#and like red?? like blood? like the blood that dripped down jesus' temples when they place the crown of thorns on his head?

[introspectivememories]

if you're writing a charles fic, it must have some aspect of boyking. he must lean a little on the childgod side. he has to be revered a little bit, adored even. if people aren't talking about him like they wouldn't wash his feet and adorn it with perfume like mary magdalene washed and adorned jesus' feet, you're doing it wrong.

[colmathgames2]

Purple- Chapter 2

Summary: Carter with the League. The Escape.

Warnings: blood, sickness, throwing up, child abuse, restraints, violence, guns, men being gross- PLEASE let me know if I missed anything

Words: 1206

Carter sighed, dropping the recording device onto her mattress. When she agreed to do these recordings, she really hadn’t thought she’d be this close to crying on her first try.

She did a few of the breathing exercises Chubs had taught her the first time he had seen her have a panic attack, and managed to calm down enough to register that she had most definitely missed dinner, and the rest of her team was probably going to be back soon. They had probably heard by now that she had an OP tomorrow, and that she was the only one on Beta team assigned to it. Considering not one of the other Beta kids had shown anything but hostility towards her in the 6 months since she had arrived, they were probably less than happy about that.

For Carter, that meant another night of sleeping on a couch in the Atrium to avoid having to sleep with one eye open.

Wonderful.

###

Carter O’Daniel:

↳Audio Logs:

↳Solitary Log 2:

↳Written Translation

Um, I ended the last recording talking about Thurmond, so I figured it might be good to talk about how I got out. We leave for an OP in 2 hours, but I think that’s enough time.

I didn’t try to keep track of the days while I was in Thurmond, so I’m still not sure how long I was there before I caught the infection. It had to have been a few months at least, because at some point it got so warm that one of the girls in my cabin got heatstroke, and had to go to the infirmary. She never came back.

So, I guess I probably got sick sometime during the summer, and that was when they moved all the other Reds to god knows where. I guess I was too sick to be transported out with the others, or maybe they thought whatever I had was contagious. I dunno. But whatever it was, it probably saved my life.

I fell asleep one day, and woke up to the all too familiar feeling of being restrained. When I opened my eyes, there was a group of 3 PSF’s surrounding me.

“Dammit Kessler, it’s awake!”

I was greeted withthe but of a gun to my face, and a subsequent broken nose. I still have the scar to prove it.

“There. Bitch won’t be a problem if she can’t think straight.”

“Don’t do too much damage, Jones. We don’t get our bonus if she’s brain-dead.”

Everything starts to get a little fuzzy after that, probably because I still had a crazy high fever, and because, you know, I had just been hit in the face with a blunt metal object.

I know that at some point I realized I was no longer in the infirmary, and that wherever I was was very dark, and very small. 

And I know that whoever decided these three PSF’s should be the ones to do this was very bad at their job, because these were the dumbest men I had ever seen in my life, and they were talking freely as they restrained me.

“We could also just dump her somewhere and collect. It’s not like they’re keeping track of the numbers.”

“Jesus Christ. How many times do I have to remind you that they are keeping track, and that it’s just not on record anywhere! And you can bet your ass that we’re not getting a bonus if we show up at the new camp without the one kid we were tasked with transporting.”

Two of the men left the room, leaving me alone with the final guard. He tightened the last of the restraints, and I whimpered involuntarily as I felt metal dig into my wrist.

The PSF smiled sadistically. “If you think this is bad, just wait until you get to your new home.”

He pulled something out of his pocket and held it up to the side of my face. “You’re going to wish I killed you,” he whispered, dragging the object from my temple down towards my jaw.

Then he left the room and slammed the door behind him, blanketing me in complete darkness.

It was only after the room I was in started to shake, after I realized it wasn’t a room that I was in at all but a van, after I felt my own blood drip onto my neck that I realized he had been holding a knife.

[silence]

I don’t know how long we had been driving when I finally realized that this was probably the only chance I was going to get to be free, ever.

I knew I owed it to myself to at least try to get out of that goddamn hellhole of a life. I think I might have cried at that point, just to get it all out. Just in case this escape attempt was the last thing I ever did. In case I didn’t make it out.

I didn’t want to admit to myself at the time, but the chances of that happening were pretty damn high. I had seen plenty of escape attempts in my time at Thurmond, and not one of them had ever been successful, so why should this attempt of mine be any different?

I suppose maybe I had a small advantage in the fact that I wasn’t technically in Thurmond anymore; I was in a creepy van speeding down the highway, alone, except for the men guarding me and their guns.

The PSF’s, for all their stupidity, had at least been smart enough to use metal restraints on me so I couldn’t melt through them with my abilities.

That was quite unfortunate for me though, seeing as I had to, you know, get out of them. I almost cried again at that point. I finally had the mental stability to try and do this and I’m stopped by the very first obstacle I encountered?

Pathetic.

Something snapped, and I felt a sharp tug in my gut for half a second, and then my wrists fell down to my sides, and the chains to the floor.

I wanted to question how the fuck that had happened, but there were much more pressing matters at hand at the moment. With my hands free, it was almost laughably simple to melt through the zip-ties that held my ankles to the ground.

I tried the door, but by then my luck had run out. It seemed that Dumb, Dumber, and Dip-shit had at least been smart enough to lock them. I grit my teeth in frustration before ramming my shoulder into the door multiple times.

That certainly wasn’t my best idea of the day, because the van came to a screeching halt just as I was going for a 6th hit, and threw me to ground- into the pile of chains that had previously been holding me.

In the next few seconds I heard the sound of car doors slamming, and then- the sound that sent my heart to the pit of my stomach- the rattling of chains I had to assume were holding the doors closed. The PSF’s angry muttering grew louder as my hopes of escape grew so much smaller.

[thesmokingguns]

Off To the Races

Pairing: Nikki Sixx!Douglas Booth

Request: Off To The Races by Lana Del Rey

Summary: You are my one true love. She is there for him at all of his worst moments. Coaxing him through his high, making him smile and laugh. She’s at parties dancing with her red smile calling for him. She’s swimming in the pool when he’s drunk and stoned. She’s there through it all. No ones loved Nikki like her. All consuming. His only thought. She is his entire world. And his works is crumbling.

Warning: Heavy themes of drug use, drug induced hallucinations, alcohol abuse, suicidal thoughts.

Word Count: 2270

Taglist: @littlemisscare-all​​​​​ @ayablackwood​​​​​ @agroupiewhore@thenobodies-inc​​​​​ @dannasixxworld​​​​ @val-sixx​​​​@nikkisqueenofsleaze​​​​ @rocknrollsoul76​ @aggressive-slytherin​

My old man is a bad man, but

I can't deny the way he holds my hand

And he grabs me, he has me by my heart

He doesn't mind I have a Las Vegas past

He doesn't mind I have a L.A. crass way about me

He loves me, with every beat of his cocaine heart

My eyes are heavy, fingers twisting the belt around my arm to loosen the pressure. The needle drops to the floor, the carpet holding any sound in. Blinking, looking around the cramped closet I see my journal, my revolver, and more smack for after this dosage.

What a life.

My head rolls back smacking the wood paneling with a dull thud that vibrates through me. My hands shaking, waves of fingers in front of me. There’s a bit of blood coming from the injection pin prick in my arm and I’m find myself stumbling to my feet, sweeping the gun off the floor and tucking it in the waistband of my jeans as I head to the bathroom.

It’s washing over me, the feeling I’m always chasing. The fleeting moment of happiness is like a warm blanket wrapping itself around me.

The giggle stops me in my tracks, eyes searching the hallway searching for her. I thought she had left after our last fight. She called me a quitter and was mad I was giving up my partying ways. She loved to have a good time and she thought I was giving up on her.

Guess she was wrong.

The flash of brown hair catches my attention and I’m stumbling, laughing as I chase her through the house. Her laughter was infectious and made me forget about the blood dripping down my forearm.

In the kitchen she turns, giving me that megawatt smile that felt like my heart was feeling something other than the melancholy that usually filled it. She stops and lets me catch her, letting me wrap my arms around her holding her close to me. Smelling the exotic sweetness of her hair as she engulfs me with her golden skin, bangles tinkling down her arms like a musical number.

Safe and warm, happiness and euphoria of her presence with me here. The place that was my Mecca of solitude. Pulling back, confused for a second I try to think about how she got here.

“How did you get in?” As if she senses the confusion in my voice she kisses me, giving me no doubt she is here with me. Warm and solitude against my skin, fire in my veins.

“You let me in.” She purred, letting her mouth kiss along my jawline. Soft hot breath tickling me as she pressed against me, bumping the gun as she rolled her body against mine. “It looks like you’re locked and loaded, ready to go.” Her hands in my hair as she’s touching parts of me I forgot existed.

God I missed this.

Swimmin' pool glimmerin', darling

White bikini off with my red nail polish

Watch me in the swimmin' pool, bright blue ripples

You sittin', sippin' on your Black Cristal, oh yeah

Light of my life, fire of my loins

Be a good baby, do what I want

Light of my life, fire of my loin

I wake up with a gasp.

What time is it? What day is it? Where am I?

Looking around, frantic panic as I realize I’m asleep in the lawn chair by the pool. An empty bottle of Jack Daniels is smashed beside me, glass decorating the concrete in sharp glares of warning.

The sound of a splash throws me off and there she is. Her brown hair wet as she rests her elbows outside the pool, placing her head in her hands with that gleaming smile.

“Well hello sleepyhead. Did you have good dreams?” I don’t know if she’s asking out of kindness or mocking me. I’m drenched in sweat, possibly from falling asleep in the LA afternoon but most likely from the night terrors that always haunt me.

I dreamt I was running. From who or from what was the issue. Everything in my brain was foggy. My eyes snapped up at the setting sun. Has it been a full day already? Was it longer?

The phone rang from inside the house and I knew it must be someone from the band calling or my drug dealer. One of those felt more important than the other and I wasn’t ready to admit which one that was.

I got up, swearing as a piece of glass cut open my door, glaring as she giggle and dipped under the water. A trail of blood followed me into the house as I picked up the phone.

“Hello.” My voice felt gruff and it hurt to talk, like I hadn’t used it in a while. My head was killing me and I felt ready to throw up.

What the fuck had I been doing?

“Jesus Nikki, we’ve been trying to reach you for a week.” A week? I had lost hours, maybe a day here and there but a whole week. Jesus Christ. “Are you okay man? Why don’t you come out tonight with us?” Tommy was begging me and I sighed.

I was embarrassed. I didn’t want everyone to see me when I had been on a bender. I hadn’t seen what I looked like yet but I was sure that it was like hell.

“I don’t know, T-Bone. I think I have the flu or something. I just don’t feel great.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Something fluttered beside me and there she was. A white dress on her thin frame. How had she dried off and changed so quickly? Was I loosing more time? Eyes shining as she held out a silver platter of white powder. She loved to party and must have known that my band would want to see me out. At least if I was doing coke with them they didn’t have to worry about finding me dead.

“Where are you going to be?” I relented, watching her twirl. The energy coming off her was exhilarating and I wanted to join her in the ever present state of delight.

My nose was down against the lines, snorting messily, my brain burning, eyes widening as I sniffed a few times to get the whole lot out of my nose. Wiping and then turning to her.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and ready to go out on the town.” She was leading me to the bathroom. My blood rushing everywhere as I was alive and awake and fucking ready to party.

I need you to come here and save me

I'm your little scarlet, starlet, singin' in the garden

Kiss me on my open mouth

Ready for you

Why had I agreed to go to a club?

In the booth we had a mess of drugs, pills and coke scattered on the table like appetizers. Bottles of booze and half empty beer bottles added to the maze of debauchery.

How long have I been here?

I couldn’t remember driving or even getting to the club. All I could remember was hands all over me in the shower, washing the filth off myself. The gentle voice reminded me to wear long sleeves to hide my track marks.

My eyes searched for her. In the sea of women I was sure she would stand out. But all the flashing lights and the noise was confusing me.

