#and apparently in the act of falling asleep while trying to make this prompt

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 278

Adjective: Inspirational

Noun: Terrace

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Inspirational: providing or showing creative or spiritual inspiration

Terrace: a level paved area or platform next to a building, or a patio or veranda; each of a series of flat areas made on a slope, used for cultivation; (geology) a natural horizontal shelflike formation, such as a raised beach; (British) a block of row houses; a row house

[luveline]

so i had this silly thought the other night while i was doing a mud mask of jack stumbling upon reader (could be bombshell r, hotchner r, or whoever u would like <3) doing a mud mask and not quite understanding what it is (although r tries to explain it to him), and later on jack’s teacher tells aaron that jack and/or his friends were trying to apply mud to their faces at recess to ‘help their skin’ 😭 so then r has to clarify that u can’t just put any mud on ur face haha and maybe she offers to get some face masks for her and jack (and maybe aaron?) to try together <3 i know this is a bit of a silly idea and it may be too specific so ofc no pressure at all if this doesn’t inspire u!! u write aaron (and jack!) so well and i love everything u put out jade thank u for sharing ur writing with us <333

-💫

“Y/N, what the heck are you doing?” 

You wrinkle your nose at him. “What kind of language is that, babe? What would your daddy say if he heard you saying that?” 

Jack doesn’t even pretend to act chastened. If there’s one thing Jack Hotchner knows about you, it’s that you’re wrapped around his little finger, forever and always. It’s all you can do to keep your arms to yourself as he crawls into bed next to you. 

“Is that cucumber?” 

“Want some?” you ask. 

Jack takes a piece of cucumber and munches on it with a wet snap. “Your face has mud on it.” 

“It does.” 

“Why?” 

You peek at him through one eye. “It apparently draws out the impurities in my face. I’m not sure how it happens, but it makes my skin feel really soft when I wash it off.” 

“Oh. But it’s mud.”

“Yeah, it is, I don’t know how it happens. Must be magic.” You love Jack’s little face. He’s cute. His hair is still blonde at the ends, last bits of summer clinging to him, a tan on his pert nose. “Would you wanna try it?” 

“How long does it have to be on?” 

“About ten minutes. Or before it dries. We wash it off with a face towel.” 

“Okay. But just a little bit.” 

“Sure, babe. You can tell me if it’s too much.” 

Jack sits in front of your lap. You unscrew the pot of clay mask and use the small spreader it comes with to scoop up the mask. Cold, you whisper, but Jack giggles anyways, startled at the feeling as you smooth it over his forehead, his cheeks, and his round chin. You use your fingertips to connect the sections, colour in his nose, and smooth it out. Jack lets his eyes close in little-kid bliss, like he might fall asleep. 

“Do you want the cucumbers on your eyes?” you ask. 

“For relaxing?”

“Yeah, they’re cold too.” 

He lays back on Aaron's side of the bed and you plop on his cucumbers. Fifteen minutes later you encourage him into the bathroom to wash it away, holding his chin, warm, clay-stained water running down his neck. He insists on returning the favour, which ends in you squeezing his cheeks to tell him you love him, which makes him fluster like his father at the receiving end of a good compliment. “I love you too,” he mumbles, looking down at the floor. 

“Feel how soft your cheek is,” you say. 

“I think you have to wash your face,” he says back. “Sorry.” 

It’s great. By the time Aaron’s home from work you’re both super soft and while you don’t offer any explanation, he seems to notice, lackadaisical finger against Jack's cheek prompting an inquisitive, “Jack, have you been in Y/N’s shower stuff again?” 

“No.” 

You and Jack decide to keep your relaxing afternoon a secret. You think nothing of it for a while. The next time you use your clay mask he’s sleeping at his Aunt Jess’, and Aaron asks why you’re smiling, so you tell a half truth and say you’re thinking of Jack, which makes Aaron so smiley he tries to kiss you despite the mud.

Another few days and you get Jack back, only to give him over to school. Evil school. You and Aaron go to work. It’s some time nearing 1PM when Aaron steps out of his office, buttoning his coat around his neck. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask over Emily’s head. 

Morgan copies your frown. 

“Hotch?” 

“Jack is in trouble at school. Apparently he got into a play-fight and everyone needs a change of clothes.” He gives you a look, as if to say, you gotta love him. And you really do. “I’ll be back before the end of lunch.”

“I can go?” you offer. 

“I’m already wearing my coat.” He leans over to kiss your cheek and bids you goodbye. 

You don’t see your partner again. When he fails to turn up after lunch, you figure he’s taken Jack home —Jack tends to get upset when bad stuff happens at school even if he was just having fun because of his astounding guilty conscience. Aaron texts you not long before you’re due to start worrying with a simple, Sorry, not going to make it back in today. Jack was a bit upset. 

Your boss isn’t there, so you take a session with your coworkers, standing up at your desk and clearing your throat. “Because my boss is my boyfriend and also not here, I’ve decided to bring my query to the court.” 

You wait. Your team looks at you expectantly. 

“Go ahead,” Derek says. 

“Jack was so upset at school that he had to go home. Do I, as his almost step mom and number one fan, have the group's permission to go home now so I can get him cookies from Ben’s?” 

“Aw, he was upset?” Emily says, frowning but also cooing. 

You hold your heart. “I know. He’s such a sweetheart. So, can I go?” 

“You want us to do your consultations?” Spencer asks. 

“No!” you say, tucking a stray curl behind Spencer’s ear and delighting in the way he shoves you away. He’s laughing as he does it, used to your affection. “You can if you want to, handsome, but I was just gonna finish it tonight on Aaron’s computer.”

“Just go,” Morgan says, rolling his eyes. 

“Family emergency,” Emily agrees. 

“Don’t really do my consults,” you tell Spencer, grinning when he waves you off. 

You make a pit stop at Ben’s for praline filled cookies and smile despite yourself the whole way home. You’re not worried about Jack, he has his dad, and it was only dirt, you’re just excited to see him and to ditch work and to maybe, maybe, lay your head in Aaron’s lap sometime soon. He strokes the skin behind your ear and leans down to kiss you whenever he feels like it, which means you can amass upwards of five kisses an hour. It’s elastic. 

“Babe?” you call, knocking open the door with a clatter. Shoes wait for you at the entryway. You leave your kitten heels by light up sketchers and dress shoes neatly lined. “Honey? Angel?” 

“Are you talking to me?” Aaron calls from the door of the kitchen, suddenly in view. 

“Am I in trouble?” you ask. 

Aaron checks his watch. “Oh, definitely.” 

“Personal paid time off?” 

“Sure. What’s in the bag?” 

“Oh, you know, just something special for the baby. Is he okay?” 

“He’s unhappy with me, truth be told.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Aaron holds your gaze. “Weirdly, I think you might have a better idea of the situation than I do.” 

You follow him back into the kitchen, confused and eager for an explanation. Jack’s at the door that leads to your backyard, sitting on the stoop, looking stroppy and tired and relieved to see you, which is nice. “Hey,” you say, “what’s with the frowny face, beautiful?” 

“Dad doesn’t believe me.” 

“Doesn’t believe you about what?” 

“Me and Adrian was putting mud on our faces at school because it makes us soft, like we did, but dad doesn’t think we did it.” 

“We did,” you say immediately, giving Aaron a soft, honest look, not mad at anyone and not sure where the confusion is coming from, “you’ve seen my masks, honey.” 

“Your clay mask is blue,” Aaron says. 

“Is not!” Jack says. “It’s red just like mud!” 

“Well, when me and Jack did a mask together a couple of weeks ago, it was the red one, but it was a new one. I usually use that blue one,” you say, relieved when Aaron begins to look amused rather than slightly annoyed. “It’s my fault, babe.” 

You turn to Jack. “Baby,” you say, trying your best to look serious and kind at once, “the clay mask we did together is called a mud mask, and it does have mud in it, but it’s not like the mud at school, okay? It’s probably not a good idea for you and Adrian to rub it on yourselves.” 

Jack crosses his arms in front of him, slouching. “Well, how was I s’posed to know that?” he asks, sounding about as angry as he ever gets, which isn’t much. 

Aaron sighs deeply. You’re sure you’re in for it, you’ve wasted half of everyone’s day now ‘cos you didn’t explain a simple concept, but then he says, “You love to exclude me, the both of you.” 

“What?” you ask, gasping through a laugh. 

“Doing things together and not telling me!” he insists. “If you’d let me join in, I wouldn’t have upset Jack today because I’d know why he was playing in the mud.” 

You hold his gaze, refusing to break as his smile grows and grows despite the effort he pulls into staying straight. 

“So I’m not in trouble?” Jack asks. 

Aaron smiles. “Don’t think so, Jackers, not unless you did something I don’t know about.” 

“I didn’t!” 

“Then consider yourself innocent. I’m sorry I didn’t understand you.” 

“I’m sorry for not explaining the difference,” you add. 

Jack looks at both of you, all sunny-eyed, ready to be coddled by somebody and without a favourite. “Okay, thank you. It’s not your fault you didn’t know, dad. And it’s okay about the explaining,” he says to you seriously. ”Explaining is hard.” 

Jack encroaches back into the room now he’s believed, reaching for Aaron’s legs, markedly pleased when his dad bends down to hug him. It’s an apology cuddle, but it also checks for resentment or sadness alike. Jack closes his eyes, alright with how things have worked out. 

You feel ever so slightly excluded, but you do your best to stay still, loyally waiting your turn, and rewarded handsomely when Jack finishes hugging his dad and crowds you instead, arms held up insistently. There’s no protesting when you lift him onto the counter for a better hug. When you say sorry again for technically getting him into trouble, he shakes his head. 

“Just an accident,” he says, in the tenor of a practised line, one of Aaron’s mantras sinking in. 

“Can I make it up to you? We won’t exclude dad this time.” 

Jack gets lifted from one counter to another. You let him eat one of his cookies in the bathroom (and despite his face mask) but wrinkle your nose at the idea, his dad beside him, leaning back, tie undone and t-shirt unbuttoned to the third. The slice of undershirt on display makes your week. 

Completely still as he is, you raise yourself up to draw the face mask onto Aaron’s cheeks and forehead. He laughs like Jack did at the cold, more of a giggle, but he doesn’t move. 

“It does feel like mud,” Aaron says. 

“I told you,” Jack says. There’s cookie crumbs stuck in the mask around his mouth. 

You kiss Aaron chastely. 

“Just wait for how soft this is gonna make your skin,” you say. 

“I think my skin is as soft as it’s going to get, but thank you, honey.”

[luvrxbunny]

lazy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader 

Prompt: Wet Dreams

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, handjob (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.1k

A/N: its called lazy cus i was literally so lazy when writing this- not proofread and probably incoherent 

You wake up to a low groaning, almost zombie-like sound, slowly growing in volume. Your eyes open to the dark room and you realize it must be Bucky making these sounds… but why? Steve had mentioned nightmares, maybe this was one? But Bucky insisted that he doesn’t have them anymore. You slowly force your muscles to wake and flip yourself over, facing him. You’re met with the sight of Bucky lying on his stomach, his head turned toward you, his brows furrowed and his face scrunched up in what you’d assume was discomfort if his hips weren’t grinding into the mattress. 

The sheet has slid down his body, laying right below his ass and giving you a perfect view of how his hips move ad he fucks his cock into the bed. It knocks the air out of your lungs and causes butterflies to erupt in your stomach along with a drop of guilt. 

You’re the first person he’s been with since he got out of cryo. You’re the first person to get him to open back up, to unlock all the emotions he decided to hide away, and turn him back into Bucky. You’re honored for the opportunity and eternally glad and grateful that you were actually able to make a difference in him, that he fell in love with you. Unfortunately, there was one area you couldn’t help him with. Sex. 

You’re a virgin. 

As much as you love Bucky, you’re just not ready to lose your virginity yet. You want him to have it and you want him… You’re just nervous for the actual act, you need some more time, and Bucky, the gentleman that he is, never pressured you to rush or anything. But apparently, that means he’s also omitting facts from you. Facts like these. 

You can hear how slick he is inside his boxers, a subtle squelch coming from inside them, letting you know how badly he’s needed this. Sam told you about the soldier’s heightened libido due to the serum but Bucky had never said anything about it to you so you assumed that Sam was just kidding around, just trying to embarrass Bucky. Apparently, he was telling the truth. 

You don’t know what to do. Waking him up might be embarrassing for him but you feel wrong just sitting here and watching him. You won’t be able to fall back asleep but you can’t just lay here and listen to him groan out for you. You place a hand on his shoulder, and rock him gently until his face twitches and his eyes begin to flutter open. 

His brain doesn’t wake up immediately. His eyes open and land on you but his hips don’t stop moving. His eyebrows pull in and he moans your name right into your face, and his hips are still moving. You can’t help but smile fondly at him, oddly complimented by his apparent need, but your smile seems to be what wakes him up. His eyes widen and his hips freeze, he seems to analyze you, trying to figure out if he’s still dreaming and his eyes widen further once he realizes he’s awake. “Fuck. I’m- I’m so sorry.”

You giggle and move closer to him. Your hand begins to leave his shoulder, trail down his arm, squeezing his bicep for a moment before continuing down and resting over where his shirt has lifted to reveal some skin on his hip. You trace gentle shapes on his skin and pretend you don’t notice when he shudders and goosebumps rise. “I can help you, Jamie.” 

His eyelids flutter at your soft movements. You test your luck, letting your fingers tease over the band of his underwear. His hips tilt up, forcing your hand over his bulge and giving you a soft moan at the feeling. His hands come up to pull your head closer to his as he starts nodding at you. You smile and kiss him while he whimpers at the feeling of you pulling his sensitive cock out of his pants. “Are- Oh, baby. Are you sure? I- sweet- baby.” His eyes roll back and his entire body goes lax— aside from his hips that are thrusting up into your unmoving hand.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” You ask and move your hand with his hips, moving it up when he thrusts up so he gets no friction. He lets out a frustrated whine. “I’m- I didn’t wanna pressure you, sweetheart. But- mm— please. I need you.” You give a pleased hum at his words and start moving your hand. His reaction is instant. His head falls back in a moan, exposing his adam’s apple to you which you immediately dive for, biting gently and sucking marks into his skin as he thrusts into your hand, taking the pleasure he needs. His cock is slick with all the precum he was spilling for you, how badly he’s been needing this. 

His hand comes to cradle your head, a bit more roughly than he meant but you feel so good on him. Your warm, wet, soft lips sucking into his hot skin, it’s making his head spin. A few seconds ago he was dreaming about you fucking him, on top, riding him like your life depends on it, like getting cum to burst from his tip was your only objective. He woke up mortified as to how you would react but this was the best outcome he could’ve asked for. His head doesn’t have any thought that doesn’t involve you. He can feel the pressure building in his gut, embarrassingly close already. 

It’s always like this when you’re the focus of his arousal, something about you seems to take away his ability to last more than a few minutes. He’s trying as hard as he can, trying to get something else in his head aside from the erotic flashes of everything he wants to do to you, everything he wants you to do to him. “Gonna cum.” The words shoot out of his mouth as a desperate whine and his cock is spurting out the moment he finishes speaking. 

He’s pumping rope after rope after rope of cum into your fist and moaning in a way you never could’ve imagined coming from him. His hips stutter into your palm and his body folds in, trembling as he tries to get closer to you. He’s whimpering your name into your ear on repeat and you shudder at the feeling the breath from his moans on your ear. His moans get high and whiny with embarrassment and overstimulation as you continue to pump his soaked cock. 

He has to shove his hands under the covers and stop you himself because it began to border on painful. He’s panting as he comes down, he can’t process a lot of things right now but he plans to thank you extensively once he can speak again. Maybe return the favor. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[cloveroctobers]

U CANT REMEMBER — Jimmy Holiday [Fall Crumbles] 🤎

A/N: y’all wanted more Jimmy so here’s me handing it to you early on a platter. You can thank Ms. Kiana for that! Which this little angst prompt was inspired by. I’m officially supposed to be on a break but apparently the inspiration wanted me to continue, hope you like!

SYNOPSIS: In which you’re Jimmy’s girl but once he went off to school to fully pursue basketball, you start to experience a unexpected shift in your relationship.

༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘

Today was one of those days where you wished you would have went to sleep early and stayed asleep so you wouldn’t have to deal with the ache you were currently experiencing.

It was common for the both of you, staying up late until the sunrise arrived, trying your hardest to keep quiet in Jimmy’s dorm, out of respect of Jimmy’s homebody roommate. This was nothing new, you both used to always be nightowls back home but coming out to Colorado to visit your boyfriend at school, there never seemed to be enough time to talk so it was only amplified with borrowed time.

You adored nights where you faced Jimmy in his twin sized bed, his long limbs tangled with yours as he ran his hand up and down your arm while you talked about whatever. There were once stars in his honey eyes whenever he looked at you but you never expected this.

This was something you both agreed to make work, when he decided on Colorado to play ball for. Now all of a sudden there was a switch up, as you sat on a bench in the city down town, which was a pretty walk from campus.

“I…don’t understand.” You managed to get out, after the sound of ringing went away from your ears, “You want space? I thought 6 hours and thirty-eight minutes was enough?”

Jimmy, who still sat with one arm tossed behind you on the bench, while his other hand held on tightly to the crumbled up paper bag that once contained a blueberry scone, kept his eyes trained down on his lap, “I just feel like…maybe we should take a break. Things are heating up with the team, the pressure is constantly on with keeping up with school work—

You understood that part.

Confiding in one another when you called, texted, or FaceTimed just to see how one another’s day went, you knew the stress that came with school. It was something that was heavily prioritized by your family to get through and you did. College wasn’t for you much to your family’s disappointment but you chose to be thrown into the working world of New Mexico, just to get through but it was not a place you wanted to forever be stuck in. That was often expressed and you couldn’t be more than happy for Jimmy when he chose a city out of state.

Taking the drive either with Dezbah and Bryson, sometimes even Mrs. Gloria (Who no longer had warrants), or simply by yourself was the escape you needed. You loved the open road and being with Jimmy, it took time to figure it out and just to be together but now he wanted to call it quits. There really weren’t any warnings.

“So…I’m adding to that pressure?”

Jimmy clenched his eyes shut at your words, “No. I wouldn’t say that. Things have always felt right between us—

“Until it goes wrong,” you muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimmy questions, now pressing his elbows into his knees, leaning over in attempt to stop the stomachache that was now forming as he was having this hard conversation with you.

Huffing out a laugh, you shifted your body sideways so you can look at the short haired teen, “It was Rocky from the start between us because of uncertainties but I always said we wouldn’t know unless we tried. I wasn’t scared to love you. It was little childish shit, you letting people get in your head about us, me not speaking up about it and acting like whatever you did with other girls didn’t bother me, then playing around with Krista and I because you didn’t know what you truly wanted.”

“I chose you, though.” Jimmy voiced, hating that he put you through that.

It was always the three of you at the beginning until it unfortunately became two. You’ve always been around and just foolishly waiting. It’s not like Jimmy ever had a serious girlfriend before you, he just like entertaining the ones who wanted to have his babies and it sucked to watch. Plus you had a fling and then a serious relationship while just being Jimmy’s friend and it was obvious he never liked any of the dudes you dealt with. He just hid it, not well but at least he tried. When he suddenly kissed you at that party that night—granted he was high and it was a stupid game of spin the roaches in the bottle (it didn’t land on you but the girl next to you)—it confirmed everything that your heart’s been trying to tell you for the longest.

There was a reason that kiss needed to happen.

Yet you sat on that for a while and Jimmy showed interest in Krista.

“Then tell me why you’re choosing to break up with me and right before the holidays too? Just tell it to me straight, what’s the reason, Jimmy? I deserve to know why.” You exasperated, feeling your drumming heartbeat in your ears now.

Jimmy’s rubbing at his face now, the bags underneath his eyes felt heavier. He was going to say something that he didn’t mean, “I just don’t want to do this anymore. Once I go pro, I don’t think I can even trust myself around any of the other girls alright? It’s like you said, I went back and forth between you and Krista once. Who’s to say I won’t do it again?”

Shock washes over your body. You couldn’t believe the guy that you once knew would fix his mouth to say this to you. It felt unreal, like a nightmare that you needed to wake up from. Of course there was always the potential of groupies getting at Jimmy, it was the same back in high school but you thought he loved you enough, after everything not to disrespect you like this.

“…what’s the number one reason you fell in love with me then?” Was your response, which made Jimmy lift his eyes and flick to you.

Staring at you like this, was enough to break Jimmy’s heart. He hated that he was putting you through this again but he didn’t think he could keep up. It was all too much but that didn’t mean you were too much for him. It was everything else and he wished he knew how to communicate that better.

Jimmy Holiday loves you because you inspired him to be more than what he is. He loves you because you always made time for him, even with this newfound distance, he loves you for your patience, sense of direction, and your good heart. There were many reasons to love you, he’s said them before but today he couldn’t.

“If you can’t remember, then I guess you’re right, I don’t need to be here anymore. And we don’t need to continue doing this. I won’t let you sideline me again.” You say, feeling like you gave him more than enough time to say something, to be honest, and have some decency.

What changed?

Jimmy often got in his head about many of things, you can blame it on a lot but you thought you were past this. Experienced some growth but you couldn’t keep putting your mental health through this. As much as you love Jimmy, if he wanted out and just off the hurtful things he just said, then you had no problem being on your way. If that’s how he wanted it, fine.

You’re on your feet and it feels like Jimmy’s heart is being squeezed in someone’s fist.

“I…I’m sorry.”

You lift your shoulders, watery smile appearing on your lips as you deeply inhale. Stepping forward, you grip Jimmy’s shoulder’s, leaning down to place a kiss on Jimmy’s brow. He closes his eyes at your touch, struggling to swallow down the lump in his throat.

“Take care of yourself, Jimmy Holiday.” You whisper into the crisp air and just like that, you were gone just like the tumble of brown leaves on the ground.

He wanted to go after you, knowing that you were most likely going back to the dorm to collect your things and hit the road. Perhaps his biggest regret once he gets back to see all of your things no longer around, every trace of you gone but that certainly wasn’t true. Jimmy sits on the edge of his bed, staring down at the screensaver of you two just before his roommate enters back in the room, asking what’s up with him.

Jimmy can’t even get the words out himself, shaking his head with his fist going to his mouth and he clenched his eyes shut once more.

Whereas you’re on the road, leaving the mountains behind and venting to Dezbah on the long drive.

“Yooo, What the hell did you do?” Bryson quizzed, as soon as Jimmy took his sweet time answering the phone, coming back from the showers.

Jimmy lays back on his bed, phone pressed to his ear. “I lost, bro. And I think I’m about to realize just how much.”

༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘⋆ ༘

More Fall anthology works here.

[spiffinessabounds]

Never did fall asleep, but I did finish the January prompt for Year of the OTP 2025. Am I gonna write about Lucanis and Rook? You betcha.

Also posted to AO3.

It’s been awhile since Lucanis and Spite were at odds with each other, but it’s truly a struggle to not snap at the demon and tell him to shut up. 

But. ROOK.

Is in the middle of a very important conversation that we are not going to interrupt. 

