

He knows what Eddie's feelings are.

Buck knows they both have been dancing around this for a long time, too scared to make the first move, take the first step.

And he thinks he knows why Eddie hasn't done or said anything yet— he thinks he might, at least.

And Buck, well, he knows why himself hasn't done anything.

He doesn't understand what Eddie sees in him. He doesn't understand the way Eddie loves him.

Buck thinks relationships and love are meant to be fast paced; a wildfire that grows and burns until there's nothing but ashes. That’s what he’s had all his life. The rush. The adrenaline. The fire that burns him from inside out and consumes him until he can't breathe. The fast paced emotions and desires that burn hot and then burn out like what he does everyday at work. Something that’s meant to be short-lived with a flash of ecstasy. Something that gives him a thrill but then leaves him alone, feeling empty and hollow and used.

Buck is not used to the kind of love Eddie seems to give him sl freely, so naturally— as if Buck deserved it.

He doesn't.

Buck is hard to love— he's too loud sometimes, he can't shut the fuck up. He's selfish and annoying and—

People leave.

People always leave him.

So Buck is not used to that soft, tender kind of love that Eddie offers without even thinking about it. He's not used to being trusted so fully with the most precious of things (like Eddie's heart), he's not used to knowing looks and fond smiles that are reserved only for him. He's not used to the domesticity of hanging in the kitchen, cooking a meal for his family and laughing at stupid inside jokes while Chris does his homework and roasts them at the same time.

He's not used to late night talks with beers in their hands and longing in their eyes.

Buck doesn't think he'll ever fully get used to any of that— to something so precious and amazing.

He can barely believe he gets to have it on the best of days.

So asking for more? Reaching out and taking more?

That's just unimaginable.

But then it's one of those nights.

Christopher is asleep and they're in the kitchen. Buck has a cold beer in his hand, the droplets of condensation sliding down the bottle and into the back of his hand.

And Eddie is looking at him, just a few steps away and leaning against the kitchen counter. The light above them casts a golden orange glow that softens his features and Buck thinks he could look at him forever and never get tired.

He thinks Eddie is the most beautiful sight his eyes have ever seen (and he's seen a lot, alright. He's been through Peru and Argentina and Brazil, Chicago and San Francisco. He's been to Montana and he even briefly made a stop in Colorado. Yet— None of the most beautiful of spots in those places could ever compare to Eddie. To what Eddie makes him feel.)

Eddie is looking at him and Buck's heart clenches in his chest, because he knows he doesn't deserve that look.

He's hard to love on the best of days, a mess and someone not enough to stay for on the worst.

Somehow, Eddie doesn't seem to care about that. He loves Buck anyway.

And Buck doesn't, can't, won't—

He doesn't want Eddie to get caught up in the fire that is his life. He doesn't want Eddie to burn until he's nothing but ashes in Buck's hands.

But Eddie keeps looking at him and then he's stepping closer and closer until Buck can see every freckle in his nose and that beauty mark under his eye. He can see the honey gold sprinkles on Eddie's eyes, surrounded by the warmest of browns.

And he can see when those eyes flutter down to Buck's lips, his gaze feeling heavy and intense on them.

“It's getting late. I should—” Buck starts, trailing off when Eddie takes Buck's beer and leaves him on the counter before stepping closer until he's pinning Buck against the counter.

It digs uncomfortably against his lower back and his eyes go wide.

“Eddie,” Buck says, his breath catching on the word.

"Tell me I'm not reading this wrong, Buck." Eddie pleads. "Tell me— Tell me I'm not the only one feeling this." He whispers and his voice is low, quiet, but so full of hope and love and patience.

Buck doesn't deserve that.

"I'm— I don't—" He stutters and he can't help it when his eyes dart down to where Eddie is licking his lips.

So tempting. So inviting.

"Eddie, I'm scared."

Eddie's eyes are wide and open, vulnerable, as he searches for something in Buck's face. It reminds him of the look he gave him after the tsunami, or when he reveleaved that Buck was part of the will.

This time, he must find what he's looking for because he doesn't say anything else. Eddie just leans in, slowly, slow enough that Buck can still stop him if he wants to.

And he should, before they both get burned. Before Buck ruins them.

He doesn't.

From the first touch, it’s like kissing Buck is what Eddie was put on this planet to do. It's soft and exploring, it makes this fuzzy sirupy feeling pool inside his stomach.

And it's— warm, tender. A slow kind of fire spreading through his veins. Not burning or turning everything to ashes, but igniting a spark that Buck thought long gone.

Buck still doesn't get it. But he thinks he might not need to.

He has time to figure it out anyway.

He thinks he might have forever, by the way Eddie's kissing him so delicately but yet hungry like he wants to devour him.

Buck is alright with that.

[gabolange]

So a little while ago, I asked for prompts for the 50 reasons to kiss meme and then for some reason decided I should just try to write all of them...eventually.

Margo / Sergei, For All Mankind.

First one is 29: As a Promise. Canon-compliant episode insert for 4.09 "Brazil." Here to break your heart a little bit. 500 words.