The room was spinning, the conversation around me overwhelming me and I could feel Tommy’s hand on my back. My head rolled back, the club's lightning needed to be updated.

A hand was smacking my face and I saw Tommy, wide eyed, looking at me before I turned to the table, throwing up the only thing I had in my body. Brown liquid shot out, mixed with the acid in the stomach. It didn’t stop for what felt like a full minute.

When I finished, puke leaking down in steady droplets to the floor I grabbed a beer tang I had missed and chugged the foamy substance down. I tried not to make eye contact with the people giving us disgusting sneers.

“Oh baby, why don’t you let me take you home? Let me take care of you.” Her hands wrapped around me and I turned, nodding. Confused looks from everyone as I climbed out, reaching for her to take me back into the safety of her arms.

Light of his life, fire of his loins

Keep me forever, tell me you own me

Light of your life, fire of your loins

Her fingers were in my hair as I laid on her lap. The fire from my lighter hitting my pipe as I inhaled and exhaled the sweet delight.

Freebasing in my closet. But at least I wasn’t alone. I had her with me and that changed my usual mood of wanting to slit my wrists or press the gun against my head and pulling the trigger. Painting the inside of my closet with bits of skull fragments and blood-

“Come back to me.” Her voice was lulling me out of the dark place, pressing against my temples and using the magic of her voice to help me. She was the only one that was always there for me. Always making me feel better and dragging me from the pain of my life. Holding me in her arms, compassion and understanding.

She never judged me.

“Have we been here long?” She knew I liked to keep my responsibilities. I wanted to keep my appearance as the rockstar. I couldn’t let anyone know how bad that it had gotten. How I couldn’t stop. How doing drugs was the best part of my life. My one true love.

Except her. She was the one thing I loved more than drugs.

“You have band practice in a few hours.” She reminded me. Her voice was steady and calm, fingers running through my hair and keeping me calm as I took another hit.

I just needed a little more time before I could see anyone. Just a little more time in the closet with her holding me before going out into the world.

“Nikki, don’t let them tell you to give me up. I love you Nikki. Aren’t I the only one who has always been there for you? No one else cares for you like I do. They see you as a rockstar or as a junkie. But I see you. I see you.” Her words promised and I nodded my head, agreeing with her words. She was still so calm, even with the edge to her voice. The words stuck with me.

She saw me and I saw her too.

I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving

I'm your little harlot, starlet, Queen of Coney Island

Raisin' hell all over town

Sorry 'bout it

I didn’t want to go to band practice. I didn’t want them to see my shaking hands or ask my stupid fucking questions that didn’t matter.

At least she had agreed to go with me. Her brown hair wrapped in one of those silky driving scarfs like the 1960s, big sunglasses to hide the hangover in her eyes that she was surely feeling after we had partied. Her hand was on his lap, keeping him steady as he drove to the practice space.

Walking inside, I hide my eyes behind big sunglasses, I could feel the sweat glistening like a second skin on my body. Anxiety crippling me as I licked my lips wanting to get back to my house.

My eyes followed her, watching her move around the instruments shooting me a smile as she ran her hands down my bass. I couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“Yo, Nikki, are you okay?” Tommy’s voice made me turn away from her nodding as I sat down hard on the couch. I had never brought a girl to practice before so I was sure they were surprised to see her. To see me so happy with someone.

“Come here.” I held my arms open, watching her smile as she bounced towards me twisting around the guys as they watched me. The brunette plopped down on my lap and I held her close looking out at them.

“What are you playing at?” Vince asked, the confusion was written across his face and I felt angry. Vince had been parading chicks through band practice for years. And now he was acting like this? Fucking asshole.

“Cmon, show her some respect, dicks.” She was shifting in my arms holding onto me and purring sweet words in my ears, my eyes closing and only coming awake when Vince kicked my shin.

“Show who respect?” My eyes went up to look at her but she was glaring at them. Her eyes were on fire as if she was protecting me from the band.

“Nikki, we should go. Let’s go home and I’ll take care of you. You don’t need this. I don’t need this. This was a bad idea, Nikki. A very bad idea.” She was getting up tugging at me to leave.

“My girl.” I was standing gesturing at her beside me, watching the way her dark eyes were slits now. Anger so clear as she tried to wrap herself around me and get me away from them.

They sat there, no one saying a word as they looked at each other and than a me. I turned to look at her, panic was there as she stepped forward touching my face, my eyes closing at the sweet caresses from her fingers. My skin feeling alive like bristling fire under her touch

“It’s me and you Nikki. Don’t forget how I love you. I love you always. No judgement. No-“

“Nikki, no ones there.” Tommy’s voice came out soft and I turned to look from her to him, feeling the slender hand slip out of mine. I went to tell her to wait but she was gone.

Whirling around I saw it was just the band in the space, no mystery brunette anywhere in sight. I collapsed on the couch gripping my hair as my teeth gnashed together.

This was the furthest it had come. The lowest point of my drug addiction. In my loneliness I had created a woman out of heroin. Someone to make me feel less alone when I shot up.

I created love through a needle and that was when I knew I needed to stop if I ever wanted to love anything again.

I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him

Who else is gonna put up with me this way?

I need you, I breathe you, I'll never leave you!

[insufferablelust]

Cockwarming Don Reid with his men in the next room

Warning : Cockwarming, mob boss! Spencer, Mean dom!spencer, mention of killing, degrading name calling, filthy.. so fucking filthy, exhibitionism, literally almost fucking in front of people, mention of sub space, d/s theme obviously, and yeah.. 18+ please.

MASTERLIST HERE.

“Princess, come here.” Spencer pat his lap with a burning gaze directed to the cute little thing sat ontop of his office couch like a queen. Work days usually means no playing around, for Y/N it’s one of those days where she’d usually spend at her apartment doing her tasks or paint something for the young don.

But on rare occasions such this, where all the workload of responsibilities upon responsibilities piled on his shoulder, he’d bring her in, he’d tell her to sit all pretty, and continue to study unless daddy calls and that’s exactly she has been doing for hours now, sketching the wooden figurine on his shelf with her legs up the table and her back rests against the couch. She looks prettier than usual he thought, not that his butterfly never look anything less than amazing but she just radiates that softness, that gentle and tender touch which he often depraved himself of— being in the mob especially as the leader, he has to be on the rough rugged edge all the time, he cannot be tender and soft but he can certainly have you as his own personal reminder that not all things in life is as bad as what he has seen.

Y/N, the darling butterfly happily obliged as she stood up after placing her sketchbook down the table and make her way to where he sits on the large chair— colored burgundy red. The soft knitted knee high socks that clad her feet anxiously drags her to the edge of his desk with her fingers fumbling on the hem of her flower dress, no matter where and when, or how and why— he always intimidates her in ways that seemed to flutter her insides with pure wanton yet desirable lust, all for him.

Encased in a black suit, he sat up straight as he holds her hips before placing her down atop his lap with her back against his front, his perfect little princess. “Dressed so prettily for daddy. Haven’t seen this one before pet, did you buy them just to impress me hm?” if it were any other man, talking to you like you owe them you would flip their asses off and beat them to pulp— but when he says it, demands it, caress your soul with it— you couldn’t refuse nor deny.. not that you would ever want to anyway because yes, yes you did buy them to impress him, to make him as weak as she is for him.

She nodded shyly with a small “yes daddy” before squirming gently ontop of his lap whilst Spencer caress her inner thigh— calloused rough fingers brushing up and down her god glowing skin, intensifying all the tension that builds inside of her. Her skin prickled with heat as he inches his sinful fingertips up up up creeping upon her clothed dripping wet cunt, causing her to mewl lowly in frustration, grinding her ass back against his growing crotch.

“Daddy has so many things today pet, so many fucking things to keep you happy, to buy dresses like this one.” He whispered onto your ear, his lips pressing against your temple with his curls gazes against your heating cheek as you nod and shut your eyes tight— feeling his knuckles graze right against your clothed aching swollen clit, making you buck up your hips as he laughs behind you, chest rumbling with triumph.

“Jesus petal, haven’t done anything and you’re soaking my pants already? are you always this needy? fucking hell.” He shook his head as he keep on laughing condescendingly, whilst you writhed and squirm on his lap, your face nudging against his neck. “Please d-daddy..” Oh how he loves your mewls, your sweet sweet moans just sent all the blood from his head rushing down toward his cock— making him all dizzy and dying to feel your clutching heat.

“Shh you want Morgan to hear you, is that it? want my men to hear your filthy moans, bunny?” His words sent tingles up your spine, through your bloodstream as his fingers skillfully tear your panties apart, with you gasping— eyes as glassy as ever and mind absolutely mush with tension and pleasure. “Daddy asked you a question.” He growled, before slapping your bare wet soaking cunt few times which you respond with loud cries and squirm on his lap.

“Sorry daddy! f— please i... oh mmh!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you feel his thumb grazing innocently to your little nub of pleasure numbing nerves, flicking his thumb up and down it focusing on the rhythm as he might as well play you like his favorite instrument. “All needy and you can’t even get a proper word out, such a mindless baby.” He scoffed before slapping right on your clit multiple times.

“Ah! Ah oh! daddy!” You screamed, having no care in the world if his men heard— you knew in the back of your mind that they heard and that alone sends a new surge of adrenaline throughout your body, leaving you pliant and in need for daddy— daddy’s cock, fingers, anything just anything. “Here’s what you’re going to do, pup. You’re going to keep daddy’s cock warm whilst i do my job, if you behave like a good little girl then i’ll let you cum, but if you decided to think with your cunt and move i swear to god i’ll edge you six fuckin ways to sunday, you hear me?” You felt him fumbling with his zipper as he took his cock out, with you whining— babbling ‘yes yes yes daddy’ against his skin, eyes all droopy and fucked with your neatly applied mascara drip down your cheeks.

“Up you go pet, slide daddy in.” You shakily stand, bunching the hem of your dress on your hips before you straddled his thigh and looks down to get ahold the base of his well endowed cock— pulsing with need and heat. “Fuck, go on.” He urged you as he grab ahold of your hips before you lined him up with your sopping wet entrance and sink down slowly— down his massive throbbing length that has you moaning, panting.

“You can do better than that slut”

Smack!

“N-no! daddy please help! please i— ungh you’re too big!” You shook your head as you tried and tried to take him, all of him but everytime you sink another inch— your body felt like it’s been penetrated into a whole new level as if it hadn’t this morning or the night before, “Fucking helpless baby, look at you, pathetic and needy.” He growled before thrusting up inside you at once, forcing his thick length to slip fully inside your pumping dripping heat causing you both to moan out.

“Oh! oh mmh daddy.. shit..” You felt him deep, deep deep inside you, the tip of him grazing against your spot oh so deliciously, whilst you pant and convulse against him, clutching his cock like a vice. “Perfect little cunt, such a perfect doll for me.”

—

You’re convinced that if god was real, at this moment god must hate you for existing, must hate you so much that the universe sent you this adonis of a man to torture and blur the line of sanity and lunacy for you, torment your pleasure in mockery and sarcasm of how he stayed calm with you perched on his godly lap, panting like a puppy in heat as his thick length penetrated your insides as if it belongs there— forcing every bit of your self control over the teetering edge. You’re loosing your mind, that you’re sure of.

It has been no longer than 30 minutes but your toes have curled and uncurled themselves for eternity, your walls grew slicker and slicker each time he ‘shift’ accidentally, as you mewl and bit the skin on his neck, by the last minute of the long 30– you were trembling in order to resist yourself not to move, for the last bit of your working mind still recognized how severe the punishment would be if you were to move, the don is not one to fuck around with— oops.

Just as he stretches his hand, the knock of the door sent you into a spiraling mess, looking up to Spencer with wide eyes— all glassy and doe as you shook your head, “Daddy, d-daddy n-no..” Shivers runs deep and thrumming lively on your bloodstream as you saw his devilish handsome smirk.