BUT–

Yes, yes, I know, smells of heart-hurt and bone-weary. Mierda. I promise, Spite, I will make sure she is alright. 

Never. Again. 

Lucanis tightens his grip on his coffee cup, both hands flexing around it like a lifeline. Never. No god would harm her again as long as he– we –lived. 

It’s a lifetime of training that keeps him from crossing the library in a few too-quick steps, and months-worth of tenuous control to keep Spite from literally flying across the table, but Lucanis hangs back to let Davrin check in with Rook as the group adjourns to contact their allies. Something twinges, painfully bittersweet, when she cracks a joke about it being a pain to fight a blighted god with only two Wardens. 

Lucanis catches Davrin eyeing his feigned care at setting the coffee cup on the table. "I’ll see if we’ve got any replies from Evka or Antoine and send them an update." Davrin pats Rook’s shoulder as he leaves with a not-exactly-subtle nod of the head at Lucanis. She doesn’t seem to notice.

"Rook." It’s another struggle to keep Spite’s restless energy from taking over when she looks up at him. "Are you all right?"

Her smile is half-hearted, but that half is trying its damnedest. "We’ve still got work to do. I can collapse when this is over."

"We can contact our allies, Rook. You should rest. After all you’ve been through… I’ll come by your room soon. To see how you’re doing."

Maybe it’s vanity or pride, but her smile seems to soften a little around its edges. "Please do."

YOU. SAID–

That I would make sure she is alright. This is how we do that. We do something for her. Take it off her plate.

Thankfully, Spite’s confusion over Rook’s apparently invisible plate allows Lucanis to focus on the task at hand. Even if he does spare a second or three to watch Rook make her way down the hall to Taash’s room. It’s a quick eluvian trip to Treviso, where Teia and Viago are already preparing the best of their Crows to leave for Minrathous–or rather, Teia is already preparing the best of their Crows, while Viago carefully combs through his curated stash of poisons. They will be ready come morning.

Lucanis catches a glimpse of Rook heading toward Emmrich’s room as he returns to the library and knows it’ll be awhile yet before she makes it to her room. She’ll likely check in with everyone else before sparing a moment for herself. 

We took care. Of. The plate. 

And now we–

He can’t wait, can’t stand still, can’t intrude on her process, and no mind-numbing task like sharpening his blades or patching his leathers will be able to keep him and Spite distracted long enough. 

That’s how Lucanis ends up in Solas’s study. He’s been coming up here a lot while Rook was missing, a respite from the concerned looks and well-meant false hope. 

Hiding!

"Keeping you"– us –"from doing something stupid."

No one ever comes up here and it’s a large enough room that he can usually pace away Spite’s restless energy and need to act rashly. It takes a lot of willpower to keep the determined demon from lashing out, even when it’s done with good intentions. Or, at least, intentions that align with Lucanis’s. 

Not enough willpower to keep himself from going out to the balcony for a better vantage point. He knows Rook won’t be stopping her endless urge to help others–and sure enough, there she is entering Harding’s greenhouse. 

Smelled of granite and green, edged with brimstone. Deeply rooted conviction. 

Spite calms somewhat once he knows where Rook is but the aggravation returns when she’s been inside the greenhouse for ten minutes (thereabouts). They pace awhile longer until she finally steps back outside. The demon’s keen senses aren’t enough to smell this far away, but are enough to see red-rimmed eyes and poorly wiped tear tracks. 

Their gut sinks and miraculously Spite manages to hold back as they watch Rook slowly travel the courtyard. She runs into Neve, who’s on her way to Bellara’s workshop again, and they talk a little before parting. Spite perks up a bit as Rook turns back toward the main Lighthouse building–until she’s waylaid by Assan begging for snuggles. 

Not. Fair!

Lucanis is inclined to agree, but he also found Davrin cleaning out feathers from Rook’s room while she was missing and knows the fledgling griffon missed her as well. Besides, he thinks as she keeps her arms wrapped around Assan a bit longer than usual, she probably needed this, too.

Spite’s sulking grumbles fade to the back of Lucanis’s mind as he watches Rook cross below the balcony and re-enter the building. Surely now would be the time to make good on his promise to see how she’s doing. She might stop by the infirmary first… no, she’d definitely stop by the infirmary. But he could go to her room and be waiting for her…

Something squeezes in his throat. When I couldn’t even wait for her before? Everyone else held onto hope when she was missing. Even after it’d been weeks, Neve was still willing and ready to try whatever ritual Emmrich could cook up. Davrin assured Assan they would find her. Taash grunted but followed every instruction Emmrich gave as he called out for components in crafting the replica lyrium dagger on the off chance it would help with the ritual. 

All Lucanis had was the fight and his demon’s shared desire to end the gods. Anything more was unbearable. He agreed to keep watch during the ritual and protect the others from whatever might crawl through the Fade–he wouldn’t be able to kill the last two gods alone–but there was no hope. 

Until Spite smelled honey and lavender cream.

And heart-hurt. And bone-weary.

Mierda. Couldn’t argue with the demon on that one. He’d promised to make sure Rook was alright.

Rook’s door was closed but Spite caught traces of her down the hallway as they approached. He felt the demon curl somewhere at the back of his skull before fading to the smallest of hums. 

The room was empty at first glance, then occupied at second by a pair of legs hanging over the open end of the chaise lounge. 

"I cannot believe we found you."

Another hum from Spite as Rook sat up, followed by calm quiet. He spared a single thought for the demon’s consideration before focusing on the brightest spot in the room. 

"I’m a little surprised too, honestly."

Moth to a flame. Kitten to a ball of wool. Antivan to a well-made risotto. Lucanis feels more than forces himself to stop a few steps away. Does he look as desperate, as lost as he’s felt the past weeks? "I thought I’d never see you again."

"I didn’t think I’d ever get out of there," she admits. Rook glances at the floor for a moment before looking back up at him. "How do I know if I really did?" It’s a cracked whisper and a plea. Lucanis steps around the back of the chair and kneels at her feet without hesitation as she continues speaking. “This could be more of the Fade.”

Lucanis is well-versed in strategic decision-making, but there’s no thought behind his actions now other than a consuming need to prove she’s here… for both of them.

"Tayta." Fresh tears well up in her eyes but Lucanis barely notices anything beyond her trembling smile. "You’re here."

For all he’s said about a first kiss tasting like honey and lavender cream, this is so much more than he’s ever experienced or has tried to imagine beyond the pages of the romance novels he indulges in. It’s a comfort, a joy, an overwhelming rush as everything he’d dared hope for surges back into his heart. It’s gut-wrenchingly delicate, and Lucanis is halfway to tears himself when Tayta places her hand on his cheek, sliding it down to his collarbone as he leans back just enough to see her face again. 

"You’re really here."

"Promise?"

Lucanis has made few oaths in his life. One with the Crows, one with Spite, and now one to– with –Tayta.

"I swear."

[write-ur-wrongs]

The Death of Me

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Word count: almost 4K - big whoops!

A/N: This was totally meant to be a drabble / blurb, but the story got away from me! A huge thanks to the sweet anon who submitted this prompt - I was beyond inspired and chuckled warmly throughout the entire writing process. This baby isn’t proofread so thread lightly!! I sincerely hope y’all enjoy this one :’) 

Prompt:  Heya! I saw your post about wanting to practice writing short stories so I have a small prompt for Geralt! What about: the reader and Geralt have always had a difficult relationship, always running into each other at the most inconvenient moments and hence disliking each other. However, while Geralt is passing through a village the reader comes barging into his room bloody and near death, only getting a chance to say “I didn’t know where else to go” before collapsing. I would be honoured if the idea inspired you :3

____________________________________________________

You’d never considered yourself unlucky but lately life had a funny way of throwing you for a loop, or rather, throwing you to the wolves. One wolf, actually. A damn, irritating, and arrogant white wolf.

At first, it was all business. You’d arrive in a village itching for a contract, only to find that a “legendary witcher” had already come through and taken care of every monster within a two-days ride. Furious, hungry, and broke, you set out determined to get as far as you could and as quickly as possible. Your determination got you far enough that you’d managed a full three months of contract work, but not far enough it seemed.

You’d been on your way to collect payment from your latest contractor when you’d heard the buzz on the street; a witcher had come through asking about work, and had been told to wait and see as someone else (a woman! A human woman!) had already committed to the case. Apparently, he was either incensed or bemused at the idea – the brute was very hard to read, so say the town gossips – but it didn’t matter to you. You beat him to it and now you get to eat. When you finally met with the contractor to collect your coin, you couldn’t help but swell with pride as they thanked you, eyes wide, for taking care of a monster no human ought to be able to handle. You could have sworn your pride had given you wings as you floated out of the inn.

That is, until you heard them mumble under their breath, “Thank Gods that lass was able to handle it! Had it been the witcher, I would have had to pay triple!”

“Thank heavens for cheap labour!” whispered their partner, raising their glass to cheers their big victory.

Suddenly whatever weightlessness you felt transferred onto your coin purse. Biting hard on your cheek you pushed up your chin, determined to remain dignified. But then you saw him.

Impossibly broad chested, rippling muscles evident beneath his leather armour, with golden eyes that reflected back to you with a cruel playful nature that made bile rise in the back of your throat. He held your gaze and raised his own tankard to you as you walked past him. His deep voice rumbled through you as you pushed the door open.

“Cheers to cheap labour,” you heard him say, and swore you could hear the smirk on his full lips.

Groaning furiously, you pushed the door so hard it swung back and slammed shut behind you with such force a flock of birds took off somewhere in town. Undeterred, you stomped off towards your horse and set off at a gallop.

I’m going to make sure I never cross his fucking path ever again, you thought searingly.

You were wrong it turned out, but how were you supposed to know that?

You’d gone years without actually seeing him again, but that didn’t mean you were free of him. You’d alternated winning and losing contracts to each other, and the pressure of beating him to the next one stressed you so fiercely you developed ulcers. That alone would have been enough to push you to murder had you not heard from another witcher that their brother, the great white wolf, was losing sleep trying to keep up with you. Knowledge of this fact spurred you on; after all, if you couldn’t beat him, it’s best to be even, no?

The next time fate brought you two together, though, you could not have been farther from on top. What made matters worse, is that you weren’t even in battle when your paths crossed. Your literal paths just simply… crossed.

You’d been riding east for many days and just as many nights. You were tired, sore, and somehow still soaked to the bone despite the fact that the rain had stopped at least a day ago. You were so tired, your muscles seemed heavy in your limbs, and you had to keep blinking hard to bring the spinning world around you back to its axis. As you rode through an intersection on the trail, the sun peaked out from behind the thick curtain of clouds just long enough to pull you fully into sleep, and right off your still-moving-horse’s saddle.  

You honestly didn’t remember falling asleep, or off the saddle. You also had no memory of the moment another traveler, who was riding towards the intersection on the other trail, leapt off his mare just as you started your descent and caught you before you could split your skull open on one of the many rocks sprinkled throughout the street. You had no memory of the way he’d pulled you off the path, leading both horses behind him as he’d carried you over his shoulder. Zero recollection of him laying you down on a bed grass, tying your horse to a nearby tree, lighting you a campfire, or filling your pack with some bread and meat.

What you did remember, was the arrogant look on his face when you finally woke up. The condescending tone he took as he reminded you that you were ‘only human’ and had to take care of yourself accordingly was also seared into the annals of your memory.

You hated that he’d saved you almost as much as you hated the fact that you’d been asleep around him. Completely vulnerable for God knows how long and he’d been there to witness it all. Whenever the memory of the look on his face or the way he’d crossed his arms and tilted his stupid head as he condescended your humanity came to you, you couldn’t help but cringe even months after the fact.

***

Your saving grace came a full six months after your damned damsel in distress moment on the trail.

Well fed, well worked, and well travelled, you were taking your time enjoying the market in your town of the week. The work you did wasn’t glamourous, but it did allow you the means to afford a few luxuries every now and then. This time, it just so happened that your coin could buy you the sweetest gift of all: revenge.

The market was busy as ever, you could barely hear yourself think over the cacophony of voices and animal bleats bouncing around the square. Had it been anyone else, the conversation would have been lost among the noise around you, but when that voice came rumbling through the mess of shrieks and shouts, you couldn’t help but seek out the source. You didn’t know why you cared or why you were so surprised to find that the voice’s owner was none other than the White Wolf himself.

“You good?” you asked, making sure to tilt your head, hands on your hips, the same way he’d done the last time you’d met.

“Fine.” He practically barked, not even turning his head fully to address you directly.

The merchant, none-too-concerned with your arrival on the scene, continued as if uninterrupted. “I’m sorry Mr. Witcher, sir, but I can’t go any lower. This is the best I can offer.”

“I can’t pay that much,” he grumbled, hands closed into tight fists.

“I’m sorry-”

“Is this enough?” you interjected, knowingly offering forward far too many ducats.

“Y-yes!” breathed the merchant, looking quizzically at Geralt before picking three coins from your open palm, “thank you, madam...”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself with a warm smile and a nod.

“Y/N!” Geralt hissed, at the same time, reaching out to push away your hand a fraction too late; the vendor was paid, and you’d won this round.

“What is it, Witcher?” you teased, as the vendor took his sword back for repairs, “been on vacation? Why so skint?”

“Been low on work lately,” he replied coolly, cat-like eyes boring into yours, “not as many contracts as there use to be.”

“Well, I’ll be,” you said, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips in mock contemplation, “I can’t imagine why that’d be the case! Seems I keep running into monsters to kill.”

“Mmhm.” He hummed, narrowing his eyes at you.

Refusing to let him have the last word, you quickly turned on your heels and high-tailed it out of the market, shouting over your shoulder to the blacksmith to give any change back to Geralt before disappearing back into the crowd.

***

Being even should have brought peace between the two of you but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Your last interaction only fanned the flames of your rivalry. As the months turned to years without coming upon each other again, you still found yourself filled with unreasonable anger whenever you saw a mop of white hair cross you on your travels.

And not that you’d know it, but it turned out that Geralt wasn’t faring any better; finding himself frustrated and acting recklessly whenever he’d come upon anything that reminded him of you.

You were both completely obsessed with one another. Thoughts of the other constantly on the mind. Whether in waking or in dreams, you were both equally afflicted by an intense need to outperform, out run, and also, inexplicably, to impress the other.  

*

It was that need to impress each other that led you to accept a contract you should have never even considered taking. You honestly wouldn’t have even considered it had the circumstances been any different but you’d been hearing about this monster for weeks on your travels. Tales of the mighty griffin tearing people to shreds had been circulating far and wide on this side of the Yaruga, and honestly, with every retelling you’d expected to hear that a witcher had handled it, but that never happened. You’d somehow managed to arrive at the village at the source of these stories before him and had an opportunity to literally rob him of this victory.

Granted, you were the only one who’d been attributing him with this win, but that didn’t matter, not to you. The only thing you cared about when accepting this particular contract was the knowledge that by taking it, you were preventing him from having it, and that was more than enough.

The shock on the villagers faces when they saw you accept the contract only added to your already inflated confidence. The sheer size of the griffin’s wingspan humbled you a little, though, and whatever grand illusions of an easy victory you’d carried into the forest were squashed along with a couple rib bones only moments after engaging the beast. In short, you were fucked.

Some might say that coming out of it alive was enough of a win. Those people would be morons, you thought as you stumbled clumsily back towards the lights of the village, clutching your split abdomen with both hands and blinking back blood dripping from your forehead. Every step you took came with the stabbing pain of additional tearing around your wound. You could barely think, your ears were blocked and caked with dried blood and dirt, your tears stung as they fell across the gashes on your cheeks, and every breath in felt like it could be your last. You’d never admit this out loud, but a part of you wished the creature had finished the job.

Perhaps the only saving grace here was that in your condition, you couldn’t hear the villagers as they pointed and gossiped. You didn’t hear the “told you so’s” or the lewd shouts coming from the drunk men as you stumbled into the tavern. You could barely hear the disappointment in the inn owner’s voice as they reprimanded you for accepting a contract, they knew you couldn’t complete. Rolling your eyes, you pushed your way towards the stairs as quickly as possible – which, as it turned out, was not so quick, praying that someone would call you a healer.

“… and to think a witcher arrived only hours after she went off to kill herself! Tsk-tsk!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, drops of blood falling across your brow as you interrupted the momentum you’d been building. “W-what?” you croaked, turning towards them as much as possible to make sure you’d hear them correctly.

“Yeah! And not just any witcher, lass, the Butcher of Blaviken no less! Checked in with us just as you head out. Had you waited half a day you could have saved yourself a world of – ‘ey! Now where’s she off to?”

As you registered this news, something inside you snapped. Before you knew what was happening, you’d made your way upstairs and started pushing your full weight onto every door you passed. The great White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, was certainly arrogant enough to leave his door unlocked. You might have been wrong about the griffin, but you’d be damned if you were wrong about this.

Fortunate or not, you weren’t wrong about this. As you pushed your shoulder against the last door with whatever strength you had left, the door swung open with very little resistance. The heavy wooden door slammed loudly against the wall at the exact moment that your limp body crashed onto the floor.

“WHAT the fuck!” Geralt howled, leaping off the bed and onto his feet. His wild eyes assessed the situation in an instant, and he bound to you in barely two strides. “What the fuck did you do? What happened?” he asked as he flipped you over, so gently you were sure you’d already passed out and were now dreaming. Or maybe the blood loss was finally catching up to you and you were full-on hallucinating.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, before losing consciousness in his arms.

*

Regaining consciousness was a slow, painful process. You’d come in and out of it a handful of times throughout the night, and flashes of what you’d seen before you lost it were coming to you in an almost dreamlike haze; terrifying images of the furious griffin, its blood-soaked talon shining in the setting sun as it reared back to strike you again, and warmer visions of Geralt, shirtless, running towards you with – could it be? – genuine concern in his eyes.

Now as the rising sun cast its glow across the room, you squinted painfully against the light. Your head felt as though it was full of cotton; heavy, and scratchy, and unnatural on top of your shoulders. Hesitantly, you ran your tongue over your teeth and were equal parts relieved to find them all there and disgusted at the acrid, mineral taste the blood left behind. Blinking slowly, you tried to bring up your hand to rub at your eyes, but stopped short as you felt the large bandage draped across your forehead.

Slowly, you started to register the other bandages, on your arms, your cheek, across your abdomen. Your eyes grew wide as you finally registered the man facing away from you in the far corner of the room. Geralt’s broad strong back was hunched away from you as he rifled through herbs and small glass vials looking for something. Inexplicably, you found yourself disappointed to see he’d put his thick black tunic back on. Horrified by that realization, you literally gagged, startling Geralt and pulling his attention squarely onto you.

His big dumb beautiful face was all hard lines as he looked you over, stern eyes flashing to meet yours before dropping back down to the vial in his hands. You couldn’t help be notice the way the muscles in in jaw rippled and tensed as he sighed. He was oozing disappointment and anger, and that infuriated you.

“Am I dead?” you ask, squinting at him a little theatrically as you squirmed and winced in your bed.

“No.” he practically growled, his body tense as he made his way towards you slowly.

“Oh,” you breathed, bringing your eyes up to his before adding, “this isn’t hell?”

To your immense satisfaction, his stern eyes widened into shock, but then something unrecognizable flashed across his features – wait, was he hurt?

“Why, because I’m here?” he shouted, as if in confirmation of your hunch, and slammed the damp cloth he’d been holding back into the basin.

“No, jackass,” you retorted, pleased that despite the position you were in, you still had some semblance of an upper-hand, “because a griffin fucking fileted me like a fish and some poor drunk is probably downstairs slipping in a pool of my blood right now.”

You’d kind of hoped that he’d laugh, or at least have a comeback geared up for you, but Geralt just stood there staring at you, his mouth in a tight line, nostrils flaring.

Uncomfortable by the intensity of his stare and the silence accompanying it, you decide to continue to poke the bear.

“Come on, what’s with the face, Geralt? Pissed I’m still alive? You know you could have just closed the door over my body, let nature finish the bloody job.”

“Fuck, no! Y/n!” he screamed, startling you out of the attitude you’d put on, “I’m pissed because you’re an impossibly difficult woman hellbent on killing herself! I’m pissed because you don’t seem to fucking care about what happens to you! You can’t keep doing this Y/N! Because one of these days you’re going to get hurt and you’ll be too far away from me and I won’t be able to fucking save you, again! I am pissed because I am losing my mind spending every god-awful day wondering if you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed! Fucking hell, woman! If you didn’t find me – I-if I wasn’t here, with these herbs – Damnit Y/N!”

You just sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to say. This man, your nemesis, was in front of you pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, looking like a maniac. His nostrils were flaring more than the monster that almost killed you just yesterday. Part of you wanted to correct him and demand he never address you as ‘woman’ again, but his wild earnest eyes kept you quiet. My god… was he crying?

Before you could say anything, Geralt sighed gruffly, ran his large hand over his face and stormed out, mumbling something about needing to get you more water.

Left alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t stop yourself from spiralling. You’d expected him to be angry – hell, you wanted him to be angry! You’d humiliated yourself twice over, enraging him would ease the blow – but this was… different. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. And what was with his whole speech? He spent every day thinking about you? Worrying about you? There’s no way.

Sure, you thought about him daily, but that was out of spite! You hated the man! Why else would your heart race whenever you thought you spotted him in a crowd? Why else would you actively seek out the most dangerous contracts? What, like you were hoping these contracts would draw him out, and therefore, closer to you? As if!

Your ridiculous inner monologue was interrupted by Geralt’s return. The horrible brute knocked gently on the door before stepping inside, and your heart had the audacity to skip a beat.

Oh, you thought, fuck.

“I need to change the dressing on your wounds,” he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. You nodded wordlessly as he settled onto the chair next to you. You watched him work in silence, praying he would attribute your insane heartrate and flushed skin to a pain response from his work.

“Geralt?” you tried, chewing nervously on your cheek, as was just finished up with the last of your dressing.

“Hm?” he hummed, keeping his eyes cast down as he fussed with the bandage on the gash across your abdomen.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

He finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, but said nothing in return. He merely grunted in acknowledgment. You didn’t know why, but his silence in combination with his inscrutable gaze encouraged you to keep talking.

“I honestly only took this contract because I didn’t want you to have it,” you admitted bashfully.

“What the fuck? No one was taking it because they weren’t paying nearly enough! Hell, and you’re just a human,” he fumed, throwing up air-quotes as he said it, “so what – they offered you a third of nothing?”

Laughing lightly, you shoved him with your elbow, “they offered me three whole ducats!”

“Oh, wow,” he laughed, low and rumbling, “so a big pay day for you, eh?”

“Shut up,” you gasped as pain rippled through you with each peal of laughter, “knowing I could screw you over was payment enough!”

“Well congratulations are in order, you did manage to screw someone over,” he chided.

“Me,” you stated dryly, gesturing widely at your busted up body.

“You,” he echoed with a sigh that seemed to deflate him.

He suddenly looked so small, sitting there next to you. You watched him as clenched and unclenched his jaw, rubbing his large hands up and down his thighs – was he anxious? You mind raced as you felt his eyes travel slowly up your body. You held your breath as he worked up the nerve to finally bring his eyes up to yours.

The moment his eyes landed on yours, something shifted. Whatever had been lodged uncomfortably between the two of you all these years had finally clicked into place. This change, albeit small, was palpable. His eyes dropped to your lips and lingered there. He was looking at you like he’d never seen you before. Like he was afraid he might never see you again.

Without speaking, Geralt inched himself closer to you and reached a tender hand to tuck your hair behind your ears before cradling your face.

“You’re not allowed to die, do you hear me?” he whispered, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You gave him a quick nod and brought your hand up to his, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm before giving his hand a quick kiss.

“I need to hear you say it,” he begged, bringing himself even closer to you.

“I do,” you breathed, trying to sit up to bring your face closer to his. “I’m not going to die, not on your watch, but I’m also not quitting.”

“Y/N –”

“No! If I quit, you’d get lazy. Who’d push you? What would be your driving force?”

“Wow,” he scoffed, looking at you incredulously but fondly, “you’re so fucking arrogant.”

“And yet…” you said, quirking a brow flirtatiously as you pulled him closer by the collar.

“… and yet?” he murmured, letting himself be pulled closer to you. His eyes half-closed and his lips slightly parted.

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

And then he kissed you. His mouth claimed yours urgently but his hands were ever gentle, ghosting over your bandages and caressing your skin with a feather-light tenderness that would have brought you to your knees had you not already been bedridden. Any hesitation or doubt melted away under the heat of his touch as all those years of tension sprung apart catastrophically. The knot you had carried in your stomach unfurled into flittering fireflies, their heat traveling up your stomach to your chest as his hands worked their way into your hair.

You didn’t know when they’d fallen, but you let out a shaky laugh as Geralt kissed away the tears on your cheeks, his thumb swiping at the tears his soft lips failed to catch. Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against yours; his hands cupping your face as yours captured his.

Gods – this man was going to be the death of you.  

[clumsyexpression]

Rosinante Donquixote x Fluff Alphabet

I love this man with a burning passion - he lights my heart afire and kindles the fuzzies 🔥🔥🔥🔥 I'm not very good at romance, but i still wanted to shoot my shot and give it a try c:

⇥ based on this fluff alphabet prompt found here

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

Spontaneous human combustion. He doesn’t understand how he does it but he wish he could make it stop.

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

You know when you leave home, and you know you’re going to be awhile, so you double check EVERY known hazard that you’re aware of in case of some weird, freak accident happening? Well it’s especially anxiety-inducing for Rosinante because of his accident-prone self and even after triple checking all of his appliances and outlets and he sets off to go to Target or whatever, it’s only halfway through his commute that he realizes that he probably left the stove on after all and almost instantaneously as the realizations sets, a strident succession of beeps sound off, cause he’s sitting in the middle of traffic until BLAM! He jolts forward, sitting ramrod straight in bed as he awakens from the fire alarm going off, smelling something getting extra crispified as indicative from the sooty smoke coming up from the hall towards the kitchen and so he jumps out of bed only to see that apparently it was from the toast that had already popped up from the toaster and the crumbs were still toasting in the crumb collection tray and then bizarrely enough, when they were done toasting, they also popped up in the toaster like toast would do and eqaully as loud when you’re not expecting the toast to pop up when they go PFFT! And then he realizes that ‘no, there was no toast’ as he begins to wonder why the origin of the sound he heard is right above him – only to realize that he’s now drenched because you just hosed him down and the sound was definitely because the hose had too much air in the line and you admonish him for smoking while falling asleep and he insists that he wasn’t and then you realize he was right, cause he totally caught on fire because he just sat in sun and by freak chance – like an ant under a magnifying glass – he just kinda caught..fire..

Anyways, his worst nightmares consist of spontaneous human combustion and its quite understandable.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

YES. Definitely a family man. He yearns to know what its like to have somewhat of a normal, loving family without strife and would fight the world in order to make it possible for yall to live comfortably without the worry of the evil, hurt, and turmoil that runs amok in the world. It would also be very convenient and comforting knowing that there are people who will have his back unconditionally to douse him with water when he spontaneously catch aflame.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

Not that he would try to baby you – he knows that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself – but knowing how many injuries he may have accumulated or ‘walked off’,  he can be a little over protective but will still give you your space, if that makes sense. He’ll ask often if ‘you’re okay?’, or ‘have you drunken enough water today? You might be a little dehydrated’,  or sometimes ‘I’m not saying that you need it, but if you’re not using it, I’ll hold on to that burn ointment for the time being..until you do, that is’. He just likes to make sure.

R = Rhythm (what song reminds you of them?)

You know when you make a mood playlist and you cant expect people to understand it completely? That’s how I see Rosinante – he’s so complex and reminds me of a variety of things, so hear me out:

Fireball – Pitbull

You can call him Mr.Worldwide cause he’s a marine and been places

‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but I don’t care’ cause my boy is clumsy and that shit gets old after a while – the only thing that’s somewhat new is the new way he finds to be even clumsier

‘Momma said that everyone would know my name - I'm the best’ MM YEAH cause he used to be a celestial dragon and everyone knows about them

‘If you think I'm burning out, I never am - I'm on fire’ HLLE YEAH cause he’s literally on fire and there’s no definitive way of ever keeping him…not-on-fire lmao

We Didn’t Start The Fire – Billy Joel

My mans is trying to better the world and even joined the Marines in order to do so dunno if that was the right call or whatever but he did

Firework – Katy Perry

Okay but who cant relate???

And he’s trying his best.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

Rosinante is just a naturally quiet person, devil fruit and covert operations aside. He occasionally glances at you, which causes his small smile to grow wider when you catch him watching you. He gives subtle affirmations, but is also very expressive; like, he can wear a mean poker face and all, but when his guard is down (which is typical when he’s around you), he’s not aware of how transparent he can truly be.

For example,

when he tries your cooking, he’ll be over the moon about it and will give you mad props for the delicious meal and will sincerely look forward to it again;

when he catches you making a pun, he’ll snort the moment he makes the connection;

when you stomp out his coat because the tail end has somehow kindled a fire out of thin air without him noticing, he’ll truly be confused cause ‘why are you stepping on my coat? I thought you hated my hat more, but..that’s a bit much, Y/N’

I dunno, but there you have it – my guy is pretty lit and wuv him so so much 💕💕💕

Jk this was not actually a fluff alphabet prompt but actually a SOS from yours truly cause he could really use a fire extinguisher right about now and hopes you got the message ( ･ᴗ･̥̥̥ )

[alluringjae]

hi dear for the birth months special can you do this as angsty as you can. angst “ you weren’t there...why weren’t you there? I needed you! I needed you! And you weren't there!” and “All I wanted was a happy ending.” + prompt 'As you begin to fall asleep, you feel a gentle kiss pressed to your temple and a blanket draped over you ' THANKYOUUU

PAIRING. jeno x fem!reader

WORD COUNT. 1.8k

GENRE. angst, smut (implied) | average boy!jeno, rich girl!reader, arranged marriage, semi-forbidden romance, college!au, attempted eloping

WARNINGS. toxic family dynamics, mentions and scenes of abduction, mention of death, engagement in vices, profanities

author's note: definitely got too carried away with this, but i hope the angst is up to par!! I'm not even a part of the story yet i feel so affected </3

prompt list

request here!

Arranged marriages.

Still apparent in this day and age to bring rich families together and merge whatever businesses they have, rarely having any heart or emotions in it. Financially prospering yet emotionally devastated, that’s the fate of those couples who get sucked into that world.

And that was bound to be your fate soon, if it weren’t for your failed eloping with Lee Jeno.

In your world where you acted as your family’s puppet, controlling your every aspect of your life and forcing you to follow their orders only, Jeno was the only person who cut through the strings tied to you. He was once your classmate in university, whom you were assigned to make a presentation with for your Literature elective.

The more time spent with each other, the more you’ve gradually let your guard down. He made you feel all your emotions properly for the first time without the fear of your parents tearing it down, saying that they were invalid.

Jeno made you feel happiness when he helped you finish a paper on business law that you crammed all week long from doing other requirements.

Jeno made you feel sad by accident when his fingers flicked your forehead from a bet on whether or not one of your professors would show up to class, wincing in silence at the back of the classroom and trying not to disrupt class.

Jeno activated your disgust for spiders as he flicked one away from the 7/11 table you both sat at when you had a late-night walk outside the university dorms.

Most of all, Jeno’s overall presence to you managed to develop affectionate feelings for him. From his eye smile, his cozy arms when he’d hug you goodnight outside your dorm room, his intellect when you’re healthily debating over the pros and cons of certain life issues, and his bravery to stand up to your judgmental parents during that one event you brought him as your plus one, you couldn’t deny the bottled emotions you had for him.

You felt loved by Jeno, and luckily, he felt the exact same way.

In the remaining years of university, you masked your private relationship from everyone. Only to your close friends and your older brother Mark had access to your relationship. As content as you are like this, from sharing kisses from sunrise to late at night, hand-holding under the desks of your classrooms, to the occasional movie marathons after midterms or finals, your thoughts wondered with optimism.

That maybe one day, your parents can bless your relationship.

That they can at least let you have Jeno while they still have power of you.

Jeno refused for you to let them get to you, but your love for the man overpowered that. You never understood how people would do anything for love, thinking it was unethical.

But as Jeno stood by your side, everything made more sense. You’d do absolutely anything to be with him freely.

However, that was no longer possible. After graduation, when you made secret plans to elope with Jeno abroad, an engagement was planned behind your back and your parents dropped the bomb on you suddenly with little time to prepare yourself.

Informing Jeno was one of the hardest times of your relationships, having occasional arguments that left you storming outside his apartment. You weren’t ready to move in yet that time, so what’s the deal of staying somewhere that wasn’t yours?

Heck, your own life wasn’t yours!

Right when you were ready to accept your fate, willing to return as the family puppet, Jeno snuck into your bedroom at your childhood home. You shushed him once he was inside, afraid someone might hear or see him. He was insane to have successfully got inside your home without security chasing his ass, but in his words that mirrored yours, “Love makes us do crazy things, and I’ll do anything for you.”

He professed all these pent-up plans and confessions, making love to you that night that you’ve wished never ended. With one last kiss before drifting off,

“Let’s get out of here, once and for all.”

“Let’s do it.”

His absent warmth felt bittersweet once you woken up, though he left you one last note.

“At our uni spot, midnight. - J”

This was your signal, and off you were to throw every important item you needed for this escape.

Midnight rolled by so quickly, succeeding to make a run for it from your “clueless” parents. Your spot, which was a hidden table outside the library building where you and him used to exchange words about your future plans and the like, it was important to you both.

You’re not the impatient type, never to get jittery if Jeno was late for a date or any after-class activity. However, 10 minutes turned into an hour. An hour became hours, and the battle of fending off sleep was one bitch. If this wasn’t enough for you to buzz his phone continuously with texts and calls, you could only think of every worse possible scenario that could’ve happened to him.

But before you could come into a conclusion, you were suddenly attacked by a bunch of men in black. They destroyed all your belongings that you’ve brought and you tried to fight back with all your might.

His name, you called out numerously for help. Desperately, you prayed he’d show up. However, once a cloth filled with strong chemicals covered your mouth, you hazily submitted to it and abducted you.

It turned out that they were sent by your parents, who’ve been secretly investigating on your whereabouts since that night when Jeno stood up for you. Head to toe, they knew everything and threatened you in any way possible.

In the midst of it, your heart felt angry for Jeno. This could’ve been avoided if he showed up on time, if he kept his end of your promise. Yet at the same time, you pleaded to the universe that he was somewhere safe, even if you cannot be with him. Witnessing firsthand what your parents were capable of doing if you cross them was the last thing you wanted for him, even if you held so much rage that he left you.

He abandoned you to suffer on your own after everything you’ve both been through.

This leads you to the present. An engagement party in a luxury hotel to your soon-to-be partner, spoiled and disrespectful to the core since your first encounter, has ended. In front of your families, he politely bid you goodnight whilst you held back thrusting your middle finger right at his face.

This was it. An arranged marriage was on your way, and you despised it so much.

Mark served as company upon returning to your hotel room, attempting to comfort you after the rough months leading to this day. But still, nothing could erase the impending ache in your heart. You were broken, far from repair and about to sign off your life to an insolent man who’ll bring more misery into it.

However, if there was one thing Mark managed to do that may hopefully change the course of your life, it was waiting inside your hotel room. He just needed to scurry fast before you could refute with him.

It was like everything went into slow motion the second you opened your hotel room door, and how you wish you were hallucinating. There was no possible way that after months, the man whom you used to pour your heart to sat at a chair by the balcony.

Although there’s no denying that his informal suit fitted his body well, you’re welling in rage as if it were fresh all over again.

“You weren’t there…” You angrily throw your hands on your ex-lover, crying into his chest. “Why weren’t you there?”

“(Y/N),” He chokes on his own tears, his heart tearing into pieces the more he gets close to you. “Please let me explain.”

“I needed you!” You painfully screech, caring less about crinkling the expensive blue dress your mother bought you. The occasion for it was useless, but nothing beats all the negative emotions you’re developing for the man in front of you. “I needed you! And you weren’t there!”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, too weak to defend himself.

“You’re too late, Jeno.” You hiss bitterly. Any funny business from this point on could jeopardize the both of you. “There’s no turning back from here.”

So much of you wants to yell at him to get out, yet his pitiful expression held you back from throwing him to the back of the pits. In fact, it made you melt in his arms as you let your sadness get the best of you.

“All I wanted was a happy ending.” You bawl, struggling to sniffle as your nose felt stuffier. “But you led me on that night, and left me to die.”

“But I’m here now, (Y/N).” He tries to cool the reopened wound in you. “Let’s me explain and talk this out.” His calloused palm places itself on your face, and you badly want to resist. But deep down, you couldn’t.

“Even if you do, you’ll still leave me.” You sneered, pushing yourself of him.

“(Y/N)--”

“I can’t talk to you just yet, so please..” You say with pain, trying to gain the remaining strength in you. “Give me space to think this through. When I’m ready, I’ll take Mark.”

“Let me at least take you to bed.” He suggests, which makes you scrunch your face in confusion.

“Fuck, that sounded – Whatever. I’ll leave as you please.” He grabs his coat, but before his fingers reach the knob, your voice stopped him.

“Stay, please. Even for a bit.”

Jeno follows as you request, loaded with guilt in himself. Yet he’s not prepared to lay down exactly happened during his absence. 

How your parents abducted him as well and tortured him when he denied to leave you, how he witnessed your faux happiness when a new man is to be wed to you, how many nights he drank in self-pity in random bars that made all his friends worry for him.

Love can be a such a blessing, yet a curse. The latter struck him the most, yet he can never trade it for a thing.

As he tucked you in bed, brushing your scalp with his fingers as it makes you sleep faster, he is pained by a reality that wasn’t available for him. No matter how hard he fights, it always backfires. But to give up, it’s questionable. And to stop loving you? Never.

Even if he can’t have you anymore, the love he holds for you showed no boundaries. And he’ll take it to the grave if he has to.

Perhaps this is your last moment with Jeno, for now. But he has your heart forever, and no one else can live up to his impact on you.

As you begin to fall asleep, you feel a gentle kiss pressed to your forehead and a blanket draped over you. Another layer of duvet rather since he knows how sensitive you are with the cold.

“I’m so sorry. But dear God, I love you.”

copyright © 2021 by alluringjae.

[myonepiece]

Hi can I please ask for some headcanons of Ace and Shanks having feelings for a fem!S/O but they always reject their advances etc. until she decides to move on/leave because she’s heartbroken and thinks she’ll never be loved back;; like what would they do? tysm💜💜💜

ooo i like it i like it- you also chose some characters that work well with this prompt so thank you 😂💛

ace, shanks teasing their fem!crush and taking it too far so that she moves on thinking they don't like her

description: ace and shanks (separate) teasingly reject their fem!crush's advances until she moves on thinking they won't love her

-shanks is well known troublemaker, and it's not like he's going to stop any of his shenanigans with person he's fallen for, if anything they increase tenfold

-at first he didn't really think you liked him, he thought you had a flirty friendly personality like him, so he'd flirt with you on a daily basis- but they always held the truth, they weren't meaningless flirts and compliments he was saying what he was thinking because he knew you wouldn't know that

-and he had a lot of fun doing it

-then he found out from gossip spreading through the ship that you did like him, and he was thrilled, but he wasn't just going to make it an easy "get together", he liked the fun you two would have teasing each other and joking around, he liked the game

-so he decided to start messing with you in a slightly different way, that way being to make it seem like he didn't like you

-but of course once knowing everyone, including shanks, knew about your crush on the red head, and then having shanks brush off your normal teases and flirts, you immediately thought the worst

-that shanks was so disgusted that you thought of him like that, that he didn't want to keep messing around with you even when it's just joking

-everytime you'd throw him a compliment suggestive or not he'd give a quick thanks or just a half-hearted chuckle, or even ignore it and turn back to something else

-when you tried to sit next to him he'd scoot away a bit or get up and go talk to someone else

-he wanted to frustrate you so much that you just burst out a confession, he grinned thinking about it- having you come to him yelling about how he's been acting and saying something like "i'm sorry i like you!

-unfortunetly thats not how it goes at all, because instead of getting hung up on shanks you knocked some sense into yourself telling yourself that you don't have to waist time on him, that didn't get rid of your feelings, so you did decide to distract yourself... with other men

-you began doing the same thing shanks did, to a less extremity, but he noticed it and just thought you were trying to get him to break first

-he found it somewhat amusing but at the same time it didn't seem likeyou were sneaking glances or anything like that, things that proved you still liked him

-so he began to get annoyed and unnerved

-then you brought a man back to the ship, one you had met at a bar, and shanks had been sleepless that night so you and your "friend" had run into him in the kitchen

-his eyes widened slightly in surprise and then narrowed in realization, "what do you think you're doing y/n?" -"what do you think i'm doing." he got up from the table and glared at you while he walked over, "leave." he said addressing the man beside without his eyes leaving yours, but he had to pull his eyes off you because apparently your date hadn't understood shanks was talking to him

-"why'd you do that shanks?!" "why'd you bring here y/n?! just last week you liked me." his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration but you looked up at him with surprise, "well you were ignoring me- very rudely- i thought you didn't like that i liked you."

-"i was just trying to get you to tell me yourself. i guess i went a little too far- but if it still matters, i like you too." his face softened a bit and a small smile appeared

-"well i don't see why you couldn't have just told me that." you crossed your arms pouting up at shanks and he took a step closer, leaning down so that his breath could be felt against your lips

-"can you forgive me?" a sly smile spread across his face before. his eyes fluttered shut and he crashed his lips into yours, melting against your own in a passionate kiss, his arm finding its way around your waist and pulling you flush against him

-when he pulled away he stayed close, watching your eyes with sincerity and guilt present in his own, "i'm really sorry."

-similar to shanks, ace thought you were just flirty and friendly to everyone and thats one of the things he loved about you

-but because you were the same with everyone- you actually weren't but ace didn't notice how you were always more touchy and affectionate and flirty with him- he thought he wasn't anyone special and he wwas just another friend

-and at first it was okay he didn't stop or change anything, but gradually over a few weeks he began to slowly grow away from you because he would always fele the happiest when he spent time with you and he'd feel perfectly content, but when he left he would always remind himself that he'd never get anything more, that he'd never get to stay

-he hated the quick but painful transition from "she looks so pretty when she laughs" to "i wonder if we'll still hang out like that when she finds a boyfriend"

-so he figured if he started distancing himself it would be easier to get used to you not spending as much time with him, like if he chose to not be as close to you he'd loose feelings

-and you noticed how he stopped going to spend time with you every chance he got, he stopped slipping his arm around you and sitting next to you when he was about to fall asleep mid-bite, he just started spending less and less time with you

-you'd still have your occasional moments together but they felt hollow like something was missing

-and you figured that ace just grew tired of you, that he didn't like you, that you didn't have a chance with him

-so you started distancing yourself too, doing the exact things ace did until the two of you were rarely talking despite being on a ship together

-marco was one who had watched everything and easily figured it out, letting it play itself out for a bit before he stepped

-ace had been complaining to him about you and how you had avoided him all week by talking to other people and running away when he was going towards you, so marco pointed out "did. you ever think that maybe she's doing that because you did andare doing the samething?"

-"well why wouldn't she just ask me about it?" "probably because she likes you too and now thinks you hate her."

-ace thought for a moment putting all. the pieces together and then marco could see the moment ace figured it out and realized what he had done, "oh shit!"

-ace ran out of marco's office towards your cabin knocking twice before he opened the door, "can we talk?"

-he stepped into the room where you were sitting on the bed and he closed the door behind him, "why are you avoiding me?" he could see your cheeks redden at the question and took that as a good sign, "i-is it because you like me?"

-you opened your mouth to say something but closed it and opteed to nod your heead sheepishly instead, a smile slowly appeared on ace's face and he said "i like you too!" before diving onto the bed once you had reached your arm out gesturing for him

-he crawled towards you captured your lips in a serious of soft sweet kisses, pulling away and wrapping his arms around your waist pushing you back on the pillows, "i'm - sorry - i - started - avoiding - you." he punctuated each world with an apologetic kiss somewhere on your face

[krastbannert]

Hello. It's me. Comfy. I'm here to ruin your life.

Would you pretty plz do a prompt for the Bingo thing. Would you, so pretty please, do the (1) College with Zukka.

I'll come back for more ships that I want

Comfy, sweetheart, you ruin my life in the best way possible.

As a matter of fact, yes, I can do Zukka. Apparently. I've never written Zukka before and I really haven't written a lot of stuff from Sokka's POV, so...hopefully it was at least somewhat okay.

Written in honor of @avatar-pride-month day 1, for the prompt "First Kiss". @terracyte this one is for you, too - I know you're quite as actively into ATLA as you used to be, but I know you like Zukka.

@atla-multishipping-bingo

Modern AU Bingo I1 - College

“Sokka? Hey, idiot, wake up!”

Sokka slowly raises his head, blinking against the light.

“Huh?” he mumbles, rubbing a hand over his eyes.” ‘hat time i’it?”

“Uh…like…midnight,” Zuko says. Sokka groans, leans back in his chair. Damn - he must have fallen asleep. Not the first time he’s done that while studying.

(Why did engineering have to be so damn hard? It was just stupid - there was no reason his professors needed to do this.)

“Fuck this, I’m switching majors,” Sokka grumbles, reaching for his pencil.

Zuko chuckles, exhausted but somehow still warm - it makes his stomach flip, like it always does.” Bit late for that. Besides, you’d miss me.”

“Hah, miss you? In your dreams, grumpy,” Sokka laughs. He barely manages to hide the blush on his face as he closes one of the textbooks in front of him. The truth is yeah, he would miss Zuko. A lot. (Damn that man. Damn him, and damn his stupid crush.)

“We should get out of here,” Zuko suddenly says.” We need a break from studying for this damn final.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow. He’s right, they did need a break - but Zuko? Suggesting a break? Now that was strange.” And…go where?”

Zuko smirks, his smile tugging at the corner of his scar..

(Oh. Oh no.

It’s that smirk. The one that says,’ I have a terrible idea and you’re going to hate me for it at first.’ 