“Be good and quiet, pup.” He whispers

“N-no! no daddy please! i—“

“Come in.” The sound of his voice and door cracking open has you shutting your eyes as tight as you could, face buried on the crook of his neck as he grips onto your thigh. You took a peek at the tall standing figure on the middle of his office, recognizing so clearly that it’s in fact Hotch not only that Emily and Morgan were also present, fuck— you’re fucked as you clenched hard causing the don to hiss and slap your thigh.

“What did i tell you about behaving hm? are you going to behave or should i let them deliver your punishment for you little one?” He growled in your ear, making you let out a pitiful whimper, trying as best as you could to resist the need to look at your patrons and to stay still. “No please, i’ll behave.” you muttered meekly, panting at the raging burning release that has been coiling inside your body.

“No please what? you know better, minx.” He shook his head before grasping your neck with his palm as he take a look at your messy figure. “No daddy p-please..” you bat your eyelash at him as he went in to kiss your lips with a small ‘good girl’ before getting back to his business.

“What is it?” He muttered coldly, one hand on the whiskey glass that he took a sip off every once in awhile and the other secured tightly around your lower tummy— you knew what he’s doing, the game is clear, you knew he likes to feel how you can feel him inside of you, pressing against your sweet spot and your slick canal tried so hard not to clench at the thought.

“The shipment hasn’t arrived yet to midtown, it supposed to days ago but we just heard from Garcia that the Kingsley’s hadn’t even reached out to her in weeks.” Although confident, you could tell there’s a hint of fear and worrisome latched behind Hotch’s voice, one does not fuck with your dom, one does not absolutely delay the shipment of his drugs— no no those cannot do.

“Have you traced it back to them?” The voice that rumbled against your back was eerily calm and deeper, resisting every urge inside his body to lash out— you know that very well. His fingers tighten and tighten its hold onto the glass which you could clearly see his knuckles turning white, you just hope that the poor glass won’t break.

“Yes don, Walker and Alvez went to their base and it was empty, looks like they left in a hurry.” You could feel it before you even see it, heard it, the way his blood pumps just even faster before a lound cracking of the wood sent fear and adrenaline through everyone’s bloodstream, “I don’t fucking care how many, and who’re you going to kill, but i want that fucking shipment arrived to midtown by dawn or i’ll pluck their own eyes myself.” His voice somehow rise and fell deeper at the same time, rumbling deep inside his chest which send shivers on everyone’s spine as they nod with a small uniformed ‘yes don’ before heading out hurrily— no one questions him, no one dared to speak against him, even if they know they’ll have the bloods of people (though bad) on their hands by nightfall.

His threat lives like a venom that stuck on their throat as they pursued their mission— one don does not get his hand dirty let alone going round plucking some low life mob’s eyes— or the end result could be.. would be catastrophic. These Kingsleys have one hell of a problem heading their way.

and you.. you have one hell of a raging frustratingly mad Mob boss in your hand.

—

Y/N’s head couldn’t even process the whole thing before she screamed in absolute pain when he pulled out harshly and bent her over his desk, knocking his whiskey glass onto the floor, clattering with no care in a world. Your mind begs for you to soothe him, soothe his anger yet your cunt aches and throbs with the need to let him use you— take the anger out to you, and ruin you for eternity. You’re his, and you’re ready.

“Stay fucking still.” Spencer slapped your ass harshly, causing you to jump in the position, your legs curled up for a moment as he gripped your hair tightly and grasp your neck with his unoccupied hand, “You’re going to stay still and be a good cocksleeve for me, i’m going to use you like you’re my toy and i won’t stop unless you say your safeword, got it?” His breath fans over your heated skin as you shake and tremble, your mind fuzzy with needs and mush of pleasure— blurring your absolute senses and submitting yourself fully to the mercy of his hand— his cock.

“Use your words, dumb little slut.” He hissed, choking your neck even tighter, with much force and you cried out, “Yes! yes sir, use me, i.. i’m yours..” just as you muttered out, your walls involuntary clenching at the intrusion of his cock plunging deep deep deep inside of you in one go, making you scream out in absolute pleasure and pain.

Spencer might’ve seen red— but when he delves deep inside of your tight heat, he saw the absolute heaven on earth as he begins to thrust in and out of your cunt in a brutal space, knocking his desk toppers off, and making you mewls and screams.

“Fucking tight little cunt— mine huh? isn’t it fucking mine pup?” He slammed into you over and over again as his balls hit your clit in an antagonizing pleasure whilst you writhe below him, forcing your eyes to stay open with all the power in your body looses control. “Its— mmmh ngh fuck! it’s y-yours sir! yes yes yes!” Your moans filled the entire building but neither of you care as Spencer drove his cock home everytime he sinks inside your tight pussy.

“Being such a good whore, letting me use you as my personal fucktoy, just to let my anger out.” He laughs maniacally, pistoning his hips as you clench your walls tightly to elevate the pleasure for you both, causing the room to tremble as you moan and cries out loud, “ungh yes! yes yes your whore daddy— mmh fuck me!” You could feel all the drool drips down your lips as he fucked you stupid atop of his desk but neither of you care nor have the patience to even pay attention because in his mind— the messier the better.

“Won’t be able to walk for days, pet. Fucking cunt going to drool for me everytime you see all the marks i fucking left on you.” He growled, bringing his palm over your ass before giving it a smack over and over again as your body lunges forward trying to get away with how all the friction is causing you to went into over sensitivity. But being the mean dom that he is, Spencer laughs as he pulled you back towards him by your hips. “Where are you going, bunny?”

“Please p-please let me cum, sir... ah!” You arched your back perfectly when the tip of his finger move down down down to where your swollen sensitive clit was, rubbing quickly in a fast pace just to send you over the edge, testing you, daring the orgasm out of you. “Wanna cum petal? hm wanna make a mess on daddy’s cock?” He whispered, one hand continues to rub your clit as the other focuses on holding you against him whilst his hips drives up deep— so deep that the tip grazes against your cervix.

“mmhh ah uh uh uh!” Your eyes lolled back trying to find a cohorent sentence— anything you can say to him but no matter what you’re trying to say was rendered to sinful moans and cries instead as you were right on the brink, “You can do better than that, c’mon bunny, beg daddy to cum.” he stills for a second, pressing in deep as he slaps your cheeks not once but twice— bringing fresh tears flows from your eyes.

“I.. ungh please daddy please! let me cum! been so good for you, please— want you to fill me up too.. fill your baby up, daddy!” Your high pitched voice rang an alarm through the circuit of his lust and anger laced mind, you’re slipping into your space and you’re slipping fast with your eyes just glazes absolutely flying through the realm of pleasure sensitivity.

“Good girl butterfly, such a good fucking girl, wanna cum? c’mon cum..” He whispered, before thrusting his hips in and out slowly, feeling the bliss of your overly wet and tight cunt engulfing him— milking him to cum inside, “Cum for daddy, princess, that’s it.. ohh... that’s it baby, good girl.” You cried out silently as you cum hard around his cock, muscles clenching so tightly that you sent him to release himself inside of you, thick ropes of cum paints your inside as you both moan and tremble.

“My good girl, shh thats it— best cunt ever.. that’s it, so so good for me.” He whispered softly, backing down to where his chair was pushed aside, bringing you with him before sitting down. You groaned out a loud scratchy, “daddy..” As you feel his cock shifted deeper inside of you, your eyes closed as he holds you and calms you down.

“Shh shh princess, just stay here like this. such a good girl, gonna keep me warm while i wait for them aren’t you?”

Although your cunt practically ache and scream for you to not say yes, your love and lust filled mind fogged with utter desire— just nods whining an agreeable mumble— just for him.

This will be a long long day and even a longer night.

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts

--/--

Part 1:

You’re not sure what you’re looking at.

He’s covered head to toe in soot, knocked out cold and hardly moving against the railing of your balcony. There’s an unsettling slump to him, and his costume creases as heaving, rattling breaths leave his lips. There’s blood soaking his clothes, dripping from his nose and onto the concrete. When you call out to him, his eyes flutter briefly beneath his eyelids, but other than that he’s entirely unresponsive.  

You know who he is. Dynamite. Bakugou Katsuki. He’s a burgeoning pro-hero, just hardly starting out, but he’s already climbing the ranks. Anyone with a TV had been watching his highlights for years now.

What you don’t know, is what villian sent him hurtling onto your balcony; or if that villain was still hanging around- either way, you realize you’ve got to get him inside. The mid-winter cold was already biting at your skin, and you figured he couldn’t have been doing much better. 2 AM was certainly not a optimum time for finding yourself unconscious, after all. 

Shivering slightly, you loop your arms under his and begin to tug him inside your apartment. You find very quickly that his dead-weight and ridiculous muscle mass make the job a lot harder than it needs to be. It feels like you’re deadlifting an elephant, and when you finally shut the door behind the both of you, your thighs burn from the effort. 

A part of you wonders if all the exertion was even worth it, but that quickly fades with one look at his costume. You briefly wonder if you’ll get a medal for saving one of Japan’s beloved heroes- after all that heavy lifting, you sort of feel like you deserve it. 

You begin adjusting his limbs, pressing him flat against the floor and tipping his head back. The bleeding in his nose seems to be slowing, but you don’t want to take any chances. You tip his head a little further to the side, hoping it’ll be enough to not let him choke on the blood. The nerves begin to settle in; you’re not sure what to do now. You were hoping he’d wake up on the way in and direct you from there, but hat didn’t happen.

As it looks now, Dynamite wouldn’t be directing a single thing any time soon.

Your fingers itch. The familiar burning begins, and you flex them in your gloves, wondering just how bad of an idea using your quirk would be. 

Bakugou did look pretty hurt, and even without all your years studying medicine, anybody could tell several of his bones were broken. Not just that, but one of his ankles was lolling grotesquely. When you get a closer look, you find tiny bits of bone threatening to burst through the thin skin- his ankle has shattered completely and you’re sure he’s got to be in shock. Pain like that would take just about anyone out. Even a pro-hero.

You sign in frustration, kneeling next to him as you try to make a decision. The itch in your hands is telling you to use your quirk- to help him, but it’s not that easy. Your quirk is all encompassing, and exceedingly powerful, but it doesn’t discriminate. It will try to lessen all of his hurt, physical and mental, and you don’t want to pry into his business. If you try to help him now, you won’t only feel aftershocks of his broken bones, but you’ll get flashes of his memories too. It’s invasive, uncomfortable, and damn near uncontrollable; you really don’t want to have to resort to that. 

Sighing once more, you slide your phone out of your pocket. You’re not really sure who to call, but you figure the Hero Public Safety Commission is a good start. You’ve barely been connected to the main line, before you feel a hand drop heavy onto your thigh.

“Fuckin’- stop. Fuckin’ phone. Stop.” He grunts, half-lucid and slurring. His face screws up in pain as he lifts his arm to bat at your phone. “That’s a- fuckin’ order.”

“It’s alright, I’m calling for help.” You soothe calmly, suddenly glad for all of your emergency aid training. You lean back, phone held out of his reach as the operator tells you to hold. “You’re alright. I’m getting you help. You’ll be okay.” 

“No- fuckin’ stupid! You don’t get it! Stop. Don’t call them.” 

Then he’s surging upwards, and all you can see is his pupils blown wide and his angry expression. His palms are cackling and you’re shrinking away instinctively, but he’s not after you. Bakugou grabs the phone out of your hands, running off of nothing but fumes and adrenaline, and chucks it across the room. Then he grunts in pain, coughing as he flops back, boneless onto the ground. 

“Why- what the hell? Oh my god-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugou bites out, his breath rattling in his chest. His voice is weak and raspy, but his eyes are steely and intense. He looks pissed. “Jesus fucking christ. I told you. So shut up, you fuckin’ dolt, it’s your own damn fault.” 

You first instinct is to scream, to yell and screech and berate him for shattering your phone. The rage boils thickly under your skin, only boosted by his irritated sigh, but then you remember your training. People in shock were generally disoriented, and it wouldn’t necessarily be a stretch to assume they could be irrationally angry. 