It’s the one that, for all his organization skills and his brains, for all his instincts that screamed to have plans, he never could resist that smirk.)

It’s all a blur but somehow they end up on the roof of the library, laying against each other as they stare up at the stars. Something, he thinks, seems to slide into place because this just feels right. He can’t pinpoint and that annoys him because there’s always an explanation for things - that was what science was for - but he feels it.

“Crazy to think you’re learning how to get people up there,” Zuko whispers in the gloom.

Sokka shrugs.” Not that complicated, really. Mix hydrogen and oxygen together in a tube, ignite them, and boom. Rocket.”

Zuko snorts.” You make it sound so simple.”

“It is! I don’t know what you find so complicated about it!”

“I don’t think it’s that complicated,” he whispers after a long moment.” I just like listening to you explain it.”

“...oh,” Sokka murmurs, glancing over at his friend. (Friend. Because that’s all they were. Just friends. Nevermind the late nights and the falling asleep back to back and stealing each other’s food and…a hundred other things besides.

Is it wrong for him to want more? No, it’s not, he knows that, he’s just being stupid. But how was he even supposed to start? He couldn’t even get himself to just go out and say he liked him.)

“You just get…really, really excited about it,” Zuko says, and almost as an afterthought, so quiet Sokka is barely able to hear it over the hum of the night, adds,” And you’re cute when you get excited.”

Cute. Zuko thought…he was cute? That…that was news. Very, very gratifying news. Sokka can’t help but roll over to look at Zuko, and sure there’s a pipe digging into his side and it’s cold enough that his breath is fogging up in the evening air and the breeze is cutting through his thin jacket, but in this second…there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

He acts, for once, on complete impulse.

He’ll try to remember, later, what makes him do it. Whether it’s the stars that seem to be in Zuko’s eyes, the way his little smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, or just pent-up frustration after a year of this damn crush, Sokka doesn’t know. And really, he doesn’t think he ever will. But what he does know is that one moment, he’s staring at Zuko, at his eyes, his hair, his scar, his lips, and wondering how a person can look that damn good, and the next, he’s kissing him.

(Cinnamon. He tastes like cinnamon. Probably his damn fire flakes.)

Sokka has to pull back a moment later because fuck fuck fuck his lips are burning. He gags, wipes at his lips and tongue.

“What the fuck have you been eating, man?” Sokka says.” Your lips are like a spirits-damned volcano!”

There’s a long, very long moment where Sokka wonders if he’s just a horrible mistake, if he’s just ruined everything, before Zuko starts laughing. Laughing, the bastard.“ You sat next to me the entire evening! You’re the one who kissed me when you knew I’d been eating fire flakes all night, you idiot.”

Sokka huffs.” You’re lucky I like you, dumbass.”

“I think we’re both lucky,” Zuko says, tugging him close. He leans up, lips puckered, and Sokka narrowly manages to shove his face to the side.

“Oh, no! Go wash your mouth first! I’m not kissing you when you’ve been eating your spicy Fire Nation nonsense.”

Zuko rolls his eyes.” You’re such a wimp, Sokka.”

“And you need to eat less spicy food. Food is supposed to taste good, not just burn the taste away!”

“...touché.”

[mygodyouredivine]

Something About You

Summary: After you joined the Avengers, you had quickly bonded with all the team members and accepted even Loki. Loki finds himself drawn to you and develops a begrudging fondness for you. He doesn't realize just how deep that affection was rooted until you are injured on a mission.

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: mostly none, minor injury (nothing graphic), minor angst

Word Count: 2965

Notes: Hi! This is my first ever fanfiction and the first time I’m posting on tumblr! I’ve read many (many, many, many) Loki/Reader fics and I wanted to give it a try to see if I could write a short interaction between Loki and the reader. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes, and if you enjoyed, any feedback/comments would be much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Loki despised the Avengers. It was impossible to miss the distrustful looks thrown his way, the way the air shifted uncomfortably when he entered a room, or the thinly veiled jabs at his loyalty despite him living in the compound for well over a year. However, their treatment of him wasn’t the source of his contempt. It was you, and for all the Norns he couldn’t determine why. 

You had moved into the compound a few weeks after he had and every single occupant of the tower had been immediately infatuated with your charm. Not that Loki could blame them. You maintained a sense of innocence he could hardly believe, especially due to your history. He didn’t know much about you, but you had been rescued - and then recruited - into the Avengers after all. A tragic backstory was practically a prerequisite. You were also contradictory; for though you exuded innocence, there was also a complexity and rage that simmered underneath your skin. During missions, you were a force not to be underestimated - you stuck down enemies with a certainty and ease that even Loki respected. But in the safety and comfort of the tower, you were, for lack of a more eloquent term, adorable . Walking around in oversized Midgardian articles of clothing and fuzzy socks that often sported cartoonish designs of various animals, you almost appeared soft. Paired with your bright, but not blinding, personality, it only made sense that the others warmed to you so quickly.

Stark was the first to fall under your spell, pampering you with his latest inventions before showing anyone else. Loki supposed it had to do with your genuine enthusiasm when Stark talked, and the team had quickly learned that besides Pepper, you were one of the only people who could persuade Stark to venture from his lab to get the rest that all mortals needed. Rogers had been next. It wasn’t hard to see why the Captain had taken such a quick liking to you. Loki personally believed Rogers only saw the innocence and not the complexity, but that innocence had apparently activated his protective mode, for the Captain was oh-so-careful whenever he reluctantly sent you on any missions. Next, it had been Banner. You and the shy doctor had bonded over your shared love of quiet relaxed conversation and he could often find you in Banner’s labs, assisting him with various mundane tasks. You had even swayed the ever-suspicious Widow. How you did so, Loki had no idea. Even now, months later, the Widow only gazed upon him with open hostility. Finally, his oaf of a brother Thor. Thor had loved you from the first time he met you, but that was no surprise. What was surprising was how you tolerated his boisterous brother’s extroverted and often over-enthusiastic nature with a never ending well of patience. He could see how you flinched when Thor would sometimes talk too loudly, but you were always quick to cover it up with a smile and a hug for the oaf. 

Loki noticed that like many Midgardians, you seemed to crave touch. Even among the highly suspicious Avengers, they all seemed to trust you intimately. Stark, who, putting it lightly, was not a hugger, seemed to enjoy the occasional brush of your fingers across his arm. Rogers loved to ruffle your hair whenever he saw you, his large hand continuously running through your soft locks during meetings. Loki wondered briefly what it would be like to feel your silky strands of hair between his fingers, to have you sigh contentedly and close your eyes while he wove intricate braids into your hair. He didn’t know. The only one besides Rogers who touched your hair was the Widow, and you could both often be found brushing and braiding each other’s hair. With Banner, you seemed to be fond of side hugs, quickly smooshing the entire side of your body against his, and with Thor, well, you seemed to be the most comfortable with his brother. Your customary greeting was a hug, and it often annoyed him when his brother would abandon whatever interaction he was having with Loki to embrace you and spin you around while you giggled with a childlike glee. During the weekly movie nights, you could usually be found next to Thor, curled next to him with one of his arms thrown haphazardly behind your shoulders. Loki hated it. 

When you had first moved into the compound, you had been cautious around all of your new companions. Slowly, that careful apprehension had faded away, and you had become an integral part of their family, while Loki had remained an outsider. He had tried to hate you, and for a time, he was successful. He looked down upon your openness, your softness, and categorized it as a weakness. Over time, he began to see your courage and ability to trust as a strength and as a sign that you were truly comfortable with all the occupants of the tower, and he admired it, rather against his will. 

Though Loki refused to admit it to himself, his fascination with you had nothing to do with how the others saw you; Loki couldn’t care less about the opinions of Midgardians. Except you. There was something about you that drew Loki to you, for when he noticed you were relaxed with all of your roommates, he was startled to see that it included him. Not to say he was your favorite by any chance, or that you paid special attention to him, but he was excruciatingly aware of your perfectly average treatment of him. The way your eyes met his without flinching and how your body refused to tense when he entered a room and the way you didn’t hesitate before contentedly dropping into a seat next to him made him feel accepted. Though his pride prevented him from acknowledging it, acceptance was one thing Loki strived for but could never reach, regardless of his Silvertongue or magic, charm or tricks. But with you, Loki didn’t have to strive for acceptance, he simply was. As uncomfortable as it made him, Loki begrudgingly began to develop a fondness for you.

Not only did your laid-back treatment of Loki prompt him to lower his defenses around you, your complete and inherent trust in him pleased him immensely. He wasn’t talking about you sharing all your deepest and darkest secrets with him, but rather the way you trusted he wouldn’t hurt you or betray the Avengers. Occasionally Loki would unintentionally hear snippets of conversation between ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ making jabs regarding his ability to be trusted and simply at his expense, but you were never a part of the unpleasant discussions. In fact, Loki would often see you frowning disapprovingly at whomever had made the disparaging comment, and while the others’ opinion of Loki did not matter to him whatsoever, seeing your discontent had him appreciating you even more. More than how you acted when Loki wasn’t present, Loki still mostly enjoyed the interactions you did have with him. Loki typically hated movie nights as he was forced to suffer through the combined presence of all the people who disliked him crammed into a single room. He constantly craved to distance himself from everyone, including you, until he had experienced your closeness for himself. Though it was unbearably harder to see you interacting so affectionately with Thor after he knew just how intoxicating you were, the times you would touch him always kept his negative feelings at bay. On the rare occasions when you weren’t glued to Thor’s side during movie nights, you opted to sit next to him. More often than not, you ended up falling asleep, either right next to him, or on him, though that seldom ever happened. The few times it did, Loki found himself paying even less attention to whatever repetitive and predictable Midgardian film was playing and focusing on you. The steady rise and fall of your breaths against his skin, the warmth your body radiated, contrasting deliciously with his own icy interior, and the unpredictable actions you took in your sleep, such as the occasional tightening of your fingers on his chest or the charming way you enticingly nuzzled your cheek into him. Whenever you feel asleep on him, Loki would take extreme care to keep his breaths as even as possible to not disturb you. He once mustered up the courage to drape his arm across your slumbering form, and you had sighed ever so softly and only burrowed deeper into his side. When you woke up, you always looked mortified and apologized profusely, as if Loki could ever be displeased by your actions. Unbeknownst to you, the moments you spend curled up next to him warmed him during the days you were absent or off on missions.

He doubted you knew how much you mattered to him, and he himself didn’t understand just how deep he cared for you, until he almost lost you. You were on a mission with Thor and the Widow and were supposed to be back a week ago. Various complications had arisen, and while worry grew within Loki, he pushed it deep within himself as missions rarely did go completely smoothly. However, his sleep quality, while usually less restful when you were not within the compound, deteriorated at a rapid pace, and he found himself in the kitchen making tea when the Quinjet returned, announcing your return. Loki immediately knew something was off, for he did not hear any quiet chatter or soft laughter that usually accompanied you, Thor, and the Widow. Convincing himself that he had nothing better to do, Loki had gone up to the roof with the intent of offering his brother tea as a guise to check on you. The sight Loki was met with had his fingers tightening on the mug and his teeth being grinded so hard he could almost hear it. For there Thor was, leaving the Quinjet with you held in his arms and the Widow prancing along behind. A concoction of emotions began boiling within Loki: confusion, hurt, anger, disgust. As Loki continued to watch from the shadow of the roof, his revulsion only increased as Thor lowered his face to yours in a disgustingly sweet manner and whispered in your ear. However, as Thor and the Widow drew closer to where Loki was standing, he began to pick up on the oddity of the situation. Why would Thor be carrying you in his arms? The Widow was not prancing, she was running. Why was she running? Why were you still limp? Was that blood? Loki quickly emerged from his corner and walked forward towards you. The sight he was met with had the tea in his hands dropping to the floor and shattering with a crash that Loki couldn’t hear. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything but a distant buzzing surrounding him, for you were there, lying in Thor’s arms with your eyes closed, skin sickly pale but shining with sweat, hair matted, and coated in blood that seemed to ooze from your body. Without a word, Loki had teleported all of you into the doctor’s lab. 

As Thor positioned you gently down onto the bed and the Widow ran to summon the healers, Loki could only focus on you. Your breaths, so solid against his side a few days ago, were erratic and thin, your chest barely rising at all. Your fingers twitched, not in the peaceful way they had against his chest, but painfully. Your brows furrowed and you whimpered pathetically. Loki’s heart shattered. Under any other circumstance, he would have immediately demanded what had happened, but he could not tear his eyes from you. Oh, you precious little mortal. Loki had forgotten how frail Midgardians were and how easily you could break, how utterly short your existences were. He reached towards your fragile form, carefully brushing your tangled hair away from your face. He poured his seidr into you, praying to all the Norns - Hel, even to Odin - that you would survive this ordeal, all the while cursing himself for not going with you, for allowing you to become injured to such an extent, and for not practicing healing magic when he had a change. His desperate attempt to heal you and self loathing was cut short by the arrival of doctors, nurses, and the other Avengers, all wildy alert after receiving news of your injury. Loki allowed himself to be jostled away while medical personnel surrounded you as the others began questioning Thor and the Widow on how you had arrived in this condition. 

Now, Loki sat by your bedside, where he had resided ever since they had stabilized your condition. He refused to budge, plainly ignoring anyone who tried to take his place and brushing off Thor’s half-hearted attempts to get him to eat. No, Loki spent all his time here, watching you for any sign of recovery and ensuring that your breaths kept coming. Your clothes had been changed. You were no longer wearing your bloodied uniform, but a set of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt taken out of your bedroom. Your body had been cleaned and hair had been brushed. You looked so peaceful, just laying there on the crisp white sheets. Your eyelids fluttering randomly and the occasional wince and groan were the only signs of life you exhibited. Your body convulses, and your face tenses as sweat begins to bead across your forehead. Loki recognized these symptoms all too well. You were having a nightmare. 

“Darling? Darling do you think you could wake up? I know you can. Come on, you can do it.” 

Loki whispered encouragement into your unconscious body, hoping he could rouse you from whatever torment your subconscious decided to inflict upon you. Surprisingly, you do awake, though it was not with the grace he typically saw from you. Instead, your eyes jolted open with a start and you immediately attempted to sit up, falling back down onto your back as your injury took over you. Your eyes were clouded as a result of the medication the doctors had pumped you with and your lips were chapped. Your hair framed your face haphazardly as a result of your incessant twitching from the nightmare. Your eyebags were prominent and half of your body and face still swollen. Norns, Loki thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. 

Seeing him, your half alert face breaks into a genuine smile and Loki hands you a glass of water, prompting you to greedily gulp all the liquid down.  

“Loki?” , you croak. “I'm cold.”

Loki’s relief at your awakening is palpable, and he immediately shrugs off his hoodie and bundles you up in the dark green (and insanely soft) fabric. His heart seems infinitely lighter as you look up at him wearing his ridiculously large hoodie and softens when you lay back down and burrow yourself into the fabric. You looked so small there in the hospital bed, your body still recovering and drowning in dark green cotton, and Loki has a sudden desire to brush his lips against the top of your head. Justifying his actions of simply that of a concerned friend, Loki gives into his want. The instant his lips come into contact with your skin, Loki never wants to let you go. The warmness of you seeps into him and fills a void within himself he didn’t even know he had. But Loki lets go, and you sigh happily. Looking down at your now sleeping figure, Loki decides to alert the others. As much as the Avengers dislike him, he does not take joy in witnessing their restlessness as they wallow in guilt. Moving away from you, Loki is stopped by your voice. 

“Don’t go.” , your sleepy voice whispers, “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Though he wasn’t sure of the exact details of your past or what experiences prompted you to ask him to stay, but in that moment Loki vowed to completely annihilate not only those who put you in your current state, but also any being who had ever dared to harm you in any way, even if he had to track down the man who had cut in front of you when you were in line getting coffee for the team a few weeks ago. Your eyes look at him with sadness and pleading within that whatever miniscule amount of conviction within Loki dissipates. He quickly returns to your bedside, dragging the chair closer to you. Selfishly, Loki wants to touch you again, so he reaches out a hand to close your eyelids. 

“Shh. It’s okay love. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you. I promise. Try to get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

“Thank you. You’re the best you know. You’re my favorite,” you mutter almost incoherently as you doze off again. As he moves his hand away from your face, you grimace and grab his hand before he can pull back entirely. Your fingers intertwine with his as you bring it back to you. Turning onto your side, you pull your connected hands back up to your face and cuddle with it. You. Cuddling. With him. “Thought you said you weren’t going to leave,” you mutter as you frown, “Lokiii” you drawl. You smile then, and truly drift off.

Something inside Loki cracks. He had been suppressing and denying it for weeks, months now even, but he could no longer run from the realization that his heart belonged to you. Looking at your sleeping form, willingly grasping onto him even though you knew his history and all that he had done, Loki finally let himself believe he might not need to run anymore. 

[sameheart-sameblood]

All To Myself

(gif by @captainrexs​)

pairing: captain rex x f!reader

summary: bath time with rex usually means trying to get him to relax, but tonight it's your turn to let him help you out

words: 3.1 k

warnings: 18+, smut, bathtime shenanigans (f receiving), rex being the giver we all know he is

a/n: this is purely self-indulgent as i love baths. i would give up all my earthly possessions to take one with rex. this is my first attempt at smut (which is probably obvious lol). kind of didn’t want to release this but got tired of it staring at me whenever i opened word

read on ao3!

Your evenings were usually spent alone. At first, that had bothered you. Rex had come into your life and you wanted nothing more than to be in his presence. The calmness and kindness he exuded was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. Being around him made you crave his presence all the more, like spice coursing through your system. You knew his job meant he was needed off planet most of the time. But was it really too much to ask that you see him occasionally while he was back on Coruscant? 

As your relationship went on, you got used to it. Being numb to the canceled dinners and missed special occasions was just what seemed in store for someone who loved a captain in the GAR. Which is why you barely batted an eyelash when he had commed you earlier in the day, rushing an apology about not being able to see you that evening. You might be resigned to the fact that Rex’s life was his job but it still didn’t make it easier to stomach the thought of another night alone. 

The two of you had planned an evening on the town, dinner and dancing. Well, at least you dancing while Rex swayed self-consciously next to you. He hated it and yet he never tried to talk you out of going. It was one of the many things you loved about him. It was these things you remembered when your loneliness got the best of you. So what if Rex couldn’t always be around? Whenever he was with you he made you feel like the only person in the world. 

You contemplate calling your friends to see if they’d like to join you for your planned activities. But you’re feeling sorry for yourself and if you can’t be with Rex, then you’d rather just be by yourself. You decide to keep things simple and take a bath. The thought instantly puts you in a better mood. It’s one of your favorite past-times. 

******

When Rex had first seen your bath routine, he’d been in shock. As someone who was usually only afforded about two minutes to bathe, the thought of taking an hours long bath blew his mind. You’d insisted he try it for himself. He watched as you drew him a bath of his own, adjusting the temperature just right and properly dissolving a few handfuls of epsom salts. 

Before leaving him, you’d dimmed the lights, lit a few sweet smelling candles and turned on some light background music. Lowering himself into the tub, Rex thought the experience might be alright. But after a minute, he was ready to get out. He had tried to understand it, really he had. But as someone always on the go, he couldn’t easily relax, constantly fighting the feeling he should be doing something. 

He didn’t begrudge you taking your baths. After all, he saw how happy they made you and he wanted nothing more than to see you content. But for a soldier, the experience felt like an indulgence he didn’t deserve. 

He had shyly called you back into the bathroom. “I don’t think I’m doing it right, love.” You’d gone in to find him sitting there, looking confused, as if expecting something more to happen. “There’s no wrong way to take a bath, Rex.” Sitting down next on the edge of the porcelain, you’d motioned for him to keep trying. He’d sat back, shoulders tensed towards his ears, staring straight ahead, eyes wide, his whole body on alert. 

You had to stifle a laugh as you watched. “Ok, apparently you have found a wrong way to take a bath.” He’d looked so forlorn at his failure that you had no choice but to shed your clothes and get in, taking a more hands on approach to showing him how to relax. He’d liked baths much more after that…

******

Easing yourself into the water makes you instantly relax. Knowing you’ll most likely spend the rest of the night in here, you make sure to get everything prepared that you might need. Feeling cheeky, you also bring over of your favorite vibrator. You’re not going to be getting any from Rex tonight, so might as well try to have some fun. 

You get to catch up on the book you’re reading, feeling satisfied when you finish the last page. Settling back, you let your mind wander, hands playing at the surface of the water. An accidental glide over your breast sparks something in your belly. You pause, then do it again, imagining it’s Rex’s larger, calloused hand teasing you. You grab the vibrator, placing it next to you. 

Before you delve in, you turn the water on to return some of the warmth the bath has lost. 

Over the roar of the tap, you don’t hear the door open. Someone clears their throat and you whip your head towards the noise. Rex greets you, shoulders slumped with fatigue. “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

And you must look scared too, you’re eyes double their usual size. You glance at the vibrator, wondering if you have time to hide it. Rex isn’t against your use of toys, in fact he encourages them. But you’re still embarrassed at being caught just about to put it to use. He follows your eyes, his own widening slightly. 

“Ah, so it was going to be that kind of bath?” He chuckles, expression darkening slightly as you squirm under his gaze. He just stands there, looking at you. Oh, he’s actually expecting an answer. “Well, I just figured, you weren’t going to be home, and I was bored and lonely and…” 

You’re rambling now but you can’t stop, even as you watch him slowly remove his armor. He does so tantalizingly slow, nodding along with mock sympathy as you continue. 

“I thought I would be alone for the night and I missed you so much, Rex, honey, I miss you.” 

His face softens at your wavering tone, your sincerity written all over your face. He finishes stacking his armor neatly in the corner. “I missed you too.” He strips out of his blacks, folding them as you openly gawk at him. He allows himself a smirk at your neediness. Finally ridding himself of his clothing, he kneels down next to the bath. He runs his thumb over your cheek. “I’m here now. You don’t need to be lonely anymore.”

That night you had first introduced him to proper bath-time, you’d sat behind him, guiding him on just how to really relax. But tonight, he wants you to be taken care of. He motions for you to scooch forward, then sinks in behind you, groaning softly. You settle into each other, just reveling in the closeness for a moment.

Rex exhales a ragged breath and you feel some of the tension go out of his body. “Tough day?” He pulls you closer, your back pressed to his chest. “Just the usual. Nothing I can’t handle.” You know him well enough now to hear the pain in his tone. He feels you tense, knowing you want to ask him to elaborate, always trying to solve his problems. Rex rubs your arms slowly, soothing you “Not to worry. Everything’ll be fine.”

Rex’s hands continue their hypnotic rubbing. Up and down, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You allow yourself to relax once again but don’t let the matter drop. “You had a long day, Rex. Let me help you unwind.” You try and get out of the bath so you can switch places. But he’s having none of it. He holds you gently in place. “Taking care of you will help me relax, love.”

When you had first gotten together and he would say these kinds of things to you, it was hard to believe him. Could he truly be this selfless? It felt in some way like you were taking advantage of him. As your relationship progressed, you’d come to see that he truly meant things like that. Rex had many love languages but his favorite was acts of service.