All it takes is one look at Bakugou’s blown pupils and rising goosebumps, and then you sigh. He’s in shock. You’ll decide to give him a pass. 

“S-stop fuckin’ starin’. What the fuck, are you even-” He slurs suddenly, words hardly forming around teeth suddenly beginning to chatter. “Why the hell is it so cold? Hah?!” 

“Not cold. You’re in shock.” You say calmly, doing your best not to make any sudden movements. “But it’s alright. I’m a nurse. I can help you.”

Your words seem to miss him completely, and he just tracks your movement with wide eyes and quick breaths. His legs are twitching and you watch him try to move his ankle, see the panic rise in his eyes when it’s unresponsive. He tries again, scrambling up on his forearms as his chest heaves. He’s spiraling, quick, and you need to help him calm down. Soon. Or he was going to pass out again. 

With gentle hands, you press against his shoulders until he’s flat against the wood again. Bakugou tries to fight at first, gasping for air, but you’re stronger. He tips his head back to look up at you, near terror clouding his eyes. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. You’re alright. I’m a nurse.” You reassure him once more, before slipping your jacket off your shoulders slowly. “This is just to keep you warm, alright? Just a jacket. I have to try stabilizing your temperature before anything else.” 

“Can’t- I can’t,” His voice is rising, words bitten out and angry as his eyes dart around the room. “Where the fuck did you take me? This isn’t- let me go! I’ll fuckin’ blow you to hell, bitch!” 

Bakugou’s words are scary and harsh, his palms crackling wildly at his sides. He’s very injured, nearly paralyzed by all his broken bones, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping his quirk. You didn’t want to use your own quirk, but at this point it’s seemingly the only option. You need to get him to calm down, to bring him out of his shock before he blows your entire place up.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, allowing your hands to fall on his arm. Normally you’d try to activate your quirk directly on an injury, but as it stood now Bakugou was just one giant broken bone. You could feel him trying to shake you off, so you just hold on tighter as you focus.

You begin to shiver, all your bones vibrating in your skin as you take on his pain. It starts in your toes, an almost inconceivable pain that runs searing trails of lava through your marrow before it settles behind your temples. His physical pain manifests as a room-blurring, white-hot migraine, but his mental pain hits you a million times harder.

You’re seeing flashes behind your eyelids- flashes of yelling and screaming and bright orange-red explosions, every snap-shot moving so fast that it nearly rips the breath from your lungs. You screw your eyes shut, groaning in pain, as your head falls forward. There’s rage boiling your blood, and suddenly it feels like you’re on fire. Like you’ve always been on fire and all you can do is yell and scream and itch at your skin until it peels away. Until the broiling heat is released and your don’t ribs feel like a prison anymore. Until every breath stops feeling like it’s eating away at your throat.

The itch in your fingers starts again, but this time it’s different. It has you balling your hands into fists and shaking as the anger suffocates you. All you can see is red, red, red.

Then it stops. Everything stops and your fists uncurl, and suddenly you’re scared. You’re terrified like you’ve never been before, heart seizing in your chest. It skips a beat. Picks up. Skips a beat, picks up. 

You’ve never felt anything like this before. This isn’t shock, you’ve felt that before, and it isn’t concussion fog either. It’s something dormant, pulsating strong and steady beneath all his current afflictions. The feeling is dark and smothering and intense like nothing you’ve ever known before. He’s miserable. Bakugou is utterly miserable and angry, and you’re sure you weren’t supposed to feel that. 

You tear your hands away from Bakugou, falling backwards onto the floor without grace. Your heart hardly begins to slow, hardly begins to settle, before you hear him groaning next to you. When you look at him, his eyes are more alert and his teeth, thankfully, have stopped chattering. Unfortunately, his pupils are still blown and he looks just as freaked out as before. You’re starting to think that maybe he also has a concussion.

“What the fuck did ya do to me? Hah?” He gasps out. “What kinda fuckin’ quirk-“

“I call it Alleviate.”

“I don’t give a shit what you call it! Felt you in my fuckin’ head! Who the fuck said you could pull that-“

“I’m sorry.” You cringe at his yelling, rubbing at your temples as you sit up. The headache from earlier early fades, but it leaves bone-deep exhaustion behind. “My quirk targets and lessens all pain- physical and mental. I can’t choose which one. I was just trying to help.”

“I didn’t fuckin’ ask for your help!”

“I know. I’m sorry. Again.” You wince, scrunching your eyes shut. You felt woozy and weak, just like you always did after using your quirk. “It’s just- you were in shock. You were gonna blow my whole apartment up. I had to.”

You answer washes over Bakugou like a bucket of cold water. You watch him still where he lies, fingers twitching at his sides. A beat passes and then he’s shifting again, nostrils flaring in annoyance when he can hardly sit up. 

You watch his face contort in pain once more, and suddenly you’re not tired anymore. The feeling reminds you of working at the hospital, and you find the urge to help him much outweighs your own exhaustion. You’d push through it- just like a graveyard shift at work. 

“Now, I’m going to need you to take a deep breath for me, and try your best to relax.” You say in an even tone, holding steady eye contact. “You’ve got a lot of injuries, and you need to lay back down. You’ll just exacerbate them if you keep moving.” 

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do- I’m fine! I’ll be good, jus’ need a few fuckin’ minutes,” He huffs, but then he falls back again once more. You guide him with you hands gently, intent on making the impact as painless as possible. “Now get out of my fuckin’ face.” 

“If I thought you would be fine by yourself, I would.” You snort, leaving his side to gather your phone and some pillows from your couch. You slide one pillow under his head and the other under his ankle gently, doing your best to be delicate. “But you aren’t, and you need help. I know what I’m doing. I’m a nurse, and I’ve done this many times, so trust me and try to relax, alright?” 

“Relax? I can’t fuckin’ move!”

“I know. All I can do is help with the pain, I can’t heal you, but-”

“That’s a shitty fuckin’ quirk.”

“It actually isn’t; not in my line of work, at least.” You say indulgently, before pressing two fingers under his jaw. His heart is still beating wildly, way too quickly. “Now, did you crash land with a phone on you? Any identification?” 

“You don’t know who I am? How stupid are you?”

“Not stupid. I know who you are- but all those things are important for when an ambulance gets here. You have way too many broken bones to walk it off, so I’m gonna call you an ambulance, alright?” 

“You’re not calling shit!” 

“I have to call somebody for you. I’ve done all I can.” You push on calmly, schooling your features even as exhaustion ebbs at your mind. “Now, if not the hero commission, who do you want me to call for you?” 

He seems to resist for a moment, but then his eyebrows settle. He clenches a fist at his side, sighs, and begins to rattle off a number.

“Put it on fuckin’ speaker.” Bakugou demands, scrunching his face up as you type in the number.

You roll your eyes at his tone, but comply anyway. The phone rings four times before somebody picks up.

“Uh, hello?” The voice asks groggily, thick sleep clouding his voice. “Who’s, uh, who’s this?”

“Oi- Shitty Hair. Clear your fuckin’ throat. Sound disgusting as shit.” Bakugou grits out. “And wake the hell up, I need you to do something.”

“Are you asking me for help?”

“Yeah. Whatever. Shut up about it.”

“I didn’t-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugou barks. Then he blinks, pauses a second before adding an afterthought. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

On the other side of the phone, the man sighs something existentially exhausted and put-upon. You think that’s probably an accurate description of what associating with Bakugou is like. At least, that’s what you’ve gathered from this first impression.

“Just- you’re gonna get an address texted to you. Go to it.” Bakugou orders, turning his head to look at you. He squints his eyes, daring you to put up a fuss about his plans. “And bring your fuckin’ car. Do not take the subway.”

“My car? Dude, you hurt or something?”

“Yeah. He is.” You say, holding a finger out to Bakugou so he doesn’t say otherwise. “Pretty badly, too. He doesn’t want me to call an ambulance, but he definitely won’t be able to walk out of here.”

“What? Oh my god. Is he-“

“He’s alright. Don’t worry.” You assure. “I’ve stabilized him, for now, but he definitely needs more help than I can give hi-“

“Yeah! Fuckin’ nurse, my ass, she didn’t do shit for me!” Bakugou interrupts, lips pulled back into a snarl. “Useless quirk bitch!”

You roll your eyes again. If he wasn’t in so much pain, and you hadn’t been used to hearing so much worse at the hospital, you’d kick his ass.

“Sorry. About him.” The man on the phone apologizes, as he sucks in a breath. “Send me the address, and I’ll get there as soon as possible. Alright?”

“Yep. You got it.”

The call cuts, and you send your location to him over text. When you look down at Bakugou, his face is screwed up once more, and he’s heaving shallow breaths all over again. Your quirk must be wearing off.

“Scale 1-10, how much pain are you in?” You ask him.

“Stupid- stupid fuckin’ question.” He seethes through teeth clenched shut. “Not funny. Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. It’s a question to gauge whether or not I should use my quirk on you. It won’t be good for either of us if you pass out from the pain again.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay. If you say so.” You say, leaning back on your hands. The exhaustion seeps in again, but you blink away the fog. “But seriously, if it gets unbearable, I need you to tell me.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ help.”

“Maybe not, but this is pretty much my job, alright? I’m gonna try and make this as painless for you as I can.” You try to soothe, voice light and unassuming. “But, I will need you to keep talking, alright? You have to try and stay lucid.” 

Bakugou glares at you, presses his mouth into a thin line. His defiance is written clear across his face, and you’re sure he’d be crossing his arms across his chest if he could. Maybe even stomping his foot if he could stand. All in all, he reminds you of the pouting children you so often give flu-shots to. The thought makes you smile a bit.

“Fuck you smiling about?” He grumbles suddenly, but his voice is off. When you look down at him, he’s clenching his teeth as his eyes flutter closed.

“No. Stop. You need to keep them open.” You wave a hand in front of his face. “I’m not sure, but you might have a concussion so I need you to stay awake just in case.”

He just wrenches his eyes shut again, before blinking them wide open. When he looks up at you, his eyes are mostly pupil and there’s something stuttered about the way he tracks your movements. You’re suddenly glad all the lights in your apartment are off, you’re almost entirely sure he has a concussion. And not just a mild one, either. 

“Can you remember what happened? Before you were thrown onto my balcony?” You ask, trying your best to keep your voice quiet. 

“Yes. Fuckin’ obviously. I-” His eyebrows lift, and his eyes flicker around the room. There’s a frustrated sigh from Bakugou, and then he just sinks his head further into the pillow. “No.”

“Okay. That’s okay. That’s just the concussion symptoms, no need to panic. Are you feeling okay, right now? Any nausea? Dizziness?” 

“What the fuck are ya? Fuckin’ doctor or somethin’?”

You’re sure now. He’s concussed. Pretty badly too, considering he doesn’t remember the multiples times you’d already told him you were a nurse. You’re briefly impressed that he even managed to remember his friend’s number, but then again you reason, that could’ve been just an unexpected benefit from using your quirk. 

“Nurse. I’m a nurse.” You repeat, before re-adjusting the jacket you had previously spread over him. You pull it up to his shoulders. “Now, I’m sure your friend’ll get here soon, so I need you to just sit tight, alright?”

“Not a fuckin’ kid. Don’t need to be babied.” He slurs, eyes once again shuttering. “Knock it- knock it off.”

You just ignore his comment, focusing instead on trying to keep his eyes open. There’s not much you could do without disturbing his injuries, so you take to patting his cheeks gently. Anything to keep him from falling asleep- you don’t have the equipment necessary to evaluate his brain injury, and you don’t want to be blindsided by a potential seizure. 

“Don’t fall asleep. C’mon Bakugou, open your eyes. I know it hurts, and you’re probably really drowsy, but this is important.” You say again, a little louder this time. “I need you to stay awake.”

When he blinks his eyes open again, he’s hardly there. The effects of your quirk have seemingly completely worn off, and Bakugou’s feeling the full effects of his head injury. He looks confused and disoriented, and when he tries to lift a barely-sizzling palm towards you, his face seizes up in pain all over again.