Sighing in defeat, you settle back against him. He chuckles at your small sounds of mock protest. Rex nuzzles his face into your hair, inhaling your familiar scent of pine and Alderaanian blossoms. For a moment, he breathes you in, forgetting about the world. But as his eyes slowly open, he’s greeted by the sight of your long abandoned vibrator. Rex reaches for it, toying with it. You see what he’s doing and turn towards him. “It’s ok. I’m fine. Let’s just lay here.” 

Your captain may be tired but he’ll be damned if he doesn't fall asleep knowing you've been satisfied. “That’s right. You just lay there. Let me do the work.” The tiny thing clicks on, a buzzing filling the room. Rex lowers it into the water, the vibrations sending out tiny ripples. He pauses hovering above where you need him most. 

“What do you think of when you use this?” You’re so caught off guard by the question that you only let out a confused garble. He gives your thigh a squeeze, chuckling at the state you’re already in. “I haven’t even started yet, love. Use your words.”

After that, there’s no hesitation. “You.” The word comes out in a needy rasp. Rex is right. He hasn't even touched you yet and your body is already wound up so tightly in anticipation that you’re sure you might combust at any moment. “It’s always you, Rex.” You can’t see but his face softens, still so surprised someone would ever care for him like that. 

He rewards you with a lingering kiss on your shoulder and lowers the toy to your already swollen clit. You jolt at the sensation, body automatically trying to get away from it. Rex’s free arm tightens around you, forcing you to stay still and power through the first few seconds of overstimulation. You’re still whimpering, but you soon relax, leaning your head back onto his shoulder. 

He studies your face, your eyes screwed tight and mouth slightly agape. “Is this what you needed?” All you can do is nod but he prompts you to continue, rubbing the vibrator slowly up and down through your folds. Gasping at the new sensation, your eyes pop open to meet his. “I-I…” The arm that had been holding you tightly against him loosens. His hand moves to your breast, massaging gently.

It’s been so long since you’ve had time to take things this slow. Usually he’s only got a few minutes free, leaving time for a rushed rendezvous and nothing more. But tonight you have him all to yourself. No comms beeping to steal his attention, no duty calling him away. It’s as if there’s nothing outside of these four walls and you know it’s an opportunity that won’t come along often. 

Your head lolls to the side as he continues his ministrations. The coil in your belly is tightening quickly but you fight against it, needing something different. Your voice eventually resurfaces, your words on the tail end of a moan. “I- I need you!” Urging life back into your limbs that have since turned to jelly is difficult. But you manage to move your hand to cover his, clicking off the vibrator. 

Rex stills for a moment, trying to figure out what he’s done wrong. Turning your head to look at him, you see his confusion. You reach up to stroke his face, eyes pleading with him. After a moment, you see him understand. It’s something you always want, without fail. He smiles down at you, leaning over you to gently press his lips to yours. 

The vibrator is quickly abandoned on the side of the tub. With both hands free, Rex can really touch you, hands roaming about at his leisure. You sigh contently as his rough fingers trail along the sides of your body, then upwards to tease your nipples. The embers in your belly that had dimmed slightly are now burning brightly once again. He senses this and lowers a hand to your clit. 

At first, he just runs his fingers through your folds. He doesn’t mean to tease, he just hasn’t been able to feel you, to truly appreciate you in so long. But your whine pulls him out of his trance and he begins to rub circles that leave you gasping for air. He begins slowly, making sure you're happy with the direction things are going. 

Rex holds in his chuckle as he peers down at you. Your head has once again tipped back against him. But now, your face has gone slack, no tightness or tenseness to be found. Only pleasure. His free hand moves between your breasts, squeezing, massaging and tugging, making sure neither is neglected. He sees just how much your chest is heaving and decides to give you your reward. You’ve been so patient for him. 

His hand tugs at your thigh, pulling you out of your daze. “What are you - “ He lifts your leg and hooks it over the edge of the tub, spreading you wider for better access. You moan pitifully as the hand that had been rubbing circles delves back in. There’s so much more of you he can touch now and it makes you tremble. He beams down at you proudly, seeing how much this slight change is bringing you closer to the edge. 

You're tensing under him, back beginning to bow. Your sudden movement brings attention to his erection that’s been slowly growing. He can’t help when he automatically begins to grind against you. But Rex knows you well enough now to realize he only has a few more seconds before you're toppling into oblivion. His release can wait. 

Abandoning your breast, his hand slides up to your neck, applying the slightest pressure. You keen at the feeling. It’s not a show of dominance. It’s Rex reminding you that he’s there for you, a comforting presence that makes you feel perpetually taken care of. 

You twist your neck so you can gape up at him. The hand on your clit continues it’s work, doubling down its efforts. Throughout the experience, you’d been gripping the sides of the tub for dear life. But now, you bring one up to cover Rex’s hand that’s enclosed around your neck. Even through your haze of lust, your heart aches at the pure love radiating from his eyes. 

You're too far gone, unable to form words. All you can do is moan and hope he can decipher it. If you weren't in such a compromising position you would have to laugh. Asking someone to be able to decipher your desires without words. But thankfully Rex knows you like the back of his hand. He knows what you're asking, what last thing you need to make you let go. Loosening his grip on your neck, he uses it to hold your face, crashing your lips together. 

The kiss doesn’t break, even as you writhe under him. You try to turn away from him as you come, but he holds you to him, needing to feel you as much as you needed to feel him. The water is sloshing over the sides of the tub, your once full bath almost halfway empty. Rex breaks the kiss, letting the aftershocks of your release play out. 

He rubs soothingly against your thighs, watching as you twitch. You collapse onto him, finally beginning to break through the fog. The ability to form a coherent sentence seems to have left you. All you can manage is a weak sigh of his name. It’s the only thing you can remember and, in all honesty, you’d die a happy woman if that was the only thing you could utter for the rest of your life. 

“Was that what you needed, love?” Rex nuzzles into your neck as you chuckle. “Apparently more than I realized.” The rubbing at your sides pauses. You look to Rex to see what’s wrong and find his face twisted with guilt. “This isn’t right. If I can’t give you the attention you need then I don’t deserve you.” This isn’t the first time you've had this conversation and you're sure it wont be the last. 

But you’re happy to reassure your lover, as many times as you need to. “You give me everything I need, Rex. You’re smart, brave, funny, kind, supportive, sexy.” He lowers his eyes at the last word, smiling demurely. “I don’t know how I got so lucky. You give me everything and so much more. And I mean, if you don’t believe me, just look.” You laugh, gesturing at your bathroom, now in a state of disrepair, water on the floor, shampoo and soap bottles scattered, candles burnt down to messy puddles. 

Rex chuckles but looks contrite, rubbing his neck shyly. “Guess we got a little carried away.” He’s already made you come once, and spectacularly at that. But just the sight of him has those butterflies in your belly stirring to life again. You bat your eyelashes. “Now will you let me take care of you?” He closes his eyes, sighing tiredly. His cock, still hard against your back is evidence enough, but his muscles sag with fatigue.

“I want you more than anything. But I think I have just enough energy to clean this mess and then fall into bed.” Shaking your head, you gently extricate yourself from his arms. You stand on shaky legs as you hold out your hand for him. “Everything else can wait. Let me show you how much I missed you, Captain.” 

His eyes widen, lust beginning to cloud his gaze. You don’t use his title often, knowing how riled up it gets him to hear the word fall from your lips. But you need the big guns tonight, refusing to leave him wanting. Rex grabs for you and lets you lead him through the ruined bathroom and into your bedroom. 

He takes one last look at the state you’re leaving the room in. “But we should really clean this…” You lead him to the bed and softly push him down on to it. He looks up at you with doe eyes as you straddle his hips. “We will, honey. But no sense cleaning up now when we’re just about to make another mess.”

[duskholland]

Zip It || Peter Parker

prompt ↠ “oh, you want to kiss me so fucking bad, don’t you?” / “... what if I do?”

summary ↠ you didn’t think it could get any worse than the shared bed at the hotel, but then you find out you have to pretend to be peter’s girlfriend for the duration of the mission. it really feels like the universe is laughing in your face. ↠ enemies to lovers, fake dating, college au. word count ↠ 6.3k. warnings ↠ alcohol + a college party, brief use of needles, all the teasing and cursing that comes with an enemies to lovers, and some suggestive tension! this is sfw! a/n ↠ I love this prompt. I’ve wanted to write something based off it for ages, and what better scenario to explore it than in an enemies to lovers fake dating situation lmao? :’) it’s been a while since I wrote anything long with pete so I’m a lil rusty, but this was still a lot fun! I hope you like it

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Are you falling asleep right now? Seriously?” Your voice is scathing, your face pinched into a scowl as you stare across the hotel room. “Peter, we have to go in an hour.”

There’s the sound of the duvet rustling as Peter Parker very slowly looks up to glare at you. He’s sprawled beneath the covers of the large double bed, the sheets pulled up to his chin. The heat he carries in his eyes as he hears your accusation is considerably softened by the oversized burgundy hoodie he’s being swallowed by, and the fact his hair is wild and unkempt.

“No,” he says, voice cracking from its high pitch. He clears his throat immediately, cheeks flushing a little darker as he grimaces and looks away. “I’m just...chilling, Y/N.”

“Sure,” you reply. You shift around in the uncomfortable armchair in the corner of the room, feeling pain shoot up your back from the hunched position you’ve been in for far too long. “Liar.”

Peter sits up a little straighter, pulling a face. It’s quick to shatter as he yawns suddenly, and loudly, the sound so brash and unexpected that it makes you jump. Amusement mixes with his annoyance as he looks at you, brown eyes glinting almost amber beneath the light from the bedside lamp.

“I’m not lying. I’m just enjoying this really comfy bed,” he says. His pink lips quirk into a smirk, and he looks so fucking smug as he buries himself back beneath the covers. “It’s so warm. I think the, uh, the sheets are satin. Feels like a cloud, or something. And the pillows…” Peter releases a strangled sound, hitting the back of his head off one of the feathery pillows for dramatic effect. “So nice… Um, unrelated, Y/N, but… how’s that chair? Looks pretty uncomfortable.”

You scowl. “Shut up,” you snap. “You’re completely insufferable. I can’t believe I have to be here with you right now.” You drop your voice, speaking in mutters as you add, more to yourself, “why couldn’t it be Cap? Or Natasha? Why’d it have to be you?”

Peter releases a mirthless chuckle. You glance back, watching as he combs a hand through his fluffy brown curls, messy and wild from so long lounging around. He looks a little bit like an angry teddy bear, wrapped up in such a large hoodie, tucked up in bed. You’re quick to push down that thought. There is nothing cute or inoffensive about Peter Parker.

“Do you think I’m any happier than you about this?” he responds, voice dull. “This is the worst mission I’ve ever been assigned to, and that’s saying a lot. Do you remember that one we did, with the, uh, the… The chemicals? In the lab? Or the time that we had to go and deal with all those freaky alien snakes?” he breaks off, shivering, then recomposes himself enough to shoot you a sour look. “This is worse than all of those times.”

The ache in your back from the chair grows too much to bear, so you stand up slowly, trying to hide your expression of pain.

“Well, hopefully, we’ll get this over with soon,” you reply, voice a mutter. You cast him a distrustful look. “I might kill you if I have to spend much longer with you.”

Peter just smirks, rolling onto his side as he snuggles back into bed. “Feeling’s mutual, baby,” he calls out, looking back at his phone.

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you stalk over to your suitcase and pull out your outfit for tonight, followed by a bag of makeup and hair products. You don’t bother to say anything more as you stride into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you for effect. The moment it’s shut, you throw everything down on the counter and grab at the cool porcelain of the basin, staring yourself in the mirror as you try to calm down.

Peter makes you so frustrated. Since high school and the cramped hallways of Midtown, he’s been an irritant to you. Back then, he was always hanging around, crowding your space, infiltrating your friend group. You understood it, at first. He was a new addition to the Avengers, a team you’ve been a part of since you were 14. Maybe it was to be expected that he clung to you like he did back then, and stuck to your side like glue. Maybe you’d liked it at first.

But then he’d grown up. Peter had become cockier, bolder. The biggest transformation was when you both went to college and somehow ended up on the same course, sharing 90% of the same classes. You got to watch as he was scouted by the college lacrosse team, and thus his ego inflated. To most people, you know he appears charming. He’s polite, considerate, compassionate, and those qualities have awarded him both the attention of your entire college population and the acclaim of the citizens of New York. They herald him, repeatedly, as their saviour, and whilst you’re not jealous of the attention he gets, it irritates you.

Peter does stupid things, all the time, and everyone just lets him get away with it. Like when he accidentally webbed you down during a mission or tossed a bomb your way assuming you could magically diffuse it within the five seconds left on the timer. He steals your food from the fridge in the Avengers’ compound every single time, despite the notes and the padlocks you’ve resorted to using. It’s as if Peter is intent on ruining your life, and when he’s not doing it by fucking up a mission, he’s always just...there. Hanging around, with a sly smirk on his lips or a witty remark laying at the tip of his tongue, trying to get a rise out of you.

You can’t stand being around him.

To add insult to injury, you’ve both been roped into working this mission together. It’s an odd pairing—usually, you’d have at least one other member of the team to act as a buffer between you both. This time, though, with the objective being the infiltration of a college party, apparently you and Peter are the only people who look the right age. You think it’s just some elaborate ploy to get you to work better together, but your complaints had fallen on deaf ears.

You sigh as you look at your reflection in the mirror.

As you do your makeup and fix your hair, you try to let go of some of the frustration you feel. You’re jumpy and shaking, feeling like an uncontrollable livewire. You always feel oddly unsettled whenever you’re around Peter, and it’s only been growing worse recently.

A weight rolls from your shoulders when you finish painting your face and fixing your hair. All that’s left is your dress, and you pick it up with a smile on your face. It’s short, one of your own, and a pretty shade of red—the perfect number for a college party. You slip into it, wriggling as the silky material slides up to press against your soft skin. It’s going well, but then...

You can’t reach the zip.

“Fuck,” you mutter, scrunching up your nose as you reach back and paw helplessly at the undone zipper. You’d forgotten when you’d packed it that the high rise of the zip on this particular dress always gives you trouble. “Peter!”

“What?” he yells back.

You grimace and try a final time to grab the zipper yourself.

“Can you come here?”

“Is that how you ask for something politely?”

You inhale a shuddering breath, clenching your fists as you glance up at the ceiling. Through tight, irritated lips, you call back, “Peter Parker, oh generous and kind saviour of New York City, could you please come here and help me?”

You hear the sheets of the bed rustle very slowly, followed by the heavy set sounds of footsteps stomping over the carpet. You wonder if he’s being purposefully annoying, or if he’s just like this. A moment later, Peter opens the bathroom door, sticking his head around the doorframe with a scowl on his face. He opens his mouth to speak, only for the words to catch as his eyes bulge and take in your figure. You stand a little straighter, arching an eyebrow as you watch him swallow, deeply, taking in the tight fit of the dress and the way it clings confidently to your form.

“Uh- oh, uh, what?” he mutters, cheeks burning red.

“Can you get my zip? Please?” you ask, biting back a smile as you see how flustered he’s become. It gives you a rush of confidence that you can’t quite explain to have him looking at you like that. “It’s uh, just too high for me to reach.” You turn so you have your back to him, glancing into the long bathroom mirror to watch him tentatively step forward.

“Yeah,” he responds, voice gentle. He shuffles nearer, still shrouded in that soft hoodie.

You bend down slightly and make sure he’s got open access to the back as you stand still. A small pulse of electricity crackles down your spine when Peter perches one of his warm hands on your bare shoulder, fingertips brushing up against the thin strap as the other curves down to your back.

“You, uh… You look nice,” Peter murmurs. He’s gentle as his fingers tug the zip, and you have to look away from the mirror, something in your chest tightening as you observe how delicate he is with you. It’s a stark contrast to how haphazardly he treats you out on the field when you’re both protected by your suits.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

It’s tense. You can feel his breath coming out across the back of your neck, and you’re entirely aware of the hand resting on your shoulder. As the sound of the zip slowly being pulled up fills the small space of the bathroom, you find yourself holding your breath.

“There,” Peter mutters. He steps back, immediately pulling away all contact with your body, and your skin feels cold without him. You glance in the mirror, seeing that he’s fixed it perfectly, and give him a short nod.

“Thanks,” you say again, lacking any better words. Your brain feels fuzzy.  

Peter’s phone buzzes and you watch as he digs through his front pocket to find it. “Oh!” he exclaims. His nimble fingers pad over the front screen. “They’ve sent through our fake identities.”

“Ooh,” you say, suddenly feeling excited. This is your favourite part of going undercover—the fake names, the fabricated social media accounts, and the backstory you get to spin. Whoever HQ designs for you becomes your character for the night, and it’s thrilling. Makes you feel a little bit like a movie star. “Let me see.”

Peter’s brows furrow and you watch his jaw drop as his eyes widen. He glances at you, nervousness mixing with his frustration.

“You’re not going to like this,” he says.

“Why? What are you talking about? What have they done? Why—”

He passes you the phone with a roll of his eyes, and you snatch it from his hand.

“Oh, yeah, no problem, Y/N, you don’t need to say thanks,” Peter says sarcastically.

Entranced by the phone, you sit on the marble bathroom counter, continuing to scroll through the fake social media profiles as Peter faffs around in front of the mirror. You’re numbly aware of him pulling off his hoodie, then inspecting his teeth and uncapping his tub of hair gel.

The profiles seem fine. You can’t see anything wrong with them. You’ll be Fi Hardy, Peter as Ben Beckerman. You scroll down your own orchestrated instagram feed, seeing photos of you, pictures of typical college things, then…

“Wait.” You feel your breath catch. “What the fuck.”

“Yeah.” You can hear the smirk in Peter’s voice. “I know.”

The tech team back at HQ is incredibly talented. One of their freakiest and most irritating skills is their ability to photoshop photos that look so real it’s disconcerting. Their latest feat seems to be a series of photos of you and Peter together, except, it’s not really you kissing his cheek, and it’s definitely not him with his arms wrapped around you and his face nuzzled into your neck.

“They...want us to be a couple?” you mutter, voice tight.

“Mmm. Gets worse than that, though. Look at the caption on the newest one.”

You scroll back up, eyes catching on the small, almost insignificant detail of the photo. It’s you both, again, standing together at a party that never took place. Your left-hand rests on Peter’s shoulder, and though some of the details are blurry, the presence of a ring is not.

@fi_hardy: feel like the happiest girl in the world. can’t wait to have you as my husband <3

Beneath the post is hundreds of likes, and a stream of comments from fake accounts congratulating the two of you on your engagement.

It makes sense, you suppose. You’ve read the file. You know that the man you’re trying to bug tonight has a history of pursuing taken women, and you suspect that your engagement ring might give you access to him that you might otherwise not get. On a basic level, you understand it, and if it was anyone else assigned as your fiancé, you’d be fine with it. But it’s not. It’s him.

You throw Peter’s phone on the counter angrily.

“Hey!” he yells, quickly snatching it up and cradling it close. “Careful!”

You slip down from the counter, your fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your palms as you pace the short space. Peter jumps out of your way, eyeing you with amusement in his eyes.

“Are you seriously laughing right now?” you quip, needing to direct your irritation at someone.

Peter shrugs. “Maybe. You’re being really dramatic.”

“Oh, well I’m sorry that I don’t particularly like the idea of walking around a party pretending to be engaged to you.” Your eyes widen as you start to think about what this actually entails. “Clearly, these people are gross and affectionate. Have you even thought about what that might mean?”

Peter loses a little bit of his confidence, his cheeks paling slightly. “Well, uh, we don’t have to play into it that much—”

“Yes, we do,” you challenge. “They’ve clearly set it up like this for a reason. If we don’t follow it exactly, then we’ll fuck up the mission.” You meet his gaze, nostrils flaring. “I’m not going to fuck up this mission, Peter, and you better not either.”

“Woah,” he mutters, throwing his hands in the air. His fingers glint beneath the harsh bathroom lighting, still partly sticky from the hair gel. “I’m not planning on messing up the mission.” He tilts his head to the side, chuckling. “I’m gonna be the most convincing fake fiancé you’ve ever had.”

You pause, crossing your arms. “Oh, really?” You raise a brow. “You know, that means you’re going to have to, like… Hold my hand.”

Peter nods, gelled hair staying in place. He copies your movements, biceps bulging against the thin white t-shirt as he folds his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” he says. He steps a little closer, smirking, and you breathe in the scent of his cologne. “Might even have to kiss you, too.”

Something inside your chest rebels against your irritation, and you find yourself puzzling as an odd combination of emotions strikes you.

“You will,” you say, narrowing your eyes. You look away, trying to shake off the odd feelings in your stomach. “I, uh… I’m going to go and find the rest of my jewellery.” You walk towards the bathroom door, glancing back just in time to catch Peter’s eyes admiring your form. His cheeks flush again, and you raise a brow. “Hurry up,” you mutter. “We need to go.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

An hour later, you’re there, thrown thick into the fray of a Chicago house party. From the outside, you’d been sceptical—the house looked to be a normal building, smack bang in the centre of a residential street. Inside, though, it wears all the marks of a college party: tacky red cups, a terrible DJ, and a persistent level of noise that makes your ears ache. As a student yourself, you usually love parties, but you will admit it’s a little disconcerting to be at one where you know no one. Undercover and knowing no one but Peter, you find yourself in the back corner of the room with him, his arm thrown easily around your shoulders as the two of you scout the room.

Peter’s presence at your side is merely for protection, and both of you know it. With neither of you in your suits and your skills leaning more towards the pick-pocketing side than his, the plan is simple. You’ll both work together to identify your target, then you’ll discreetly take his phone and pass it off to Peter who will make a copy of all the files. Hopefully you’ll be able to return it to Harry Osborn, the son of the elusive CEO of Oscorp, before he notices that his phone, which contains precious information about illegal scientific experiments, has been taken.

It should be simple.

“Where the fuck is he?” you murmur, squinting your eyes as you survey the crowd. It’s Harry’s party, yet the host hadn’t been on the door, nor does he appear to be in the living room.

“Don’t know,” Peter responds.

You glance up at him, biting back a snarling comment as you get distracted by the sight of his face. It’s quite… It’s quite cute.

Peter’s pulled a blue plaid shirt over the top of his white t-shirt. The cuffs obscure the web shooters he’d refused to leave behind, and the material clings tightly to his torso. He’s buffed up considerably since joining the lacrosse team, and though you despise the way he’s now able to press more than you in the gym, you will admit he looks good with his chest full and muscular.

“Um, Fi?” Peter’s looking at you, eyebrows arched. His thin lips twitch into almost a smile, and he tugs you a little bit closer. You squeak as you fall into him, having to reach up and grab at his shoulders to steady yourself. The glint of the golden band, sitting on your ring finger, draws your attention. “Are you okay, baby? Looking a little bit… Distracted.”

He doesn’t know you were checking him out. There’s no way. He doesn’t.

...Does he?

You smile sweetly, trying to look at him like you’re in love. “Sorry, babe,” you respond. There are people all around you, chatting and swaying to the music, so you have to maintain the rouse. “Got a lot on my mind.”