“It’s okay. You’re good. No need to blow me up.” You smile gently, pressing his hand flat against the ground. Bakugou resists for a moment, before his arm goes slack. “All you need to do is keep your eyes open.”

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door, and you turn away from Bakugou. You watch him wince at the loud sound as you open the door. 

The first thing you notice about Bakugou’s friend is his bright red hair, and his shark teeth. He’s Red Riot, Kirishima Eijiro, and you know exactly who he is too. You breathe a relieved sigh, thankful that you could hand him off to someone you knew was capable. 

“Holy shit.” The man at the door says, suddenly gasping. “Bakugou!”

Scratch that. Kirishima just screamed bloody murder at a concussed person. Maybe not so capable.

“Be quiet!” You shush, ushering Kirishima in as you shut the door gently behind him. “I’m pretty sure he’s got a concussion, so I need you to be quiet. Too much noise is just gonna cause him more pain.” 

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay, got it. I understand.”

“Thanks.” You whisper. 

You lead him over to the sliding balcony door, and Bakugou is right where you left him. He’s almost completely still, looking up at the both of you through lidded eyes. 

“Okay. So, I’m not sure where to send him, but he needs to go to a hospital. He’s got a shattered ankle, a severe concussion, probably a broken nose, and several broken bones, at least. Probably a few cracked ribs too.” You report tactfully. “The good news is, I haven’t seen any symptoms of internal bleeding. That’s great so far, but I can’t be entirely rule it out, so we need to get him to someone who can.”

Kirishima doesn’t say anything, just gulps nervously back at you. 

“It’s alright.” You soothe. “He’ll be just fine, as long as we get him help soon. Now, I’m not sure where heroes go for treatment, and Bakugou isn’t in any position to tell me, so I need you to tell me. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. It’s- we’ve got a med-wing back at the hero complex.”

“Okay. Good. Do they have ambulances that can get here? We really shouldn’t be moving him without a stretcher to stabilize him, and I don’t have one.” 

“Yeah. They do. I’ll give them a call.” 

“Good.” 

Kirishima takes his phone out, as you settle back on the floor next to Bakugou. Bakugou’s barely lucid, but he’s sniffing and then you realize his nose is bleeding again. Upon closer inspection, his nose is definitely broken. There’s nothing you could do about that for the time being, but the blood seeping onto your floors was fixable. 

“Hey, can you make sure he keeps his eyes open for just a minute or so?” You ask Kirishima, nodding towards Bakugou. “I think he’ll probably be fine, but I need to be sure. I’m just gonna step away and get a wet rag. Try to clean up some of the blood as best as I can.” 

Kirishima just nods, taking your spot and dialing a number on his phone. You can hear his voice as you move into your kitchen. 

You fingers itch again. It’s irritating because you’re just tired, not spent, and you could be helping Bakugou a lot more if he’d let you. If he just let you, then you could alleviate his pain and his concussion symptoms all in one go, and waiting for the ambulance would be child’s play. 

But you can’t. Your quirk was invasive enough as a surprise- you wouldn’t purposefully dig into someone’s mind against their wishes.

It felt a little useless to only be wiping away blood when you could be doing so much more, but you ignore the feeling. It takes only a minute or so before you’re walking back to your living room, a few damp dish towels in hand.

“Is he still okay?” Kirishima asks, and you can see the panic in his eyes.

 You quickly come to the conclusion that Bakugou must not be someone who let’s himself get gravely injured a lot. Kirishima doesn’t seem to be used to seeing his friend hurt at all. 

“Yeah. Well, just as okay as he was before I left.” You reassure, settling on your knees at Bakugou’s side. Red eyes lazily slide over to you, and you try to smile something reassuring at him. “Bakugou’ll be just fine. How long until an ambulance gets here?”

“Soon. Should be soon.”

“Okay.” 

Quiet settles over the three of you, as you wad up a dish towel. You dab it over Bakugou’s face, rubbing away the dried blood that dripped down his mouth and neck. You hope it’ll make him a little more comfortable. As much of an asshole as he’d proven himself to be so far, you still wanted to help him. You’re sure he couldn’t be feeling anything other than absolutely miserable as he was. 

“Stop.” Bakugou slurs with barely any heat, scrunching his eyes as you work at the blood that somehow dripped around his ear. “Don’t fuckin’ need it.” 

“Shh. It’s okay. Just cleaning up some of the blood.” You say indulgently, smothering a crackling palm with another damp dish towel. “Just breathe, alright? Help’s almost here. You’re gonna be just fine.” 

“Fuckin’ course I am. Bitch.” 

You snort, dabbing at the bits of dried blood in his hair. Bakugou just blinks at you, confused and disoriented, but still blessedly awake. You press his hair back to get at the skin of his forehead, and you might be imagining it, but you think Bakugou leans into the light touch. 

“He always like this?” You ask Kirishima, laughing slightly in pure disbelief. “He always so angry and prickly?”

“Only on his best days.” 

“It’s- that was funny. Good one.” 

Kirishima’s phone lights up suddenly, and then he’s walking to the other side of the room, taking the call quietly. He faces you with a wobbly smile when he turns back.

“They’ll be here in a minute or so. I told them to just walk up- shit, I probably should’ve asked, right?” He relays nervously, scratching at the back of his neck. “Is that okay? I gave them your apartment number.” 

“Just fine. I don’t feel comfortable moving him, so I’m perfectly okay leaving it up to them. Thanks for your help.” 

“No, thank you. I- well, I’m sure he wasn’t exactly cooperative for you.” 

“He wasn’t.” You huff a sardonic laugh. “That’s alright though, he’s still far from the rudest patient I’ve ever had. Surprisingly.”

Kirishima just smiles at that, and then perks up at the sound of footsteps outside the door. He lets the paramedics in, and they’re crowding Bakugou as you step away.

 It’s quick work, and Bakugou is stabilized on a stretcher in just a few minutes. A part of you wants to help, even more so when you see the blonde mumbling in pain, but you stay back.

Just as everyone is filing out the door, you suddenly find yourself grabbing a hold of Kirishima’s arm.

“If it’s not too much to ask, do you think you could give me an update on him? When he wakes up and is lucid, I mean.” You ask unsurely. “I’m sure he’ll be just fine, but the affirmation would be nice, you know?”

You’re not sure what compels you to ask, especially not when Bakugou had been so prickly to you earlier, but you ask anyway. You tell yourself that it’s just residual nurturing urges from caring for him, but even you’re not sure that feels right. 

A part of you knows it’s because of what you felt in his head. How miserable he was and all the pain festering there- but an even larger part of you won’t admit it.

“Yeah. For sure. I’ve got your number.” Kirishima says, a small smile edging at his lips. “I’ll let you know in the morning. And thanks. Again.” 

“Of course. Tell him I hope he feels better.” 

Kirishima nods, and then leaves, closing the door behind him. Suddenly you’re alone in your apartment, and the silence is near deafening. You hadn’t realized just how loud a presence Bakugou was until he was gone. 

Sighing, you finally let the tiredness seep into your bones. You feel it there, thick and suffocating, dragging your feet as you collapse on your couch. There’s still bloody rags sitting on the floor, and you’re sure you’ve got some on your clothes, but you can’t be bothered to get up. 

You’re out before you know it, the memory of red eyes and white-hot anger playing behind your eyelids.

--/--

hope u enjoyed!!! yay!!  new series!! 

also, a few people have asked me to put a taglist together for my writing, and i’m planning on doing that. feel free to leave a comment if u’d like to be added to the list as well!! 

[witcherslittledove]

Little Princess (Part 2 of 2)

Previous

Jaskier/Ciri/Geralt

Rated: E

Summary: When Geralt is away on a business trip, Ciri decides to seduce her step-dad.

CW: dead dove: do not eat, pseudo-incest, underage, vaginal sex, oral sex, daddy kink

Written for @jaskiertheflowertwink and both parts beta’d by the lovely @comfyswitcherblanketfort

________

Geralt grumbled as he made his way up the stairs. The team barbeque had been a complete mess. His brothers had ended up starting a food fight with a rival department and Geralt’s suit had been ruined, covered in barbeque sauce and grease. The bosses had ended up cancelling the second day of the team bonding and everyone who wanted to go home was allowed to. Some stayed behind to make use of a free night at a hotel, but Geralt missed his husband and their daughter. It felt like he hadn’t seen Jaskier at all recently, their schedules were fucked up and they just kept missing each other, and he was looking forward to spending the night in his husband’s arms. 

That was when he heard the moaning from their bedroom, the unmistakable sound of his husband having sex, and he wasn’t alone. There was a girl in there too, and Geralt felt sick to his stomach. He’d known Jaskier since they were teenagers, and he’d seen the speed at which his husband could get through lovers, but Geralt had trusted him. When they started dating Jaskier had sworn he was a changed man, promising that no one else could satisfy him, not when he had Geralt. 

Shit. 

Geralt had to take a break halfway up the stairs. His stomach was rolling and he felt light headed. 

Jaskier wouldn’t. 

Would he?

But then, what the fuck was going on in his bedroom? And where the fuck was their daughter? There was no way she couldn’t hear what was happening and she would never let Jaskier cheat on Geralt. 

Unless…

No. 

That was a ridiculous thought, one that shouldn’t have made Geralt feel as aroused as it did, but Jesus Christ, the thought of Jaskier and Ciri… together. It made his head spin for another reason all together, all his blood flowing to his cock, making him feel dizzy, but it wasn’t that. Jaskier was probably just watching porn or something. Ciri was out with friends, a sleepover… anything. 

His curiosity got the better of him and he charged up the remaining stairs, throwing the door open before he could change his mind.

And there was Jaskier and Ciri, lips locked in a heated kiss as Ciri bucked her hips, her back arching off the mattress as Jaskier’s cock filled her up. His husband and their daughter… 

Geralt wasn’t sure whether to be turned on or furious.

He knew he should be furious.

But his cock had other ideas.

And well, he'd be lying if said he'd never cum to the thought of his daughter whilst she was in the shower. She was growing into a beautiful woman, and she had the fire of Yennefer, and the sass of his husband. It was wrong, it was so so wrong, but Geralt couldn’t help but be attracted to the young girl. He’d thought it was innocent, a thought that crossed his mind when he’d been alone at night. No one needed to know and no one got hurt. 

And now his husband was fucking her, on their bed.

It was a bloody nightmare and a dream rolled into one. Geralt can’t look away, completely transfixed by the flushed cheeks of his daughter, the way her hands were splayed on his husband’s back, leaving red scratches that Jaskier probably hadn’t even noticed. They both looked ashamed and Geralt knew that if he didn’t move fast, he would lose the moment forever.

Jaskier swore and tried  to pull out of Ciri, apologising profusely, rambling in the way that Geralt found so endearing. His daughter looked equally ashamed but Geralt knew what he saw. Ciri had wanted Jaskier, she had been encouraging him.

"Don't move," Geralt growled at the pair of them before Jaskier could pull out completely.

His husband stilled, but didn't pull out, staring at his Geralt, wide-eyed and scittish. Geralt knew he had to act cautiously or else this would all fall apart. Without taking his eyes off Jaskier,  he peeled off his jeans and boxers, moving slowly towards the bed as he licked his lips. 

Geralt stroked Ciri's hair as he pulled Jaskier into a kiss. His husband melted into it, his hips rolling forward into Ciri until she moaned again. Geralt pulled away from Jaskier’s lips, stroking a finger over Ciri's small breasts, down her side until he got to her hip. "You look good with your papa's cock inside you, princess."

Ciri and Jaskier both moaned at Geralt’s words, the pair of them acting like common whores. So desperate for his attention. Geralt was used to it from Jaskier. His husband loved to be humiliated and treated like a little bitch, but Ciri. Shit. Fuck. Everything was new with Ciri, new exciting… forbidden. Geralt slapped Jaskier's arse, hard enough to make Jaskier cry out, and his hips snapped forward, making Geralt chuckle. He leaned forward to brush his lips against Jaskier’s neck, biting down on the tender spot just below his ear. "Now, fuck our little baby girl like you mean it, Jask."