Peter coos, reaching up to pat your cheek softly. You have to press down the urge to bite his finger.

“‘Course you do,” he soothes. His eyes flitter around your face, then back to the rest of the room as he surveys the crowd. Peter’s expression suddenly clears, and he pats your cheek softly. “He’s here,” he murmurs, voice low. “Eleven o’clock.”

You turn in his arms, sinking back into Peter’s form as he adjusts to hold you in a loose hug. His chin presses into your shoulder, slick hair brushing up against the bottom of your face. His warm grip on your waist makes you gulp.

Harry Osborn has entered the room. The blond is surrounded by a group of his friends and wearing a long, green and purple checkered jacket. Even from across the room, he emanates the stench of old money and thick charm.

“Alright,” you say. You pull away from Peter, having to fight for a few moments to break free from his firm grip. You turn back to look at him, blinking a few times as you take in his unreadable expression. “I’m going in. Stay close.”

Peter gives you a curt nod. “Gotcha,” he says. He drops his voice, eyes darkening. “Be safe,” he adds, voice a little quieter.

You swallow, nodding in return. “You too.”

Before he can say another word, you take off, melting into the crowd with ease. You’ve got a vague game plan building in your mind, but you won’t know the best way to get close to Harry until you get a better read on his character. You know a few things from his file, such as his naturally outgoing personality and a supposed affinity for taken girls, but beyond that, he’s a mystery.

You find a cup of cheap beer and stand fairly near Harry and the rest of his friends. There’s a few of them, standing in a circle, laughing loudly and talking in obscenities. You sway with the rest of the partiers, making direct and focused eyes towards him until he glances up and spots you. His eyes caress your figure, then he wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you slap on your best I’m interested face.

Harry excuses himself from his friends, walking over to you, intrigued.

“Hey,” he calls out, falling to a stop in front of you. His wavy blond curls complement the icy depths of his blue eyes. “Do I know you?” His tone is light but curious.

You nod immediately, slapping on a bright smile. “Yeah,” you reply. “We were in the same chem class last semester? I’m Fi.” Your words are instilled with so much brash confidence that Harry accepts them. He leans into you as you step closer and place your free hand up on his shoulder, fingertips feeling the soft material of his jacket. “I always had a bit of a crush on you, if I’m being honest.”

Harry chuckles, looking you up and down with hunger in his eyes. You match his movements, doing it under the guise of checking him out, but really, you’re trying to locate the position of his phone. A frown finds your lips as you begin to suspect it might be in one of his inner pockets. Your brain starts to spin, running through a variety of different actions you could pull that might give you closer access to him.

“You’re cute,” he decides. Harry smirks, then he plucks the red solo cup from your hand and raises it to his own lips. After draining it, he haphazardly throws it behind him, and your eyes follow it as it soars through the air and bounces off someone’s head. A snort slips past your lips as the figure jolts up, and you recognise the bed of brown curls as Peter. “D’you want to dance with me?”

You nod immediately, forcing a smile as you bring your eyes away from Peter, and back to Harry.

“I would love that,” you respond. Harry grins, then reaches forward to take your hand, only to halt as his beady eyes fall on your ring. Your breath hitches as you hope and pray the intel on his romantic tendencies is correct.

“Are you getting hitched?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing.

You shrug, trying to pass it off as a mere inconvenience. You distract him with fingers in his hair, stroking through the ends of his strands.

“Does it bother you?” you coo, stepping up to whisper in his ear. “He isn’t around at the moment, and I really want to dance with you, Harry.”

The blond’s eyes darken, and he shakes his head. “No problem with me, sweetheart,” he bounces back. He tugs you further into the room, and from the corner of your eye, you see Peter following.

You dance together for a while and slowly, you inch closer to Harry. What starts out as a casual exploration of his form with your hands quickly turns into a full-body pat-down, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. As you slide your fingers beneath the heavy material of his jacket, his lips tickle your neck, kissing your skin harshly. You hide a scowl as your fingers shift lower, lower, and finally, you feel it—his phone.

Harry coaxes you away from his shoulder, and you feel disappointment dampen your excitement as he glances at you, slightly flushed.

“D’you want to go upstairs?” he asks, voice sultry.

You pout softly. “Can we just dance? For a little bit longer?” You know if he gives you one more shot at it, you’ll be able to snatch his phone.

Harry nods, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. His palm is cool and calloused, and it feels alien on your face.

“Of course,” he responds, voice soft. His eyes slip down to your lips, and you know what he wants. You think that it’d be a small price to pay for completing the mission. “You’re so pretty.”

He starts to lean in, his touch on your face encouraging you to do the same. Your eyes flutter shut, but before you’re able to seal the deal, something very large crashes into you.

You yelp, being pushed back from Harry. Your eyes spring back open, and nothing short of volatile irritation burns across you as you see that it’s Peter.

“Woah, man, what the fuck?” Harry snaps. “Look where you’re going.”

Peter snarls at him and reaches down to grab your hand. Your eyes widen, and you squeeze his fingers hard.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should watch where you’re putting your hands before you try and make a move on my girl.”

You jolt up, staring at him, horrified. Before Harry can get in another word, Peter’s jerking you across the room, pulling you in the direction of the patio.

“What the fuck?!” you exclaim, voice high. “What did you do that for? Eh? I was so close to getting the fucking phone, Peter!” you drop your voice as you speak his real name. You try to shake yourself out of his grip, only for him to squeeze you tighter.

Peter doesn’t say anything—not until you’re outside, standing away from the rest of the party, shielded in the trees. He drops your hand and starts to pace in front of you, eyes wild, face scowling.

“You weren’t,” he says, pointing at your left hand. “We’re supposed to be engaged. You were going to blow our cover.”

You throw your hands in the air. “Excuse me? That’s bullshit. Both of us know that this,” you pause to throw your hand up and point at your ring, “is part of it. He likes taken girls, idiot. He found it hot. What the fuck is your problem?”

Peter stops pacing, and he stands in front of you, breathing heavily through flared nostrils. His eyes trail across you, and he jumps forward a few steps.

“He was...sleazy,” he says, scrunching up the tip of his nose. “We’ll just take him out another way. Like, we- we can just wait until he’s alone, and jump him. You’ve still got those, uh, those unconscious injection things, right? We’ll just jab him, steal the phone, use the memory wiping ones, and it’ll be fine.” He’s sputtering and stammering over his words, and you press both hands into your waist as you stare at him, incredulously.

“I understand now,” you say, speaking quickly. “You’re jealous.”

Peter’s expression shifts into one of horror. He opens his mouth to speak, but you jump in first.

“No, I’m talking,” you interrupt. You step closer, finding yourself drawn to the fierce anger churning in his eyes. “You want to be the one who gets all the credit for the mission. You can’t stand the thought of me doing the hard work, can you? You’d rather sabotage the whole thing than let me do my job.”

Peter shakes his head roughly, a few strands of his hair bursting free from the confines of the gel.

“No,” he stresses. “That’s not it at all, Y/N. How self-centred do you think I am?”

You laugh coldly. You’re so close now, you can almost feel his warm breath coming out over your face.

“Incredibly self-centred, Parker,” you respond, not even bothering to use his code name. You’re too far away from anyone else for them to hear you, anyway. “You’re selfish, and volatile, and you do whatever the fuck you want to do. You’re no better than a child.”

He blinks a few times, pursing his pink lips. “Well, fuck you,” he replies, voice dancing with irritation. “You think I’m a child? You’re the one who never fails to throw insults at me, or make fun of all the things I like to do. You’re always, always, hanging around me, watching me like I’m about to trip up. You’re the one who’s self-centred and doesn’t let anyone help you. You’re stubbornly independent, infuriatingly curious, and you- you- you make me so mad.”

Peter’s glowing, his cheeks bright pink, and his eyes a rich shade of brown that takes your breath away. You don’t know how to respond, so you fall back to the thought that’s been bouncing through your head since he’d tugged up your zipper.

“Oh, you want to kiss me so bad.”

“...What if I do?”

There’s a tense silence as you meet his eyes. Your chest is heaving, Peter’s too, but in sync, you seem to surge together. His hands go to your waist, and you wrap yours around his neck, and he kisses you, suddenly. You moan from surprise, but you push back into it, twirling your fingers into his hair as you kiss him fiercely. His lips are soft and slightly chapped, but they make you feel warm inside, and you realise in a quick moment that you love the feeling of them moving over yours. When he breaks off to gasp for breath, you’re quick to smother him again, craving the sensation, rejoicing in how nice it feels to be held in his strong arms.

You kiss him, and suddenly you understand why it annoys you so much every time you see him playing lacrosse and being cheered on by the crowds in the stands. It becomes clear why you couldn’t stand the sight of him with MJ. The way your skin crawls and your heart seizes in your chest every time Peter looks at you become explainable.

You kiss him, and it all makes sense.

When your lungs burn for air, you fall back. As you inhale the fresh air instead of his lips, your mind starts to clear.

“Peter?” You whisper.

Peter’s holding your waist, forehead pressed against yours as his ragged breath comes out across your face. When you open your eyes, you see the way his eyes are similarly wide with shock.

“I, uh…”

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash from inside the house. Peter jumps back, eyebrows furrowing as if he’s listening to something.

“Gotta go,” he mutters. “Spidey sense. Stay here.”

You try to reach out to grab him, but he slips away.

“B-Ben!” you call after him, but it’s already too late. Peter’s vanished, and your eyes have little more to grasp but the sight of him running over the patio and vaulting into the room.

You decide to follow him, head spinning.

When you reach the house, you see that one of the tables has been pushed over. You suspect that was the source of the loud noise, but a glance around the room gives you no sight of Peter, nor Harry. Your eyes flutter around the sea of people, and where you draw up blank, you decide you’ll need to comb the house.

Using your intuition, you quickly run up the stairs, dress flapping around the bottom of your thighs. It’s quieter upstairs, but you have to push through a few entangled couples. Worry hangs heavy in your heart. There’s a selection of rooms up here, but the one at the end has its door flung wide open. You squint your eyes and stare into it, gaze widening. It’s the master, and it leads out to a large balcony. On the balcony are Peter and Harry, engaged in what seems to be hand-to-hand combat.

You groan as you run into the room, but the sight of Harry’s jacket strewn across the floor makes you pause. You bend down, rummaging through his pockets and grinning as you feel his phone. After pulling it out, you dig into your slim black bag and pull out the transmission beacon. Whilst keeping half an eye on the fight out on the balcony, you use the other to slot Harry’s phone into the device. As the machine absorbs the intel from Harry’s phone, you stand up and hurry out, digging through your bag as you go to join the fight.

It’s a lot worse now that you’re out here. You’d thought Peter was in control, but now you’re closer, you can see that Harry is holding a sharp, thin knife. Usually, in his suit, Peter would be able to hold his own easily. Yet, it seems that Harry is exceptionally good at close combat, and you find them sparring on an equal level, one of Peter’s sleeves slashed and red blood staining the material.

“Who the fuck are you?” Harry sneers, breathless as he dodges a kick from Peter.

“None of your business,” your partner snaps back. Peter sees you, his face clearing with relief, but it knocks his concentration. You gasp as Harry manages to punch him in the side of the face and Peter goes spiralling back, grunting as the force behind it pushes him onto the cement floor.

“Well, if you won’t identify yourself, I’m sure the coroners will,” Harry snarls. He bends down to kneel on Peter, pinning him down with his wrists and legs.

Panic courses through your veins, but you’re finally able to shake it as you realise the fight has tilted very seriously out of Peter’s favour. You grab one of the syringes from your bag and vault across the large balcony, jumping onto Harry’s back. The man grunts, trying to turn around and take you on, too, but you jam the fast-acting needle into his arm, and he immediately slackens. You fall to the side, crashing onto the patio beside Peter as both of you watch Harry pass out. You wince as the blond falls back, slumping onto the balcony with his eyes closed.

“Shit,” Peter murmurs. He sits up, rubbing at his arm. “Thanks.”

You bring your gaze back to him, uncertain and nervous.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” you say. You swallow deeply. Peter’s eyes are dark but kind, glinting like stars beneath the night sky. “You’re my partner, so, uh… I had to protect you.”

“You saved me. He was this close to gutting me.” Peter holds up his fingers, showing you a tiny space as he smiles shyly.

You shrug bashfully, enjoying the way he’s looking at you.

“I couldn’t let you die,” you whisper.

Peter crawls over to you, and you melt like a candle against his lips as he reaches up to cup your face and kiss you, gently. It’s warmer this time and lacks the frenzied anger that’d tainted the last one. You sigh into it, and relax back, letting him press you down against the cool ground as he chases your lips. Peter shifts over you, planking above you, and the hand messily sprawled over your cheek holds you in place, allowing him to kiss you again and again.

“Wait,” you murmur, pulling back, brows furrowing. The sight of him above you, messy hair falling out around his face makes you smile. “What about your arm?”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise. “Super healing,” he mutters. “Worth it.”

You swallow, ghosting your lips over his again.

“But… But don’t you hate me?” you find yourself asking.

“Nah.” Peter’s smiling, his expression warm. “I think, uh… it was more frustration. I think I… I think I feel the opposite of hate. If you… If you know what I mean.”

Your lips twitch into a wide smile. “I know what you mean,” you reply. Teasingly, you press a very light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You drive me mad, but… in a good way.”

Peter chuckles, the sound vibrating through the air. “You’re so cute,” he mumbles between kisses. You play with his hair, aching in every single way to feel more of him. The attraction you feel towards him is consuming and fulfilling, and you wonder why it took you so long to get to the root of your feelings. “I, uh… I couldn’t stand the sight of you two together. That’s why I interrupted you guys. Sorry for, uh, blowing the mission.”

You giggle. Finally, Peter shifts away, standing up with a grunt and offering you a hand up.

“It’s fine,” you say. You curl into his side, his hand resting comfortably on your waist as the two of you look down at Harry. He’s snoring loudly. “It was a memory tranq. He won’t remember any of this tomorrow.” There’s a beeping sound coming from inside his room, and you nudge Peter’s side. “That’ll be the data transfer complete, too.”

Peter hums. He looks back to you, handsome eyes flickering over your face.

“So… Mission complete?” he asks, squeezing your waist.

You nod, smiling. “Mission complete.” You step closer and kiss his cheek, your grin widening as he blushes. “You want to, uh… Get out of here?”

Peter quirks an eyebrow, understanding fluttering out across his face. There are a hundred different things you know you’ll need to talk about and work through, but you don’t feel scared about that. You have a feeling that communicating with Peter is about to get a whole lot easier.

“What, to our very exciting hotel room with that really comfy bed?”

You giggle. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Mhmm.” Peter grabs your hand and squeezes it, then returns your kiss with a brief scattering of light pecks, stretching from cheek to cheek. “Can’t think of anything better, baby.”

You bite your lip, your cheeks aching from the stretch of your smile.

“Me neither.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

woooh yay :’) we lov college peter

lmk what you think !!!

m-list and taglist are linked in my bio <3

[no-droids]

Just the Translator

Part Ten of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6K

Warnings:  There is rough sex in this.  THERE IS ROUGH SEX IN THIS.  Do NOT read if that offends you.  There is also more anal stuff—NO FUCKING (not yet).  Uh, canon-typical violence, grumpy Din Djarin, some fluffy moments, Baby Yoda being a little troublemaker, bit of a cliffhanger ending BUT NOT TO WORRY PALS I ALREADY GOT QUITE A BIT OF THE NEXT PART WRITTEN

A/N: ***Please take a second to visit this googledoc, in it are useful links regarding the BLM protests and what we can do to help. Here is a separate link to where I originally addressed this and shared more thoughts***

***

Whelp.  At least you’re in a good mood. 

In contrast, Din and the kid have been causing problems all morning, the both of them.  Like two… two annoying, middle-aged children competing to see which one is less mature.

The smaller of the two, and older (most likely) is bouncing with energy.  Acting a complete fool.  Ready and willing to launch out of his restricting little sphere at any second, a bright green bundle of energy that slept way too well last night and is just rubbing it in at this point.  He was fine earlier—checking out of the inn, picking up some food at a local market, riding in the Crest as it navigated towards the most isolated sector on this planet—but the hike to this field has been like pulling teeth.

In fact, Din is currently wearing a singular gauntlet on his left hand for that very reason—so this child’s hyper ass could be contained within the hovering, reflective prison.  He’s restless, though, continuing to act out.  At one point you suggest just letting him walk to let some energy out like yesterday, even if he slows the group down with his tiny little legs.  Once you let the little menace out on parole though, he just continues to veer off in his own direction and irritate his dad even further.

And, oh stars—his dad.

Din has barely said a word, only answering with short responses when directly prompted and spending most of his energy just silently stewing inside his own little grumpy teapot on his head.  The helmet is the only other piece of armor he’s donning besides the lone vambrace, and you’re surprised steam hasn’t started whistling through the top of it with how frustrated he is, how many times you’ve seen him curl his hands with impatience. At first it was amusing, though you know better than to tease him about it right now.  You keep your mouth shut and try your best to wrangle the kid, doing everything you can to be helpful while also steering clear of unintentionally exacerbating his silent irritation, knowing Din isn’t in the mood for jokes after being interrupted at a very crucial moment last night.  The sun shines directly on the front of his helmet and blinds you with every single annoyed step, so you follow just far enough behind him and try to use his enormous refrigerator of a body to shield your eyes.

At first it was amusing.  But then the baby catches sight of a gorgeously patterned butterfly floating through the field that he probably wants to snack on for breakfast, and he breaks off from your entourage once more with a quiet little coo that should strike pure terror into the hearts of small animals everywhere.

Immediately you’re turning to go get him—but then a large hand quickly snatches the front of your shirt before you can take a single step, pulling until you’re colliding with an unarmored chest with an oof.  

A bare hand catches your jaw and tightens until you’re staring deep into the thin blade of his visor, before Din whispers rough through the modulator, “As soon as he falls asleep.”

That’s all he says.  And then he’s releasing you and letting you stumble back towards his wayward son a whole lot less amused than you were before, and a whole lot more achy.  The baby shenanigans are far less amusing too.

“You’re killing me here, kiddo,” you breathe after quickly catching up with him, having to bend in half to lead him back towards his impatient dad. 

His hot, moody… incredibly well endowed dad, thick arms crossed tight over his chest as he waits for your return.

The monster’s hand lifts high above him as his three fingers cling to just one of yours, the baggy brown sack exposing his pudgy little green elbow as he follows next to you with a waddle.  It’s slow going, but at some point he decides to pull himself up onto your wrist and you catch him, cradling him in your arms before quickly hurrying back to Din.

Thankfully he begins to calm down a little after that.  As you three eventually find a spot in the endlessly breezy field to settle into, the kid clamors back into his shield while Din carelessly drops the dark bag of supplies he carried from the Crest into the tall grass.  You twist your back to let some of the stiffness out, rotating your arms to encourage more movement as he approaches.

“Same thing as yesterday,” he gruffs when he’s in reach, patting his chest again with a bare hand.  “Hard as you can.”

“My… My hands hurt,” you eventually admit, not wanting to frustrate him even more and hoping you would be able to work on blocking today instead, but Din just nods while you gently brush your thumb along your sore knuckles.

“That’ll happen until it doesn’t,” he tells you quietly, reaching out to touch your elbow in a quick, awkward gesture of comfort and then dropping his arm to his side.  Short, but not unkind.  “Push through.  You can do it.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the very best motivation you’ll get from him.  His beliefs, condensed down to quick, stunted sentences, presented with such unwavering surety that they must be truths.  Weirdly, it works wonders for you.  Maybe it’s just the person it’s coming from.

You drop into stance and then slam your fist into his chest before he’s ready, and Din steps back on impact with a small grunt while you bite your lip to silence your own noise from the pain reverberating up your arm. 

“Good,” he huffs nonetheless, rubbing the spot on his chest he’s historically designated as target practice.  “Good.  You’re… hitting harder than yesterday.  That’s… fuck.  Good.”

“Good?”  You ask lowly, chancing a quick look over at the kid.  Who blinks directly back at you, wide-eyed and staring purposefully from his crib.  You deflate just a little bit at the sight of him still wide awake, and Din’s fists are clenched by his sides when you turn back to him.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the pent up tightness in his body as you spend the next couple hours throwing more hits at him, different types.  Left hooks, right hooks, crosses, jabs, elbow strikes, palm heels.  He was absolutely right though—the more you make contact with him, the less you begin to feel the pain, until it eventually feels like nothing at all to you.

But then, at one point, you pull your hardened fist back, aimed and focused directly on that same spot on his chest once more—when suddenly his hand flashes up and he flicks his finger against the lower part of your open ribcage. 

He barely puts any strength into it at all—it’s the pressure you’d use to tap someone on the shoulder if you were trying to get their attention, but for some reason the incredibly well-placed reminder throws you.  A little fucking touch like that shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it does, but you nearly tip sideways and have to catch your footing with how dizzy it makes you.

“That’s what’s called a liver shot,” Din tells you calmly, watching you wrap your hand around your ribcage and wince at the lingering pain through gritted teeth.  “Keep your arm down like I told you.  That’ll happen every time you wanna get lazy with me, little chicken wing.”

You hiss and shake your head a little bit, trying to clear the fog, and then purposefully tuck both arms tight to your sides.  But then—

His hand flashes up again and taps the side of your face this time—not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you flinch on instinct and take a step back.  “That arm stays up.”

Your quick huff of air is suppressed.  Somewhat censored—it doesn’t duly portray the sharp flare of annoyance you experience.  You do exactly what he says, however, and keep your arms in position in front of you.

But then you jerk back and sputter angrily when the tips of his fingers lightly connect with your cheek once more.  “Stop that!  My hands are up!”

“Then why’d you let me do it?”  He asks, stepping up as you retreat to poke you square in your chest.  “Stop letting me do it.”

He goes to tap your face again, but this time your forearm comes up to swat his away before he can make contact, and he seems pleased for the moment.  Din steps back and hits his chest again.  “Come on.”

He lets you get in just a few more blows before coming at you again.  You smack his hand away and then go to throw another punch, but he’s quick.  He cheats—goes for you twice in a row when you’re not expecting it, and taps the vulnerable spot on your side for the second time today.  It hits you like a bullet and takes you a second to snap out of the abrupt shot of pain.

“Come on,” Din taunts once more, curling his mismatched fingers at you—one hand leathered and the other tan and bare.  He sounds like he’s grinning under the helmet, starting to enjoy this way too fucking much.  It makes your blood boil, makes you just stand there like an idiot for a few seconds and fume at his audacity.

Apparently you take too long getting pissed off at him.  He comes at you first, going for your side again, but you shove his arm out of the way with a growl.  Except his other arm flashes and you react instantly, ducking under the wide, careful swipe aimed for your cheek and then zeroing in on the same exact spot below his ribs he’s been torturing you with all day, the one left wide open while his arm misses its mark.

Except—yours isn’t a tap, or a flick.  It’s a hard uppercut.