“Jesus Christ, Geralt,” Jaskier gasped and thrust hard into Ciri making her cry out, and her fingers scratch along Jaskier’s spine. “God, you feel so fucking good sweetheart. Can you cum on Daddy’s cock like a good girl?”

Ciri keened, squeezing her eyes shut as Jaskier fucked her, and Geralt couldn’t help to watch the way his husband's cock slid in and out of their daughter, every thrust making her moan and writhe. His hand was on his cock, stroking in time to Jaskier’s thrusts and he could almost feel the heat of her cunt around him. “Yes, Daddy, please, make me cum!” Ciri all but sobbed. 

Her cry was muffled with a bruising kiss, Jaskier’s tongue pushing into her mouth as his thrusts became erratic,and Geralt had to squeeze the base of his cock to stop himself from cumming. It was too soon, and if he had his way this night wasn’t over. Ciri whimpered as Jaskier finally came, a few last lazy thrusts as he rode out his orgasm, and Geralt pressed a kiss to her forehead, “That’s it princess, you’re doing so well.” 

“Daddy,” she cried softly, her green eyes fluttering open and she looked completely fucked out. She looked beautiful, their baby girl losing her virginity to the most important man in Geralt’s life. It should have disgusted him but it just felt right. 

“Hmm,” Jaskier hummed as Geralt pressed a kiss to his temple. “Darling, I’ve missed you.”

The scene all felt so surreal, it was crazy, insane… and yet… Geralt hadn’t felt at peace like this for years. He pulled Jaskier into a kiss, slow and lazy as his husband came down from his orgasm, then he nipped at Jaskier’s ear. “My turn.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier groaned. “Do you want that, Ciri? Just like your dream, do you want your other daddy now?”

Ciri just whimpered, a soft “please,” escaping her lips. That soft pleading gasp of breath was Geralt’s undoing. He grunted as he joined his family on the bed, gently nudging Jaskier out of the way, pressing a kiss to his husband’s shoulder as he did. Jaskier hummed and rolled onto his side next to Ciri, the pair of them exchanging messy open mouthed kisses. Any power that Jaskier might have felt before had melted away, yielding to Geralt with practiced ease. Geralt groaned, nuzzling at Ciri’s breasts, still growing, barely there. He took her nipple into mouth, biting gently, making her moan against his husband’s lips. There was a fire burning through him, taking away all rational thoughts, and he rutted against his pretty young daughter, his cock hard and leaking against her stomach. 

It was only Jaskier’s teeth sinking into his shoulder that broke through the haze, a foil wrapper in his hand. Geralt blinked as he looked at it, too lost in the cloud of lust at first to realise what it was. He grunted and pushed it back into Jaskier’s palm, nipping at his husband’s lips in a quick kiss. 

“Lazy,” Jaskier chided and smacked Geralt’s arse, but he tore open the condom, rolling it down Geralt cock painfully slowly. “I don’t know why I put up with your father, Ciri.”

“Shut up, Jaskier,” Geralt growled, thrusting in his husband's hand and pulling him into a rough kiss. There was no better way to silence Jaskier than to make sure he mouth was put to better use. 

“Daddy,” the young girl whined, clawing at his chest, “you promised!”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Jaskier cooed, running his hands through her hair. “I know you feel so empty without my cock, don’t you, princess?”

“Mhmm,” Ciri said with a pout. 

Geralt felt a smile tug at his lips as he locked eyes with his husband, “Don’t worry, little princess, let your daddies look after you.” 

And with that, Geralt finally pushed into the heat of his daughter, already loose from his husband’s cock. Ciri screamed, oversensitive and yet so wanton, wriggling underneath him and crying out for more. It was almost too much, watching Jaskier coo and pet her hair, the feel of wet warmth around him, already clenching. He wouldn’t last long, but it didn’t matter, Ciri was already a wreck, quivering and moaning, crying out for her daddies. 

“That’s it darling, look at you, taking both your daddies’ cocks so well. You’re doing so well.”

“Daddy, dad…” Ciri gasped, biting her lips as she came again, bucking up off the bed with a wordless cry, and that’s all it took to send Geralt over the edge. His husband caught his lips in a kiss as he spilled into the condom. A part of him was disappointed, he wanted to see his spend mixing with Jaskier, dripping out of Ciri, making a mess of the sheets. 

They would have to put her on birth control. 

That was his last thought before he collapsed, narrowly avoiding his daughter as he rolled next to her. All three of them were panting heavily and Ciri could barely keep her eyes open, blissfully fucked by her daddies.

Geralt used the last of his energy to shift them around in the bed so that Ciri was snuggled between them, using Geralt’s chest as a pillow. Jaskier disposed of the condoms and brought a cloth to clean up the sweat from their skin. He was strangely quiet, lost in thought in a way that concerned Geralt. Jaskier was rarely quiet, even after sex he still hummed, and wittered away about something until they feel asleep, his voice had become a soundtrack to Geralt’s life, constant and comforting. 

The silence was deafening. 

“Jask?” Geralt called out softly, his hand reaching out for his husband as he paced the floor. “Julek, come to bed.”

Jaskier’s eyes were wide, panicked, and he worried on his bottom lip. “Geralt,” he whispered, his voice cracking, “dear heart, what have we done?”

[whumpasaurus101]

Not Just a Pretty Face

Here's the second part to this ask!!!

master list / previous

also ty @happy-whumper and @milk-carton-whump for helping me to form words XD

CW: Brief talking of conditioned pets / cursing / mention of alcohol / mirror broken with head (mhmm, thats the only way i can think of phrasing that...) / if i missed anything just tell!!!!

Alicia fixed Jack's shirt collar, tucking the fold back down. As she took a second look she stepped closer, smoothing down the creases in his shirt and tie. She ruffled his hair with a smile, “Perfect.” Jack blushed at the compliment and dipped his head. Alicia’s hand ghosted over his cheek and gently pushed his chin up, “Hey, chin up, shoulders back. I need you to try and look tough for me baby, or else tonight wont go well, got it?” Jack licked his lips and gulped, “Y-yes ma’am.” Alicia tutted at the stutter and yanked on the leather collar, causing Jack to choke slightly.

She slowly put on her suit jacket and slipped on her high heel boots. She reapplied her dark red lipstick and smiled, “Let’s go.”

A taxi was in Alicia’s driveway, patiently waiting for them to get in. The man who drove it scared Jack. He was lean and muscular and had a tattoo of a teardrop on his left cheek. He gulped but Alicia shoved him into the back seat and slammed the door behind him.

Her high heels clicked as she walked up to the front door and got in. “Romeo, glad to see you, long time no see, eh?” Romeo chuckled, “Wish I could say the same. I mean really, a handler’s club?” Alicia smirked, looking out the window as the car drove away from the house, “I haven't been out in ages, Rodger’s been away for a while and I had to mind Jack and his little boyfriend.”

Romeo’s head tilted and he looked at Jack from the rear-view mirror, “Boyfriend?” Jack sunk in his seat and rested his head against the window, hiding his blush. “Jack, don't you want to talk about your little boy toy?” Alicia sneered. Jack shook his head, clenching his jaw.

Alicia chortled, “Fine, I will. You know Rodger’s mutt?” Romeo looked at Alicia, “Shit, I’ve missed a bit, haven't I? Rodger got a new pet? But it mustn't have been too long since his last-”

“No, it hasn't. He can't deal with loss, you know that.”

There was silence. Jack fiddled with his fingers as he focused on the vibrations the road sent to the car. He felt the window buzz against his temple and he slowly closed his eyes.

“Well your pet seems to be good, he’s still as quiet as ever.” Alicia chuckled, “Oh trust me, he’s loud when he wants to be! But I am grateful, you should see Rodger’s little mongrel, has a bad fucking attitude and a bold mouth.” Romeo chuckled, shaking his head, “I must say, I’m intrigued by him, maybe I should pay him a visit.”

Alicia cackled, fixing her hoop earrings, “Oh, now I would pay to see that, you’d have him broken in a week!” Romeo chuckled and smiled to himself, keeping his eyes glued on the road. Jack opened his eyes and looked out of the window, watching trees and bushes whizz by.

It was dark, the sky was a light grey, Jack flinched slightly as a droplet of rain hit the window. It slowly rolled down as Jack’s eyes followed it. Next came several others each making a *tink* sound as they each fell.

Romeo sighed and turned on the wipers. Alicia reapplied her eyeshadow and mascara in the windscreen mirror. She checked her watch and sighed, “Could you be driving any slower, for god’s sake.”

Romeo looked at her with one eyebrow raised, “Alright, I know you're stressed about going out since it's been a while, but lose the bitchiness, okay?” Jack gulped, how could he say such a thing to her, she must be livid!

To Jack’s surprise, Alicia laughed, “Alright, alright, sorry, is it that obvious?” Jack’s eyebrows furrowed, if it had been anyone else who had said that, they would've been dead in seconds.

“It's alright, I remember I used to get spooked before every club. Just walk in confidently, and make sure Jack does too. Sit at your own table, let people join you. Normally there’s live music so just focus on that until people come over.” Alicia nodded, taking a mental note. She then cleared her throat, hating how vulnerable she seemed in front of her pet.

“So, how are your pets doing?” Romeo chuckled, “Oh boy, they’re alright. We’re on about ten. Aiden’s trying to sell me another one but-” He blew the air out of his mouth, “-I don't think I can manage another one. Besides, they all have their own positions, the cooks, the cleaners, you know.”

Alicia nodded, “No, I get it. Aiden is just trying to get everyone to try and copy him with his ‘pet hotel’ shit.” “Hey, you can't say anything, you haven't tried it out, it’s actually quite useful.” “Oh, I don't need that, Jack does everything for me, isn't that right Jack?”

Jack felt his cheeks flush slightly, “Y-yes ma’am.”

“Jesus, it takes nothing for that boy to turn as red as a tomato,” Romeo commented. Alicia laughed and looked back at Jack, taking in how red his face had gotten, “He has always been like that, its quite entertaining.”

Romeo looked left then right before pulling out to a new road and he chuckled, “You know what would be funny?” Alicia looked up at him, a devilish smile painted on her lips. “A drinking game. Each time his face blushes even the slightest shade, we take a shot.”

Alicia let out a childish, giddy laugh, “Oh Romeo, I forgot how fun you are, that sounds perfect! Say, how far away do you live from this club?”

Romeo smiled, seeing where Alicia was going with this, “It's about a fifteen minute drive.” Alicia hummed, nodding her head, “What would you say to having two guests over tonight?”

Romeo beamed, “That would be great! Give me a call when you want to be collected, got it?” Alicia nodded, “Thank you again, and we’ll see after.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and left the car. Jack hadn't moved, he didn't dare to.

The rain had stopped by now, it had only been drizzling by then. Alicia opened the car door he had been leaning on and quickly caught him before he fell. “Jesus Christ, get your head out from the clouds baby, cmon!”

Jack scrambled to his feet and smoothed his clothes before Alicia gave out to him, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, shh, its okay, now, lets go.”

She linked arms with him and dragged him to the door of the quartz building. There was two body guards whos frowns both turned to smiles when they saw her, “Alicia! Its been a while, welcome!” One of them beamed. “Why thank you Joe, its great to be back.”

The second one gave a bigger smile and opened the door to the club, “Have a good night ma’am.” It didn't bother Jack that they were speaking to only Alicia and not him. But, if maybe one of them looked at him it would've been nice.

“Jack, sweetie, whats the matter?” Jack looked to alicia who lightly squeezed his arm tighter. Jack gulped, “N-nothing, I’m sorry ma’am.” Alicia frowned, “Alright, but don't forget, you should be grateful for tonight that I have brought you out!”

Jack winced at the sharp tone, “Yes, of course ma’am, I’m sorry. Th-thank you for bringing me out today.” Alicia smiled, “Good boy, now, I need you to be on your best behaviour tonight, there will be a lot of eyes on us.” “Yes ma’am.”

She opened the second door of the corridor and jazz music, clinking of glasses, laughter and chatter filled the room. Scared, pleading eyes shot up to meet with Jack. He quickly cast his eyes downward to the floor and let Alicia guide him to a free table.

Romeo was right. Alicia and Jack had only been sitting at an empty table only for several other handlers to join them only minutes later. Jack knelt obediently by Alicia’s side. Alicia combed her long nails through his curls and softly rubbed behind his ear. Jack closed his eyes in content, taking in the soft warm touch.

The other handlers were talking about their own pets and what they do. Alicia smiled and nodded, occasionally looking down at Jack, making her smile even more at how happy he looked.

Jack half listened to the conversations, there was one called Sandra, another called Ethan and the last one named Lorcan. Lorcan also looked at Jack. By then Jack had his eyes opened, they were still glued to the floor. His head tilted towards Alicia as she used more of her nail.

Once Jack glanced up at Lorcan, the man chuckled, shaking his head. Jack clenched his jaw, what had he done wrong?

“Well, you seem to have a broken pet,” He sneered, Alicia chuckled, “He was a runaway. His previous owner was well-known to be the ‘strict’ kind.” Jack shuddered as his memories of Abraham came back to him, he could never go back there. Never.

“Well, is he useful at all?” Lorcan asked, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yes, he’s not just a pretty face. He’s great company, he can read, write, clean, cook, talk, be quiet, everything!” Jack felt his ears turn hot.

“Hmm, so he’s good around the house?”

“Mhmm.”

Lorcan nodded slowly. He reached for the drink and just as he brought it to his lips, he dropped it to the ground right in front of Jack who immediately flinched back, pressing himself against Alicia with a whimper.

“If he’s so good, make him clean this mess up.” Jack looked at Alicia who thought for a moment before looking at Jack, you heard him, clean it up.” Jack gulped and whined once he felt Alicia’s touch leave.

“M-ma’am, I don't- I don't have anything to clean it up with!” Lorcan smiled, “Do you mind if I take him for a moment, I know where we can get something to clean it up with.” Alicia’s eyebrows furrowed, “Alright, just dont take long.”

Lorcan faked a smile and roughly grabbed Jack by the hair and dragged him over to the bathrooms. Jack yelped and tried to pry the hands out of his hair but it was impossible, “Please, l-let go of me!!” Lorcan snickered, “So the bitch speaks!” Jack -ignoring the insult- let out a yell as his grip tightened.

He was thrown to the ground once they had entered the bathrooms. Jack felt a droplet of blood slowly drip down his forehead, slowly making its way down to his brow. “Get up.” Jack groaned and shook his head. Lorcan muttered something under his breath and yanked Jack up by the arm and smashed him up against the mirror, making Jack bang his head against the mirror.

He let out a cry and felt the glass shatter beneath his skull. He let out a scratch of pain which was soon muffled by Lorcan’s sweaty palm. “Shut the fuck up!” Jack continued to scream, desperate for help. Who was he kidding, he was in a handler’s club, no one was going to save him.

Lorcan brought him forward only to slam his head back against the cracked mirror once more. Jack felt his vision start to slip, his head felt numb and heavy. The pain was excruciating but it was the only thing he could focus on at the moment.

Alicia heard the screams. At first, she thought it was just some other pet but as a second wave of muffled screams came, she recognized them. Jack! She leaped from her seat and ran to the bathroom door. She kicked it open and punched Lorcan straight in the face. Lorcan stumbled back, clutching his face. “Don't touch him! I thought you were going to get something to dry up the mess!”

She softly put her arm around Jack’s shoulders and guided him behind her. “Oh come on,” Lorcan scoffed, “Why do you think we came in here?” Jack watched the vein in Alicia’s neck pop, she was livid. It made Jack feel good though, she cared about him!

“I swear to god, if you touch my boy ever again without my permission I will fucking kill you!” Lorcan just chuckled, shaking his head, “I think you better go.” Alicia clenched her jaw, “Oh, I’ll go when I want to go.” She took out her phone and held it to her ear.

Lorcan rolled his eyes and folded his arms, “And who are you ringing?”

“Romeo, Romeo Zalis.”

Lorcan immediately paled, “Y-you're bluffing.” Alicia raised her eyebrow as a challenge. The ringing stopped, “Alicia, are you okay?” Lorcan recognized the thick Brooklyn accent and gulped, “I uh, need to go.” Alicia smirked and her eyes followed him as he left.

“Yes, although not great people here, think you can collect us early?” Romeo chuckled, “Of course, I’m in a cafe nearby, I shouldn't be too long.”

“Perfect, thank you. Also, I could really do with that drinking game right now.”

Taglist: @likeit-or-whumpit @milk-carton-whump @yesthisiswhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @appy-polly-loggies @happy-whumper @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @myst-in-the-mirror

if you wanna be added or removed just say!! <3

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 7: Hero - But It’s Not Funny

*a sequel to Realities Little Joke For Infinity* Highly recommend reading that first but it’s not exactly necessary.

Tony has a bad habit of adopting strays. Particularly the stupidly heroic kind that were too reckless and too selfless for their own good. So of course he wasn’t going to just ignore the random teen that literally saved the universe only to disappear into the future. Even if said teen was somewhat dead and the only hero left in a world and time that seriously needed more.

Tony grins as he finally gets the connection to work, making his face appear on the strange future teens laptop; or whatever tech people used in whatever time this kid’s in. Going a bit wide-eyed and wheezing when the first thing he sees is Phantom -in alien PJ’s, because of course the first thing he sees on the kid who showed up in a t-shirt and jeans to an active warzone is pjs- shrieking and jumping a foot off the ground while holding a full pot off coffee; which predictably sends the contents of said coffee pot flying into the air and splattering all over the teens face and floor.

Phantom looks to the screen slowly, with steaming coffee dripping off his chin, hair and eyelashes, “seriously?”.

At that Tony can’t help but bend over laughing. Straightening up and looking at the coffee pot, “what were you even doing walking around with a full coffee pot?”.

“Well I was going to drink it. But now it’s as empty as my wallet”, Phantom looks down at the pot and grumbles, “ya know what? Fuck it. I’m still gonna drink it”, then pointing his finger around and telekinetically making all the droplets of coffee on him and the floor float back into the pot.

Tony watches, a little disgusted, as the kid practically takes a full swing of the previously spilled coffee, shrugs, and sits down by his own screen; feet clearly pulled up onto the chair seat as well and coffee pot cradled between his knees and chest. Tony eyeballs the coffee pot, “you’re really going to drink that huh?”.

Phantom shrugs, “I know what’s on my floor”, looks down at the carpet and shrugs again while muttering, “a Zone damned biohazard of blood n’ ‘plasm that’s what. Oh!”, eyes widening a little, “and a sock with a questionable stain”, looking back to the screen, “‘s not like I can get sick anyway. I could drink this shit outta a radioactive waste barrel and be fine. Prob’ taste like shit tho”.

Tony wheezes both amused and pained, “please don’t kid”, that... that would definitely make him gag.

Phantom chuckles, “don’t intend to”.

The two sit in silence for a bit. Tony taking in the teens appearance. There’s hand-shaped bruising coating his neck, one of his fingers is clearly broken, and there’s a pencil-sized hole going clean through the other hands palm. Phantom doesn’t even seem to care about the state of his body, considering how relaxed he seems and the PJ’s. Plus, no way would Tony be carrying anything, including a full pot of coffee, with his hands in the state Phantom’s are.

Phantom yawns, Tony noticing that he’s missing more than a handful of teeth, before Phantom asks, “so...why’s the past tin can face-timing my laptop?”.

Tony puts on a smile, so it was a laptop. Neat. “future or not, I’ve adopted you as one of my brats. I remember you saying there wasn’t superheroes in your age”, waving his hand around, “no older generation to guide the newer. Well you're getting the older generation now”, shrugging and smiling more genuinely, “plus underroos won’t stop talking about you”. Understatement of the century, Peter was thrilled to meet another teen hero, and wouldn’t stop going on about what powers he might have or if he even has anyone to support him. The latter Tony cares about more.

Phantom wheezes, “whom the fuck is ‘underroos’?”, shaking his head, “so ya wanna be my mentor of sorts and help me blast my foes from the past?”.

Tony smirks and nods, this kid’s humour sure was something else, “exactly. And you met before, the kid? Peter?”. Sure it had been a few months but he couldn’t have seriously just forgotten?

Phantom tilts his head, “the red and blue teenager?”.

Tony grins, “you got it, kid”, eyeing the teen's hands again, “your hands gonna be fine?”.

Phantom waves one hand around, chugging more coffee, “eh don’t worry your metal ass about it. I heal like crazy”, stretching his feet out and resting them on the desk, “I’m just putting it off a while on my hands ‘cause the broken ribs and missing bits of spine are kinda more important ya know?”.

Tony rubs his temples, “Jesus Christ”, just how much damage can this teen sustain? That kind of injury should kill a person.

Phantom laughs, probably at Tony’s pained expression, “don’t worry about that either! Not like I can die twice! Haha!”.

Tony looks back to the screen at that, feeling a bit more serious, “yeah, Thanos said something like that. That you were dead but alive. And you confirmed it. What did he even mean?”.

Phantom purses his lips, “well I could explain but that also could mess with the time stream and could result in some weird immoral science crap”. Tony doesn’t get a chance to comment on that as Phantom turns his head to the side and whines exaggeratedly at the thin air, opening his mouth as wide as looks physically possible, maybe even past that, “tiiiiiiime dadddddddyyyyyyy, will this break the time stream? Your problem child has a proooooobleeeeeeem”.

Tony wheezes into his hands, “Christ”, and stares dumbfounded as a giant hourglass with purple sand comes out of nowhere and smacks the teen in the face, making Phantom fall out of the chair with a thud.

Phantom groans and begins laughing, righting himself and spinning the hourglass around, pointing the bottom of it at the screen, it reading ‘you’re fine’. Tony is so not reading into that, kid had someone like Strange in his corner. Phantom sits back down, lifting up the hourglass like it’s a weight, “Kay Kay Kay, so I’m a halfa right? Unique creature, that’s what I am. A fucked up little science project gone wrong, or right. Your choice. My folks screwed up in the lab and boom!”, he sticks his limbs out comically before righting himself and catching the coffee pot he effectively tossed in the air, “a whack-a-mole of electricity and a wormhole decided to stop my tiny little heart. Also restarted it too though! So it’s cool”, tilting his head, “wait... didn’t I already explain this?”.

Tony sighs, “sort of. We were in the middle of a war”.

Phantom quirks an eyebrow, “your point? That was, like, the bloody third one I’ve been in”, rolling his hand around, “first there was the High Ghost King, his fifty-thousand odd skeletons, and objects of near-unlimited power. The alternate future where an evil me single-handedly annihilated humanity, talk about traumatising having to fight yourself literally”, tilting his head, “and no clue if the plant guy with his army of mind-controlled people and plants or the sleep guy with his army of Walkers, counted as ‘wars’. And eh!”, snapping his fingers, “there was that guy I stole the Reality Gauntlet from! He took over the planet and turned people into clowns and shit. So that might be big enough to count as a war, even if it was just him versus me. But then the tornado guy caused storms all over the planet too so would that count then too?”, shrugging, “eh whatever. I’m sticking with three. Pariah would have eventually destroyed the Zone, which woulda ended the universe. Dan was actively on his way to ending all life in the universe, probably all death too. And grape guy, Thanos, was about to annihilate half the life in the universe which honestly would just end all life eventually... maybe”.

Tony stares at the kid before wheezing some more and falling backwards, “Christ”, righting himself and his chair, “there is something seriously wrong with your life. Like, seriously wrong”. Apparently the future was a freaking mess and fixing its crap was all on one random teen's shoulders. All because the kid died, which somehow gave him superpowers, and decided to make something good out of that death. Talk about unfair. And messed up. Really messed up. At least Tony had his team and they had each other, “please tell me you have some kind of support?”.