Air rushes through the modulator as he groans and stumbles sideways, gasping and trying to steady himself.  Triumph surges through your veins as you watch him, shaking your hand out at your side to quickly encourage the numbness away, your knuckles not yet used to hitting bone.  He clutches his side and shakes the helmet violently in an effort to regain himself, breathing hard through the filter and—

The visor instantly jerks to you and you’re already taking a step back on instinct, adrenaline roaring.  He snaps upright as you continue to retreat—until you trip over yourself and plunge to the grass.

A reflection catches in your peripheral, and you whip your head to the side to see the kid completely passed out in his metallic cradle, eyes closed and mouth drooping a bit.  The sight shoots pure exhilaration through you, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill of only seeing him there for a split second before chrome shields instantly slide shut over his head.

You look back to Din just in time to see him dropping his gloved hand back down to his side and taking quick steps towards you—and you react without thinking.  You scramble over on your hands and knees and then launch forwards before you’re even halfway off the ground, finding your feet as you stumble into a run and hearing footsteps pick up behind you.

Maker, it’s been ages since you’ve run like this.  You don’t even know why you’re running—you just do, it just feels like you should.  Your body barrels through tall grass and your heart thunders faster than the sound of your pumping legs, louder than the wind whipping through your ears.  You don’t know if he purposefully allows you to get this far or if you’re genuinely quick—

—nope.  Nope, you’re not quick, because he suddenly bursts into a sprint behind you and gains way too much ground way too quickly.  You try to break left as soon as you realize what’s happening, but he’s too fast and hooks an arm around your stomach just before you’re out of reach.  Din yanks you back to his chest as he twists around and takes you both to the ground, his shoulder blades slamming down first and softening your landing with his whole body and a grunt, skidding you both to a halt in the endlessly wavy field.

The wind is knocked out of you regardless.  You try and struggle off of him but the positioning makes it almost impossible—your abdominal muscles are no match for the strength of his arms wrapped around your stomach, keeping your body pinned tight to his as you wrestle to lift against him in the grass.

“Fight harder,” Din growls raggedly in your ear, and your pussy seizes with need when you feel how rock hard he is against your ass.  It encourages you—you make a rough sound towards the sky and then lift against him with all your strength, and your elbow comes down hard into his ribcage.  Air whooshes out of him and his arms loosen just slightly.  You’re able to wiggle off him and start crawling away, but then he heaves over and snatches at your pant leg—

Which means you pull them down yourself as you keep clawing yourself forward by your arms, raw excitement coursing through your veins, the fabric pulling tight over your ass and then bunching around your thighs.  You squeal and flounder and kick at him—but Din just grabs at your ankle and then pins your leg to the ground, pushing up and using your calves to clamor on top of you with brute strength, catching your underwear and ripping them down too.  Your heart pounds and your pussy just about floods itself hearing him dig in his pants to pull his cock out, his breath coming heavy through the helmet.

Maker, you’re so fucking ready for it.  You keep struggling just because your body is telling you to, but nothing close to the word ‘stop’ ever leaves your mouth, never even comes to mind.  You feel wetness slicking your inner thighs as Din grunts and plants an arm next to your head, his bare hand shooting out to hover in front of your face.  You flinch—but he keeps it there, palm open in front of your lips in silent expectation.

“Wet or dry,” he snarls when you don’t immediately react.  “I don’t give a shit.”

Still, his hand stays right in front of your face long enough to let you make up your mind.

And… not lick it.

After a moment, Din makes a sound that drops another wave of white hot arousal down through your stomach—a furious, growly noise that resembles distorted static passing through the filter.  He angles his cock against your opening and when you hear him muttering angrily, you think he’s scolding you for it.  Calling you dirty under his breath, promising you you’ll regret saying that in a second.  But no—he’s—

“Perfect.  Perfect little girl, fucking perfect,” Din hisses darkly, pushing into your soaking entrance without anything but your slick to ease his way.  “H-How are you—s-so fuck—ing—”

Oh Maker, you turn your head into the grass and cry out through the delicious, blissful intrusion, pushing your hips back against his—and Din curses as he quickly bottoms out, making sure he lurches fully into you before his hands find out exactly where they want to be.  They land on your lower back and he mounts up, pinning your body hard to the ground with almost his full weight.  It means you can rip out as much grass with your useless arms as you want—he doesn’t even give you a single moment now that he’s successfully rooted you to the crushed greenery.  You bloom for him all the same, as soon as Din pulls out with a wet sound and then starts fucking you strong and steady.

It’s sharp.  Biting.  Even the pleasure has a hard edge to it, completely paralyzing you even if you could struggle in this position.  His hands are pushing down so hard that the ground digs into your tummy and makes his cock angle and slam right into your g-spot each and every time.  You want to moan out your ecstasy but he’s wringing the air from your lungs with every shattering swing of his hips back and forth, quickly speeding up as he goes and taking out a full night’s worth of deprivation on you.

“Ngh.  Take.  Cock.  So.  Fucking.  Good—” Din grits with every mean thrust, the staccato growls of praise getting lost in the echoing, rhythmic clap of his hips.  You can’t fucking breathe—the pleasure is too overwhelming, your face is pressed into the grass, he’s got almost all his weight on you.  You’re helpless to do anything besides close your eyes, furrow your brows, drop your jaw, and just let him own your body in the middle of this beautiful oasis.  The heavy, wild thrusts steal every sense away from you, any ability to think beyond the fractured piece of heaven he’s striking inside you over and over.  You don’t even feel him grabbing your asscheeks and spreading them—

Somebody makes a pitiful, breathless whine—it’s you, you realize.  You make that sound, because worn leather lands right on the entrance he was denied last night and shamelessly breaches it before anything else can interrupt him.

“Tight,” he hisses, slowly sinking his thumb all the way down to the knuckle while you clench your eyes shut and choke out his name, “—f-fucking tight—”

His cock pulses inside you and you bear down as hard as you can on it in return, trying to get accustomed to being penetrated in two places at once.  He doesn’t move his thumb after that—he just keeps it there, deep inside you while he continues wrecking you with the brutal hammering of his hips from behind. 

Still—the impropriety of it starts to burn you up, how… dirty it is.  Getting the life fucked out of you in broad daylight, in the middle of a wide open field, the thickest finger he has buried deep in your ass, helpless to do anything else besides lay here and let him—you feel yourself start to clamp down, steadily getting tighter and tighter around the intrusions while he grits out hard curses and keeps giving it to you through the rapid build.

His name—you start repeating it into the ground like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.  The word scrapes from your throat over and over, and you try to pull at the grass but your hands are clenched into fists and you can’t seem to remember which muscles to use to open them.

“You like this?”  You’re able to hear him grit from above you.  “Like when I—fuck—when I fuck you l-like this?  When I just.  H-Hold you down and take—” he chokes, “—take what I w-want—”

You can’t respond, but fuck yes, you do.  The kindling spark inside you suddenly flares up and starts to spread through your body like wildfire, tightening, tightening, tightening, but then—

He’s so pent up—Din cums.

Devastatingly early.

The savage thrusts suddenly stutter to a halt and the gasp he takes in sounds like it physically hurts him.  Like the orgasm is just ripped out of him.  His hold turns to steel on you, as if he thinks you can somehow get away right now, and Din cums deep inside your spasming cunt with a shuddering, desperate groan of your name. 

It’s like it drains everything from him—he slumps, just conscious enough to slowly ease his thumb out of your tight asshole, and then he collapses in the grass next to you.  You stay there for just a second and shake next to him, muscles feeling like they’re creaking even while just laying on the ground like this, completely motionless.

“Shit—was that—”  Din pants, turning and scooting over to you to brush your hair out of your face with his bare hand, “was that… okay?  Do you… do you need…?”

You’re still so submissive, still so high on the overwhelming rush of pleasure, your mouth opens and croaks out a response without your permission.  “It was good.”

“Yeah?”  He huffs, dropping back on the grass and trying to catch his breath.  “Good.”

And… it’s true.  It was good, it was absolutely fucking amazing.  So overpowering, such a hard fuck that you almost don’t think about the fact that you didn’t actually cum from it.  The thought doesn’t really even register with you fully, not yet.

Eventually you both push yourselves up, each of you equally lacking in energy, just in different ways.  Din looks like he’s drunk—unbalanced and dizzy while he removes his glove and stuffs it into one of his pockets, before carefully tucking his spent cock back in his trousers.  In contrast, you’re nothing more than another trembling blade of grass in an enormous landscape of them, flimsy and yielding to the powerful, rippling wind as you attempt to adjust your clothing.

It’s fine, you tell yourself on the slow, quiet walk back.  Sex doesn’t always need to end in a fiery orgasm.  Sometimes a rough pounding hits the spot, scratches that itch.  You feel like you’re a newborn blurg trying to balance your oddly proportioned weight on two noodle legs as Din’s hand patiently guides you from your lower back, and a bright flare of arousal arcs through you feeling how gentle his hold is compared to the way his cum is steadily leaking from your throbbing, aching cunt.

You don’t need to cum every single time he fucks you.  It’s fine.

***

Upon returning to the sight of the unbothered, napping kid, you both decide to walk a bit more, and you learn your lesson this time.  The sun glints bright against Din’s left side while traveling in this direction, so you stick purposefully to his right the entire time.

In the meantime, you share easy conversation and attempt to regain some semblance of control over your still slightly… restless body.  Slowly but surely, your feverish arousal for him dims and fades to the backburner, replaced instead by… softer, quieter feelings.  There’s not a solid word for it, not really.  If you were mixing on a palette, you’d start out with a base of gentle contentment and then add a big dollop of affection, diluted with silence until it’s a swirling, pastel… color you don’t have a name for, but cherish all the same.

The baby wakes up about halfway through the afternoon hike, and he’s better now too.  Eventually your ragtag party finds a place to settle for the night—a small clearing in the field at the edge of a thick forest.  There’s a sizable log and boulder situated relatively close together, with a wide open space to make a fire in the center.

Din disappears for a bit to go get some firewood from the looming forest while you entertain the kid; the log is tilted perfectly to allow you both to watch the sunset, and you easily converse with the riveting baby talk as if he’s an absolute genius.

“I’m not so sure about that, honestly,” you tell him diplomatically, receiving nothing but unintelligible babbles in response as he climbs all over you.  “Well, no actually, because there’s two major schools of thought concerning that, the first being—”

He pops up in front of your face to interrupt you heatedly and you scoff, rolling your eyes over the loud gibberish.  “Look, I’d appreciate it if we could tone down the passive-aggressiveness, okay?  If we can’t have a respectful discussi—”

Three green fingers settle over your lips and you gasp at the nerve of him, forced to let him continue to ramble on your lap about absolutely nothing at all, the size of his ego soon growing to match the size of his ears.

“Hear that, shiny?”  You turn your head and ask his father upon his eventual return, and Din grunts distractedly as he dumps the firewood down and rummages around in the bag for a lighter.  Tilting your head back towards the kid, you prompt him with a raised brow.  “Tell him what you just told me.”

The baby bursts into more nonsense, encouraged by your attention, and Din crouches down to set the wood into position in the dusky twilight glow while saying nothing at all, and it somehow manages to pass as listening intently.

It continues to go on like that far longer than you expected it would, the baby apparently having quite the bone to pick about something that’s been on his mind, and one point you have to rest your hand over his mouth so he finally stops babbling.  “Hey, that’s not very nice,” you scold him quietly.  “I’m sure his face is perfectly normal under there.”

The helmet turns just slightly towards you, unamused while you snort at your own joke for a little bit. 

“I didn’t say it,” you remind him after far too long of just celebrating your own hilarity, clearing your throat through the stifled chuckles.  “I’m just translating.”

“Oh yeah?”  He eventually murmurs, beginning to ignite some of the crumpled twigs at the center of the pile, and if you worked at it, you could probably convince yourself he’s sharing your gentle smile.  More muted than yours perhaps, but beautiful and easy on his face, fitting him simply and perfectly.  “What did… What did he say I look like?”

You would’ve shot something ridiculous back at him, something snarky and facetious, but you stop short.  You catch it—underneath his voice, it sounds… timid, almost.  Uncertain.  It makes you take just a second in responding.

“Brown eyes,” you tell him after a moment, and Din doesn’t visibly react, just continues to slowly add small branches to kindle the flame.  It’s so quiet out here, but it’s different from hyperspace quiet.  This quiet is… natural.  Warm, and.  Free.  Fleeting, allowed to roam.  In a way that hyperspace just feels compact, stifling.  “He said you have… brown eyes.  And a… a strong bone structure, striking features.  A sharp, chiseled jaw, dark facial hair.  And, uh.  He also said…”

Din keeps silently feeding the fire until it’s crackling and bright, and then he settles back on his butt next to it, both elbows resting on his knees, not moving the visor towards you but waiting for you to finish regardless. 

The stunning backdrop gives way to a stunning surge of bravery.

“He said you make a bunch of faces under there that nobody ever sees,” you say softly, blinking at Din in the fading twilight while the kid sits silently in your lap.  “That you’re an open book.  Behind a metal wall.  And you have a really nice smile, I bet—he bets… he bets you probably do it more often than anyone realizes.  And your… your hair starts to curl when you let it grow long, and.  And you’re almost guaranteed to be drop dead gorgeous under there, and it’s a real fucking shame that you’ve probably never had anyone tell you it.”

Din tilts his helmet at you, looks at you for a long time—long enough for blood to rush to your cheeks and for you to get fidgety.  But when he finally does respond, his voice is gentle through the modulator.  “He said that.”

You mhm at him quickly, nodding your head and turning away as casually as you can, heart beating incredibly fast for some reason.  “Just the translator.”

A lovely silence soon blankets the both of you, a warmth permeating through to your bones that has nothing to do with the steadily growing fire.

***

A little while later, the kid has retired to his reflective cradle and the dancing flames are the only source of light besides the bright moon hanging directly overhead.  Din sits with his back to the large boulder and digs through the bag, pulling out all sorts of food you picked up before leaving the village this morning and handing them to you.  Something red and unfocused flashes oddly against the curve of his helmet when he reaches his hand back in, but it’s only for a second—he’s already pushing more food at you and filling your arms with bags of dried meats, fresh fruit, and loaves of bread.

“Stars,” you whisper under your breath, examining the feast in the flickering firelight.  “Here, take—take some of this, it’s too much.”

“There’s more in here,” he counters lowly, zipping the bag and dropping it somewhere on the other side of his body.  “The kid hasn’t eaten all day.  Might crawl away and catch himself a Gungan later if you don’t feed him soon.”

“No, I mean—” you let all the food drop into your lap and start sorting the items, “—you need to eat.  What do you want?  There’s plenty.”

“I’m not hungry,” he answers, far too quickly to have actually taken a moment to check.  “Just give me whatever you two don’t eat when you’re finished, I’ll put it back in the bag.”

Okay, if he’s gonna play it like this, you’ll just have to choose for him.  You’ve already dedicated at least two bags of dried meat to the kid, which takes care of him.  So, you take an extended moment to methodically find the ripest fruit in the bunch, the one with the most squish to it, and then search for the softest loaf of bread, not caring that Din is silently watching you.  You gather both of them in your arms and then pluck three bags of meat from the pile, before depositing all of them back into his lap.

“Eat,” you urge quietly, grabbing another portion of food for yourself, heavy on the fruit.  “Don’t inhale it.  Please.”

With that, you grab the kid’s food and then scoop the little guy up from his shield with your free arm, standing and walking to the other side of the fire.  You carefully plop yourself down with your back purposefully to Din, the kid happily finding a place on your lap with his back to you and reaching six little fingers out for the food.

You start eating, and after a moment, you smile around the large bites of fruit at the sound of metal clinking against stone.  The baby, of course, refuses to even open the bag of dried meat you set in front of him, so you roll your eyes and do it yourself, hoping he’ll at least eat like an adult and give you some time to feed yourself.  But no—the fifty year old creep demands to be hand fed, and any other day, you wouldn’t have let him get away with it.

Today, you’re just really fucking.  Happy.

You’re unbelievably happy.  Having spent a few days on this gorgeous planet, your two favorite people in the galaxy with you.  It fills your heart with air.

You start out quiet, praying you aren’t bothering Din as he (hopefully) continues to relax and enjoy his food behind you.  You begin humming your favorite melody under the sound of the crackling flames, the source of heat burning pleasantly against the curve of your lower back, setting another piece of dried meat into the kid’s cute little mouth and only just slightly annoyed that he refuses to do this himself.  Admittedly though, you do love babying him, especially when he shows you his adorable little chompers.

One bite for him, two bites for you.  That’s the deal, even though you’re hungry and you deserve way more than double his food intake rate.  You try to be quiet enough that your gentle humming will get lost with the fire between you and Din, and he never says anything or tells you to cut it out, so you just continue to let your cheerful mood provide a quiet soundtrack to the moonlit evening.

Even better, you and the kid actually finish snacking before he does, and you’re more than willing to wait for him, thrilled that this is actually happening.  It’s so simple, such a throwaway thing, but.  Knowing he used to eat his meals as quick as he can and now he’s comfortable enough to just take a second and enjoy it… you don’t know, there’s something inherently meaningful about it, something that you specifically notice.  Something about this, about sitting around a fire and sharing a meal together for the first time—even with your back turned to him, it just feels… familial.  In a way.  More than it’s ever felt before.

You have a little moment.  It’s nice.  You drop your head back and gaze up at the night sky, in awe of how different the stars look from this side of the galaxy and remembering how far you’ve come.  The kid follows suit, leaning back against your tummy and blinking silently at the universe, the star-speckled sky reflecting in his gigantic dark eyes.

He starts to doze after awhile, listening to you hum softly to yourself, but the noise of a helmet finally lifting from the boulder and most likely fitting itself back in its rightful place snaps him awake just enough.  The kid pushes off you and waddles over to his dad, and you scoot yourself back over to your little log while he unceremoniously clamors up onto Din’s thighs.

Admittedly, it’s really fucking cute.  The visor moves just enough to watch him plop his little green butt down and find a comfy position on his lap, not helping but not preventing the movement either.  A heartwarming, silent kind of tolerance hardened men have for innocent little creatures that makes you bite your lip to hide your smile.  What a softie.

You sit there in companionable quiet, staring deep into the dancing firelight and losing track of time just a bit.  They’re hypnotic, the flames.  Crackling and popping, warming just the forward-facing parts of you and nearly burning your cheeks, but you love it.  Breathing in the woodsy campfire air, hearing the gentle breeze float through the field surrounding you, the quiet forest waving dark and deep in the distance.  The midnight sky stretches long above you and the stars seem… brighter than they were on Arvala-7.  They probably aren’t—that planet is practically abandoned and has almost no light pollution whatsoever compared to Naboo, but… maybe it’s because now they feel… in reach.  Something you can touch.  Interact with.  Something you can cover your eyes, blindly point at, and then say—that one.  That’s where we should go next.

After awhile—you have no idea how long—you blink your gaze over to Din and startle to find the helmet facing you directly, shamelessly, the kid completely passed out on his lap as the flames reflect in the visor.

Without intending to, you’re already thinking back to earlier today.  How quickly he bolted after you, how strong he was bringing you to the ground, pinning you under him and taking what was so rudely denied to him last night.

You didn’t actually finish, and you can still feel it simmering down low.  Din’s cum has been steadily leaking from you all day, and while you eventually became successful at blocking out the sensation, it suddenly slams to the forefront of your mind again.  The visor pierces deep into you while you start to squirm just a bit against the rough log pressed into your back.  You can still feel him when you flex your lower muscles, and you bite your lip and do it repeatedly while blinking at him, waiting, squeezing your thighs together and loving the reminder.

He still hasn’t said anything to you, and you start to get antsy under his stare.  Your body works itself up even more, fueled by the flames reflecting in his helmet.  After a few more moments of silent tension, you’ve finally had enough.

“Din,” you whisper, trying not to make it sound like a whine and his head quickly lifts when you didn’t even realize it was slightly tipped forward.  The helmet rolls back in a drowsy little circle, as if his neck is suddenly remembering the weight burdening it.  Embarrassment instantly floods you.  “Oh.  Shit.  I’m so stupid.  I’m sor—”

Only he’s already pushing himself up with his free arm, lethargic and drunk with exhaustion, not saying a single word as he sets the conked out kid in the cradle and closes the shield over his sleepy little head with the push of a button.

You bite your lip as he drags himself over to you, swinging a leg behind you and then dropping down without any ceremony, firmly inserting himself between the uncomfortable log and your back.  Your butt is shoved forward from the sudden displacement but he’s not done.  Din wraps both his arms around you and pulls, dragging you up onto his long torso while his legs close under you and you’re off the ground completely.

Oh Maker, he’s already thousands of times more comfortable than sleeping up against the log would be.  He makes the best bed in the galaxy, big and warm and firm under you, letting you stretch out long on him.  You lounge on his lap and drop your head to his shoulder, resting your arms on top of his as they drape heavy across your belly.

“Sorry,” he gruffs, voice low and rough through the modulator.  The filter rings sharp through your ear when it’s pressed up against his helmet like this.  “Just need a few hours.  Didn’t… didn't sleep great last night.”

You close your eyes and internally scold yourself, now taking responsibility for his lack of rest for the past two days.  Shit.  You don’t actively respond, feeling slightly put out, but your body is of another mind altogether.  It still continues trundling down the steep slope you shoved it towards earlier, when you stupidly thought he was giving you eyes under the helmet instead of him being passed out cold.  You wiggle against him just slightly under the guise of finding a comfortable position, but it has unintentional consequences.

You breathe out a soft sigh when your hips move over his cock, biting your lip at the sensation but trying so hard to stop it in its tracks.  He’s exhausted, and he already fucked the life out of you today, there’s no way he’ll want to go again this soon.  Except—then he shifts and mmms low in his throat.

“And you,” Din murmurs quietly, reaching a hand down to slowly push under your pants, “need to start being more honest with me.”

“What are you t—oh, stars,” you whisper, your body shuddering as one of his thick fingers slowly dips into your slit.

“Shit, you’re wet,” he groans, sinking his hand down lower to feel remnants of himself still easing its way out of you.  Your lashes flutter as your jaw drops, and his cock gets hard against your spine almost immediately.  “You’re fucking… soaked.  I—I asked if you came and you said yeah,” he whispers low to you, but you shake your head.  “Why’d you lie to me abo—”

“No, no—” you protest breathlessly, “—you asked if it was okay, and then I said—”

“You said it was good.  It’s not good if you didn’t cum,” he grunts quietly, and the tip of his finger now drawing tight circles over your clit makes it damn near impossible to argue.  “I didn’t fuck you right if you didn’t cum.  You should be fucked right.”

“Maker, you fuck me exactly how I need to be fucked,” you whimper, tilting your head until your lips are pressed against the curve of his helmet while his hand steadily works under your pants.  “And—oh, fuck, that’s… h-however you need to fuck me.”

“Fuck—obedient little thing…” he huffs, starting to rub harder over your clit.  “What I need is for you to cum.  From now on, you’ll tell me.  Say yes.”

“Yes,” you moan into the beskar, your eyes fluttering back at the slowly building pressure.

“Say, ‘yes, Din,’” he breathes.

“Yes, Din,” you dutifully repeat, lifting your hips up against his hand, and he groans softly through the modulator.

“Say, ‘Din, I need something to cum on’,” he whispers.

You’re delirious, you don’t even catch it before most of it is already out of your mouth.  “Din, I need something to c—” you cut off but he’s already reaching down between your bodies to ease his cock out, before yanking your pants down your ass just enough to position himself up against your entrance.

He rocks his hips up and he slides in easier than ever before, and you… don’t know what you’re expecting, but he surprises you nonetheless.  He doesn’t start thrusting into you at all.  Even though he’s rock hard inside you, thick and pulsing and breaking you open, he doesn’t move a single inch.  He just keeps himself there, continuing to rub circles around your clit and giving you exactly what he prompted you to ask for.

Something to cum on.

Your body tenses and squeezes him, and Din shushes you before you realize you were making noise.  His free hand comes up to settle tight over your mouth and guide you turn your head away from his helmet.  At first you think it’s because your heavy breathing was probably fogging the visor up, but no—his fingers leave your pussy for a split second and you hear him maneuver himself out of it.  The hollow noise it makes thunking to the ground is beginning to become your favorite sound in this universe.

But then of course, Din buries his face into your neck and starts talking again, whispering low praises behind your ear with that bassy, dark chocolate rasp, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing.  His fingers return to your cunt to slowly rub your clit and his cock throbs hotter than sin inside you, building your pleasure into a strong, slow crescendo.

You start to whimper unintentionally, but his hand is wrapped tight around your mouth, muting and confining the desperate sounds to your throat.  His finger presses down harder on your clit and his cock flexes inside you.

“That’s it, sw—sweet girl,” Din mutters, his voice interrupted by his own staccato breaths and tight gasps the longer he talks you through it, the longer he keeps himself perfectly still while engulfed in your drenched, fluttering cunt.  “That’s—that’s it, I can feel it c-coming.  Fuck—make it good for me, give me a good one—”

His words shove you right over a cliff you didn’t even realize was there until you were dangling over the steep drop for an extended moment like a cartoon.  Everything squeezes around him unbearably tight—your hands dig into his forearms, your back arches up against him, your pussy constricts his thick cock until you feel like you’re hurting the both of you with it, and Din’s breath catches next to your ear while you’re both suspended in thin air for a split second—

—before you’re convulsing in pure bliss, flooding his cock with cum while he rasps out, “good girl,” into the crook of your neck and rocks his hips up into yours.  The few heavenly inches of movement hits something jaw-dropping inside you and nearly makes you scream against his palm, launching your body even higher into mind-bending rapture.  Fucking Maker, you cum hard for him, on him, around him.  You downright drown his cock in your pleasure, suffocate it and work out the aching tightness in your pussy all over him until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore.

“Mmm…” Din murmurs quietly, continuing to circle your swollen clit hard through the shattering aftershocks.  His voice is deep and sinful and vibrates your whole back with its frequency, but something underneath it also sounds as if he’s considering, before he seems to land on an answer to a wordless question he just asked himself.  “…One more.”

And, like the fucking Maker himself commanded it, another blazing hot wave of fire suddenly rips you apart and sends you spasming rhythmically around the throbbing cock buried inside you once again.  This one wrings you completely dry, robbing you of every sense.  The ragged whine you make behind his hand must be too loud—his fingers quickly tighten around your jaw and lock down, keeping you as still as possible while you give him everything you have to give.

Eventually the sparks die out and you’re left a shell of what you once were, clamping down hard on him and shuddering your bliss at the night sky.  He lays there silently under you, holding you as you fall back down to reality.  Your breathing is a mess and so is everything below your waist, and your whole body jerks when Din carefully slides his hand from your pussy and rubs gently over your thighs, your tummy, your chest.

“That was…” you croak out, trying to remember how to speak, “ … g-good.”

“Go to sleep,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses against the side of your neck.  You can hear the gentle grin he’s hiding from you, knowing he completely incapacitated you.

“But what about—” you start to protest, when Din’s teeth sink into your flesh and your pussy seizes up tight around him, making him choke a hoarse little groan into your skin.

After a moment, he eases his throbbing cock out of you, and he resets your clothing while you whimper in distress.  “Go to sleep,” Din murmurs, before softly kissing your neck once more, and your eyes slowly droop against your will.  Fuck, his body beats a king size mattress any day of the week.  “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

He…

He isn’t.

[ryeimagines]

Anchor - Liam Dunbar Imagine

Based on this prompt. Word count 1496. I’m not really sure about this one but I hope that you enjoy it. I’m a bit rusty, getting back into the swing of things so please be kind. You can kind of see it as a pre slash, up to interpretation. 

The banging on your window woke you from your slumber, a soft moan escaping your throat as you suddenly found yourself on the floor instead of the comfortable you remembered falling asleep in. Dazed you slowly rose on your feet, it took you a minute to remember what had woken you in the first place. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for the occasional nightly visits from your best friend, spending more time in your bedroom than in his own house to the point you had a routine in place. Things weren’t always so easy though, it took a while for him to be comfortable enough to stay around, let alone fall asleep. You knew he had anger issues which often got him into trouble.

That was, before he suddenly did a one eighty out of no-where and pulled the disappearing act on you, always finding excuses to not hang out, or forgetting plans you’d made. It had been weeks since he set foot in your room, and frankly you were getting close to losing it. You knew something big had happened and what was hurt the most wasn’t even the fact that he suddenly had a new group of friends he hung out with or forgetting about you, it was the fact that your best friend was hurting and you couldn’t do anything to help, he didn’t tell you about it. And now here he was, showing up out of nowhere after ghosting you like nothing ever happened.  

“What do you want Dunbar?”You tried your best to sound indifferent, but it fell a bit short. A pained noise made you turn around to face him.

“Liam.” The brief rush of relief of seeing him with your own two eyes was overtaken by a wave of fear meeting his gaze, finally taking full notice of his state, eyes glowing yellow. He growled, unwittingly making you take a step back in response. Something was seriously wrong. You’ve seen him mad before, in every kind of emotion really but never anything like this. He looked wild, animalistic, ready to tear someones’ throat out. It was the first time you had ever been afraid of him, sensing the danger that you were in. But it was still your best friend, no matter what he did, or whatever strange new stuff he was into. Whatever it was, you could fix this, you wouldn’t leave him. Which is why you went against your gut and stepped into his personal space, inches from his face without breaking his gaze, moving slowly not to startle him.

“Liam, I-”You faltered for a second, not sure what to say. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, or why you have claws all of the sudden, believe me that’s something we will discuss later, but something is up with you and I need you to snap out of it. This isn’t you. You are Liam Dunbar, my best friend, one of the kindest and most loyal people I know. I know you’re not going to hurt me, you can’t.” A soft whine came from the boy in front of you and you took it as encouragement to slowly raise your hand and touch his cheek, fingers brushing against the sharp fangs that were coated in crimson. 

“Come back to me. I need you. Whatever this is you’re going through, we can work it out together. I’m right here. Always. You’re not a bad person, you’re not a monster. You have a choice. I know you will do the right thing, you always do.” Please, come back to me. 

You were surprised by fingers gently brushing against your wrist, opening your eyes to meet familiar pools looking back at you with apprehension and pain and something you couldn’t quite put a name on. Your body moved on instinct and you found yourself clinging onto him before you knew what you were doing. After the shock had worn off, your brain started buzzing with unanswered questions that you had put on hold until now, begrudgingly untangling yourself from his arms. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.” He smiled sheepishly, fidgeting with his shirt. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you or anything?”

“I’m fine.” You assured him, glad he couldn’t see the bruises that would most likely appear soon on your arm where he grabbed it a little too tight at some point.

“What’s going on with you? Don’t you dare give me that nothing bull. You came in here soaked and covered in blood. I’m hoping it isn’t yours by the way. What the hell is going on?”

“It’s a long story. You should probably sit down.” You did, sensing the seriousness in his voice. 

“Okay so, werewolves, very much real.” 

That was your introduction to the supernatural world, and everything werewolf. That was quite the shock, you were glad you heeded his advice. He kept sending you looks through out his explanation and you urged him to keep going, you needed to know it all. That was a lot to take in, part of you were mad that he didn’t come to you sooner about this, but more than anything you were afraid. Terrified. For him, of all these people and supernatural creatures who wanted to hurt him. You were thankful to Scott for saving his life but also pissed that he put him in danger like this, which you weren’t shy to let him know the first time you joined Liam at one of their pack meetings, introducing his face to a bat. 

“You better keep him safe McCall. If he get’s hurt out there, it’s on you.” He nodded quietly nursing his bloddy nose, recognising the truth in your words. “Good, we understand each other.” You grinned, a little satisfied at the gleam of fear in his eyes. 

“You’re going to fit in perfectly.” Lydia snorted, gesturing for you to come over to join her. “I could use some help with this research, these ingrates are no help whatsoever. ” 

“Hey!” Stiles interjected from where he was laying on the couch, eyes still glued to the screen. “I helped. I’m just taking a break.”

“I’d love to.” You ended the conversation there before it got any further, returning Liam’s smile before burying your head in the books. It was all you did for the next couple of days, researching everything supernatural. Lydia introduced you to the bestiary, containing every possibly nightmare you could imagine. When you weren’t researching, you spent the time interrogating the pack and asking questions. You made it clear from day one that you two were a package deal, wherever Liam went you followed. The younger Hale was the only one who protested your precedes, letting out a disgruntled growl from where he was lurking. You ignored him. Apparently his uncle was even worse, you weren’t to keen to find that out for yourself though.

There was one thing that kind of bothered you, that kept on creeping up on you when you least expected it. Remembering that night, and the state he was in, and then being totally fine again. Actually, there was a couple of things but you hadn’t talked about it. Part of you was hesitant, but the other was growing more impatient each day and that was the one that finally won out one afternoon a couple of weeks after the incident took place. It just kind of came out, you were not really a person of tact, blurting it out over the kitchen table at dinner, causing him to start coughing like crazy. 

“So why did you show up in my room exactly? I mean, I get that you went kind of feral, but why did you show up here? Did you meant to do that?”

“Uh.” He shrugged, finally collecting himself. “I don’t know, it wasn’t really a conscious choice. I just felt this instinct to run to safety. Home.”

“My house?”

“No, I was running to you. There’s something about you that helps me stay in control. My wolf feels safe around you. I remember them trying to talk to me but it didn’t work. Only with you.”

“Oh.”

“I talked with Scott about it, and what he said made sense. I didn’t really know how to tell you so I just kept quiet about it but. You’re my anchor.” You sat speechless, wondering how he could be so calm about this new development, like it wasn’t a big deal. You had stumbled across anchors before during your deep dives, and there was a lot to it. You weren't sure if you should feel happy or terrified at the prospect that he put so much fate in you, essentially his humanity in your hands. 

“Why me?” You finally managed, voice hoarse. 

“It’s always been you, you were always there. Who else would it be? I trust you, I need you. Me being a werewolf means a lot of changes, but not that. You’re the one thing I’ve never doubted.”

[halstudandruz]

Research Purposes ~ Part 2

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Jay x Reader

Requested: Yes

Prompt: What happens when the only person in the world you didn’t want finding out does?

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Part one found here (NSFW, 18+)

A/N 2: Also thank you to @enchantedblackrose for the idea 😊

If you are not 18+ and are unable to read part 1 and want to back story just hit me up (:

“We’re so freaking late. There’s no way we’ll have time to stop for my car.” You rushed around Jay’s apartment, pouring coffee for both of you.

“And whose fault is that.” Jay looked at you accusingly.

“I was just trying to help the environment.” You shrugged, handing him his cup after checking the lid.

“You and I both know we wasted more water in there together than we would’ve showering on our own.” He retorted grabbing his badge and gun off the coffee table to secure them to his belt.

“Yeah okay so I wanted shower sex sue me.” You rolled your eyes shrugging your jacket on.

“I wasn’t the one complaining.” He smiled, taking a drink.

“We would’ve had more than enough time if you didn’t insist on cuddling this morning.” You pointed out, remembering how he pulled you back into his chest every time you tried to move out of bed a couple hours prior.

“You like shower sex. I like cuddling.” He teased handing you your purse.

“Maybe we can draft up an alternate schedule.” You joked.

“I do hear compromise is the key to a healthy relationship.” He replied.

“We gotta go if you don’t want to get pulled over for speeding.” You changed the subject reaching for the door knob, before being tugged back by your arm, turning in time for Jay’s lips to meet yours in a sweet, passionate kiss.

“To get us both through the day.” Jay winked reaching around you to open the door and usher you out.

This was the second time that week you and Jay would be showing up to work together. Nobody noticed it the first time, but your anxiety climbed at the thought of someone recognizing and approaching you about it. What would you say? You and Jay were only in it purely for the sex. Right? Regardless of that fact that you had stayed at his house almost every night the past couple weeks even without the promise of sex, or how your stuff was starting to accumulate at his house from the past few months. A few t-shirts mixed in with his, hair straightener resting on his bathroom organizer, makeup scattered about on the dresser. Friends with benefits, that’s all it was. Nothing more and you certainly were not gaining feelings for him. Absolutely not that was against the rules and you were not about to be some stereotypical fuck buddy turned feelings trope, but you were getting sloppy apparently. You agreed to enter through the front while Jay entered through the back. Skipping up the steps you threw a smile at Trudy offering her a good morning, but in return she stared you down, eyebrow raised as she rested against the desk.

“What?” You stopped in your tracks in front of her. But she stayed silent giving you a look, and you just knew she knew. She was Trudy Platt. She knew everything.

“You should tell him.” She whispered to you, and it’s not the first time she had said something of the sort recently.

“Tell who, what?” You continued to fake innocence as you had the times before.

“It’s going to end badly.” She pushed again.

“It already did end badly.” You reminded her before trudging upstairs feeling the heat of her stare still on your back. Everyone except Kim was already there, including Jay who had his feet kicked up on his desk looking through a file. You greeted everyone draping your coat over the back of your chair and falling into it.

The first hour ticked by slowly, and you found your eyes moving across the room to focus on Jay. Opened documents lay across your desk. He looked so relaxed, shoulders loose, breaths slow and even, head resting against his palm as he fought not to fall asleep. You knew he would rather be out chasing suspects, but deep down you were starting to register you were okay with paperwork days. It meant he was safe, and that thought scared you a little. The last time you had those same thoughts you were staring at a different man in the room. A man who sat not too far behind Jay, clicking his pen absentmindedly as he often did when he was bored.

“Ruz, I’ll break the damn pen.” Kevin grumbled, as he had many times before in response to the habit.

“Sorry.” Adam mumbled, setting the utensil onto his desk away from his fidgety hands.

You chuckled at the small exchange, experiencing the exact same one many times in the years you had been detailed in intelligence with the best people you could’ve ever asked to work with. That certainly didn’t mean it wasn’t complicated though, and you were the very obvious example of that. You watched Jay’s head bob catching himself before adjusting in order to keep himself awake. His eyes accidentally met yours, heart rate immediately increasing. He sent you a small smile as his eyes started to roam over your body. Looking for a distraction from the tedious work. You couldn’t scold him. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been doing the same thing the past 10 minutes. Looking at his arms that were tight against his sleeves you wondered if the scratch marks you left on his biceps this morning would still be prevalent, or if the fading hickey from nights prior was still noticeable on his hip bone.

“I need coffee. Anyone else?” You asked trying to divert the obvious eye fucking your were giving each other. Everyone in the room raising their hands. You laughed taking notice of all the tired eyes who so obviously wanted to bash their heads off the desk already bored out of their minds, just waiting for a case to jump off.

“I’ll help.” Jay offered, voice gruff from barely speaking all morning. Together you poured and distributed everyone cups. Sitting back down into your chair when Jay was handing Kev his.

“You gonna shave that thing anytime soon? You usually can’t stand it past a week.” Kevin asked Jay, referring to his beard. They had always teased him whenever he claimed it grew in patchy compared to Adam and Kevin’s and it usually resulted in him having a clean shaven face the next shift. But it had grown in quite nicely this time, and he made sure to keep it presentable by trimming it as needed.

“No, it’s starting to grow on me. I’m keeping it for research anyway. Seems it can enhance far more than just my facial features.” Jay shrugged casually sitting back down atin his chair, and at his words you choked on your coffee spitting it all over your desk. Uncontrollable coughs tickling your throat.

“You good [Y/L/N]?” Hailey asked standing up to help you.

“Yeah..sorry. Just.. went down the wrong pipe. Didn’t expect it to be so.. hot.” You explained between coughs looking across the room to glare at Jay who wore a cocky smirk on his face, flipping through papers not daring to look up at you.

“You forget your ice?” Adam asked, knowing you had put a couple cubes of ice in your coffee every morning cooling it down so you could drink it faster.

“I must’ve. Kinda out of it today.” You shook your head taking napkins out of your drawer to try to clean up the mess you had made on your desk as well as your white shirt.

“I’ll get you some.” He started to walk towards the break room.

“It’s really okay I spit most of it out anyway.” You laughed.

“I’ll just get you a new cup.” He reasoned and you just thanked him not feeling like bickering with him about it. He had been going out of his way to do nice things for you recently. You assumed either so you wouldn’t spill the beans about him and Upton or because he felt bad.

“There’s no way this is coming out..” You grumbled dabbing at the tan stain forming on your shirt, “Do you happen to have a spare?” You asked, turning towards Hailey.

“I’m sorry I don’t. I used my spare the other day after that shooting and haven’t brought another extra.” Hailey apologized. You waved her off thanking her anyway.

“There’s one in my locker.” Jay offered, “You’ll probably just have to tuck it in.” You thought for a moment, it probably wouldn’t look like a big deal. Just a friend helping out a friend.

“Okay. Thanks.” You nodded getting up to head to the locker room where Jay followed. “I know where your locker is.” You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, but you don’t know my combination nor are you very good at opening dial locks. Hence why you have a keypad one on yours.” Jay pointed out, spinning his combination. He was right. You could never open dial locks.

“Do you analyze everything I do?” You crossed your arms annoyed at how well he always seemed to know you.

“You’re an interesting person babe.” He smiled handing you the shirt as he kissed your forehead.

“Watch yourself. You don’t know who’s hiding in here.” You lectured, “this is your fault by the way.”

“I know. Total win-win situation.” Jay laughed, smiling brightly.

“You’re gonna be the death of me Jay Halstead.” You groaned, a small smile on your lips.

“What a way to go though, huh?” He quipped, giving you a quick kiss.

“Get out.” You pushed his chest.

“What? No free peep show? I offered you my shirt and everything.” He acted offended.

“They’re gonna start getting suspicious if we are in here any longer go.” He huffed at your reply giving in and leaving as you turned around to switch shirts. Jay’s scent immediately overwhelmed you as you slipped his shirt on. Causing your body to relax in turn at the familiar fragrance. Jay was right, you had to tuck the shirt into your jeans, otherwise it could’ve been a dress thanks to your large height difference. Turning to walk out of the locker room, you were met with Adam holding a new cup of coffee out to you making you jump at the unexpected body in your path. “Thank you.” You giggled taking it from his hand to take a drink.

“Did you change?” He asked, eyeing the shirt you now wore.

“Oh yeah. I had white on and it was gonna stain so Jay offered me his shirt.” You explained, shifting on your feet at the uncomfortable conversation.

“Well I have one. It might fit you better.” He offered moving to walk towards his locker, but you put a hand to his chest stopping him.

“I’m good this one is perfectly fine.” You reassured him, Adam stared at you, breaking the tense silence with a long sigh, leaning against the side of the lockers.

“Listen we never got to talk about that night you came to my apartment. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry you-“ He began to apologize when Kevin peeked his head in the door.

“Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt..” he looked between the two of you awkwardly, “but we just got a case.” Adam cleared his throat as you nodded,

“We can..finish this later.” You chewed on your lip pushing past him to grab your coat out of Kevin’s hand.

It was nearing 8 o’clock by the time Voight had given you guys permission to go home and get some sleep. Knowing you’d be returning bright and early in the morning to continue to case.

“What do you think about pizza tonight? I’ve been craving some Bartolis.” Jay asked walking down the stairs behind you.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You stopped turning to face him when you rounded the corner out of sight.

“Well I can just get pizza and I’ll stop for whatever else you want too.” He offered.

“I’m not talking about food, Jay.” You laughed, looking at the ground. Your mind had been racing since showing up with Jay this morning.

“Then..what are you talking about?” He asked, stepping closer towards you.

“I mean I don’t know I’ve been at your place almost every night the last couple weeks.” You whispered, hoping your voice wouldn’t carry to anyone nearby.

“Well we can go to your place. That’s fine.” He reasoned.

“No that’s not..” You sighed not able to find the words.

“Hey, just talk to me. What’s up.” He encouraged hands falling to your hips holding you gently.

“I’m just worried we’re starting to get careless. Showing up to work twice in one week together. One of these days we’re bound to get caught either coming in together or showing up on scene together. We don’t even know what this is. I don’t want to have to talk to Voight about it in the meantime.” You explained.

“We can be more careful. I promise. I just don’t want you to freak out about this.” He assured you tucking your hair behind your ear. “Can we just address how good you look in my shirt. I’m so glad you’re such a klutz..” Jay’s eyes roamed up and down your body.

“I am not a klutz! How did you expect me to react?” You crossed your arms, glaring at him as you did a few hours prior.

“Well is it not the truth? This thing is still on my face purely for your satisfaction.” He reminded you by trailing his lips down your neck, immediately summoning goosebumps from the raggedness tickling in the wake of his lips. He winked knowing his point was proven, moving up to place a soft kiss on your lips. “Sooo pizza?” He asked, pulling back, hopeful look on his face.

“Fine, but I’m not going in to get it.” You rolled your eyes, a bright smile on your face when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders pulling you towards his truck but when you rounded the corner your eyes connected with Adam’s who stood near the door, eyes wide between you two as Jay let his arm fall to his side, your feet rooted to the floor.

“I forgot my wallet in my locker.” Adam explained stammering over his words.

“Well don’t let us keep you. See you tomorrow brother.” Jay remained calm grabbing your arm to pull you out. Patting Adam on the shoulder when you passed.

“Shit!” You cursed when you reached Jay’s truck.

“What?” He questioned and you looked at him dumbfounded.

“You’re fucking kidding me right?” You scoffed.

“He’s not gonna tell Voight. For starters it’s Adam. Plus we know about him and Hailey. He can’t.” He shrugged.

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” You yelled.

“You just said that’s what you were worried about.” Jay reminded you, trying to catch up. “Babe.” He urged when you didn’t answer him.

“You don’t get it Jay!” You shook your head, lump forming in your throat at the anxiety the situation presented.

“No, you’re right I don’t. I’m sorry. Help me understand.” He grabbed a hold of your hand trying to get you to face him.

“Not right now.” You chewed your lip feeling a few tears fall down your cheeks, quickly swiping them away before they were seen, but you knew Jay would know regardless. You were tired, hungry, and now slightly panicking at the thought of having to address the entire situation. His hand squeezed yours tighter before starting his truck putting it in drive.

All Tag List:

@corebore123 @scarletsoldierrr @hehurst23 @beautiful-bunny89 @ingie @halsteadsway @malrunaway @grettiwrites @inlovewith3

Jay Taglist:

@jayxhalsteadx @life-treatments @weepingfestivalmentality @toomuchtv95 @queen-of-arda