Phantom grins and nods eagerly, “got my guy in the chair techy, he destroyed a sataliget once! My rich activist goth, she sued one of my enemies into oblivion. And a ghost hunter who only sometimes tries to murder me and got a nanobot supersuit running through her veins; she can lowkey kick my ass if I hold back enough to avoid accidentally killing the living”, wagging his finger at the screen and getting really close, “us dead fucks are borderline indestructible immortals, halfas even more so”, leaning back and shrugging, “can still die, or fade it’s called for the spookies, though. Well, most can anyway. Timedaddy’s straight-up immortal. But if they died then, well, then the universe would literally implode from the time-stream collapsing”, and makes a little explosion sound and motion with his hands. Oh fuck, the kid was really just a damn kid. And from the sounds of it, his entire support was three teenagers. Ah Hell. Oh and some time being, ghost?, that just left him to his own devices.

Tony shakes his head, “you know what? That doesn’t actually make me feel any better”.

Phantom shrugs, drinks, swishes the coffee around, “don’t know what to tell you, man, my entire existence is pretty fucked up. My archenemy is my uncle, wants to adopt me, and gave me his inheritance. My girlfriend has a solid murder boner for me. My parents get giddy at the idea of dissecting me and are actually worse about that the odd time they’ve been successful. The kids’ at school think I’m their personal punching bag. The government would love to shoot me full of missiles and bombs. Pretty sure my sis is just using me for her research paper on ghost psychology or whatever. And my friendships are pretty much based on the three of us just being really weird”.

Tony groans, this kid probably needed more help and support that literally any other teen or hero. “ClockPops is great though. We play chess”,

Tony blinks, mentally pausing, “you... play chess? Seriously?”, this kid seemed to have more issues sitting still than Peter did. Tony finds it hard to believe he can sit through even half a game of chess.

Phantom nods and grins, “yup. Switched the pieces out for shot-glasses once, it was great. One of my teachers is cool too. He crossdressed and pretended to be his own sister to get me to try harder on a test; it worked better than it had any right to”.

Tony blinks and breathes, “your life”, shaking his head because it sounded like the future was just pure insanity, “well now I’m here and while I’m a bit reckless and a recovering alcoholic, I’m not insane”.

Phantom chuckles, “I’ll probably prove to be a bit much for you then. I’d have to be stupid to not think I’m not at least marginally nuts. Nowhere near frootloopy but eh”.

Tony sighs, being self-aware enough -or just not giving enough of a damn- to recognise that was both impressive and depressing. Impressively depressing. “A few of us Avengers are trained doctors and psychologists outside of being experienced heroes. So kid? You’ve got all of us. At least for verbal advice. Strange already went and basically confirmed that paying you a visit wasn’t a smart idea”.

Phantom snorts and rolls his eyes, sipping a bit more before staring down the pot at the small amount left. Speaking into the pot, “oh yeah, I can just imagine all the time problems that could cause. I’m surprised this is okay”.

Tony can’t help chuckling at the slightly silly image, though he’s not sure why the kid doesn’t just drink what’s left, savouring it maybe? “Same. Strange looked at me like he was questioning my sanity. He’s probably going to pester you about the Clock guy you keep mentioning”, grumbling to the side, “I just hope Loki will keep his trickster mitts off you”. Because fuck, they’d probably get on like fire and more fire. Which yeah, slightly horrifying mental image. Probably inevitable though. Loki was already impressed, amused, and interested by Phantom and literally everything the teen did after showing up. Seriously though, who’s first thought when fighting giant spaceships with mouths and other horrifying shit, is to turn it into bouncy balls and worms??? And a smoothie for a reward? For effectively saving the universe? Kid was a trickster, dabbled in death kind of literally, and ‘gave precisely zero fucks’. Loki would have a field day and probably be a horrid influence. Though thinking of it, Phantom might be a bad influence on Loki. Loki generally had reasons for anything beyond mild messing with people. Phantom seemed more likely to just go buck wild purely because he could. Even if he seemingly had a heart of gold and more self-sacrificial bones in his body than actual bones. Seemed like his entire world/time belittled and beat the shit out of him, and yet he gladly got dissected and lost chunks of his freaking spine for them. At least he had the power to back it up.

Tony quirks an eyebrow at mist, or something, leaving the kid’s mouth before Phantom goes wide-eyed and Tony jerks as an actual literal swear-on-every-ironsuit-and-the-entire-tower cartoonish rocket smashes apart what he’s assuming is-was a window; sending glass flying everywhere... and Phantom flying off-screen, the coffee pot going up in the air and sounding like it smashed apart on the ground.

Tony can practically hear the glare in Phantom’s voice, “hey! You spilled my damn coffee!”, while a robot blasts into the room, breaking more glass and bits of wood from the looks of it.

The robot pauses, seems to frown apologetically before shrugging, “apologies whelp, but it is no matter! You won’t need such things after I skin you!“. Tony chokes and gags a little at that. “Also-”, pointing to where Phantom probably is, “-that was practically empty”. Tony then stares as Phantom comes back in screen -looking all black and white- only for the robot to shoot a missile at him immediately, Phantom just sort of shrugs and lets the missile hit him in the face. This kid seriously really didn’t give a damn about his own well being.

And not even seconds later Peter walks in out of the blue, face lighting up as he notices the screen and probably Phantom’s very noticeable self on it, and dashes over. Obviously noticing Phantom’s current situation, “oh Phantom! Kick his butt!”.

Phantom does a silly thumbs up at the screen and immediately gets stabbed in the shoulder. Tony watches in slight disbelief at the kid looking at the knife, saying, “oh! You got a new knife! Shit is the handle engraved?!?”. And the robot actually stops and replies with a wide grin, “it was a valentines gift from Ember! Impressive right?”.

Tony and Peter both blink at the fight effectively stopping as Phantom pulls out the knife and looks it over, seeming impressed, “actually yeah”, pointing almost aggressively at the robot, “you got her something too right? You’re fucking horrible for that man”.

The robot rolls Its eyes, how metal is moving that organically Tony has no clue. “Of course whelp, those drum sticks you can sing into”. Phantom facepalms and Peter actually shakes his head in disappointment. Though Tony agrees, that was awful. But who talks with their enemy -who wants to skin them for peat's sake!- about presents?

Phantom makes a tsk tsk sound, “you dumbass, she got you a sick-ass knife and you got her a knick-knack? Seriously?”, Phantom walks off-screen, the two watching as what they’re assuming is cash flys over to the robot and Phantom returns on screen, “go by some flowers to make up for that crappy present. And for the love of everything, don’t get roses”, waving his hand around, “that’s so cliche. Go with tulips and forget-me-nots”.

The robot inspects the cash before flying off-screen, presumably back out through the window It destroyed, “I will have your pelt next time, whelp!”.

Phantom chuckles, shouting back, “sure you will, Skulkie! Ghost Zones greatest hunter”. Tony and Peter can feel the sarcasm in that. “Also! No you don’t have to ask! An engraved knife would be a wicked Christmas Truce present!”. Tony sighs when a ball or something slams into Phantom’s stomach and sends him flying off-screen.

Peter leaning towards the camera, “woah! You okay?”.

Phantom’s laughter echoes horribly, “right as rain! Mind you, it’s not actually raining”, righting himself and pulling himself up into the previously knocked over chair, “don't mind Skulker, he’s a poacher and I’m rare. Practically one of a kind actually. A poachers dream prize. His girlfriend has a mind-controlling guitar and occasionally attempts at world domination”. A ghost-shaped guitar floats on-screen, Phantom grabbing it, “she gives awesome presents though”, and gives the guitar a good couple strums.

Peter’s eyes go wide, “you can play the guitar?!?”, tilting his head and asking what is in Tony’s opinion a more important question, “wait, your enemies buy you presents?”, tilting his head back, “oh man that’s awesome”. Tony just shakes his head with a smile, teenagers.

Phantom grins and strums some more before the guitar floats off-screen, “all my enemies do”, shrugging, “for the Christmas Truce and my death-day anyway. But that’s normal. A ghost culture thing. Even the prison warden guy, whose got special torture weapons set aside just for little ol’ me, buys me some kind of present. Heck! Even the eyeballs do! And they’ve repeatedly tried to assassinate me”.

Tony blinks, “kid, that makes no sense. But I’m glad they’re at least occasionally nice to you”. Hell knows Phantom needs someone to be nice to him.

Peter tilts his head, “what even is a ‘death-day’? Sounds dark”.

“Oh nothing special, just the day I died. Like a birthday! But for death! A real dead-ringer of a holiday!”, and laughs loudly before rolling his eyes at Tony, waving his hand around, “eh, I’m kinda their king so be kinda a dick move to not give me gifts on literally the two biggest holidays”.

Peter practically shrieks, “WHAT! You’re a king! Oh that is so cool”. Tony blinks, “you did mention something about being the guardian of death and Earth”.

Phantom laughs some more and finger-guns while winking at Peter, “yup! Very important, much power”, and grins stupidly before pointing to the air above his head; a green floating crown bursting to ‘life’ with green mist or something wafting off, followed by a black cape with a flaming white collar and large flaming green skulls pinning it closed with a shadowy chain.

Peter cheers immediately, then adding, “Loki would love this!”. Tony points at him, “no. I want to keep that one as far away as possible for as long as possible”.

Phantom snickers, “I have chronic bad luck, so don’t count on that working out for you. Spidey probably has better tastes than you though, Ironass”.

Tony shakes his head with a smile, “you like making up names for people huh?”.

Phantom grins meanly, “it pisses people off. Which makes them easier to hit”, and holds up a fist, smacking a hand on his bicep.

Tony can’t help but laugh at that, “you got a point kid!”, though that was stupid reckless, and effectively confirmed him being tricky. One of Tony’s tech toys starts beeping so she moves to check it out. Peter taking his place in the chair. Glancing back at Tony before looking back to the screen, “hey I’ve got a question, teen to teen. What’s being a hero to you? Why do you do it? It just... it seems like your only suffering for it. Waaaaay more than normal. And not making stuff much better for it”.

Phantom hums, spinning around in the chair, “a hero's not afraid to give their life, and anything worth doing is worth getting hurt for. I do it so others will not suffer. That is all. It doesn’t matter if things change or not. If there’s still unnecessary violence and pain, then it is still a hero's place to grab their fists around it and pulverise it to Hell and back. So long as cruelty exists I will be there to stand against it. With a smile on my face and a laugh in my heart and Core. Because there is no greater joy, no greater choice, no greater path, than self-sacrifice for the sake of another. Regardless who they are, what they are. Good or bad. Young or old. And whether they support you, or not”, Phantom nods, puts his hands behind his head, cape bunching up, and looks to the side, “and maybe someday things will change. I doubt it, but who knows. But if things do, if that kind of future is on the horizon, then I think I’ll rest. Until then, I’ll be here. Doing what I do and suffering immeasurably for it. Until the world doesn’t need ‘heroes’ anymore. Till it doesn’t need me anymore”, looking back at the screen, Tony having walked back over slowly though the kid doesn’t pay him any mind, “so I guess, being a hero to me is being the embodiment of a brighter future. To absorb the suffering of the world”, sticking a finger up, “like a paper towel!”. Tony chokes at that a little; though the kids' sudden seriousness and introspection was just as startling as last time.

Tony shakes his head, “you make it sound like you’re immortal, kid. Also, that’s what a team’s for, to help share the load. The burden. Sure your ideals are noble and probably needed, but you can’t help anyone if you destroy yourself”.

Phantom smiles but something about it seems almost... sad. “In a way, I am. A ghost can not die and a human can not fade. A ghost ceases to exist when they fade and a human when they die. Yet I can do neither. So that raises the question, what is ‘death’ for a halfa? An idea? An ideal? A reality? Or just pointless conjecture. And besides, for a ghost to fade they must satiate their Obsession. Be satisfied with the fulfilment of their existence”, pointing to his chest, “and my Obsession? Protection. To protect is a physical and mental need for me. And it will never be satisfied till there’s nothing left needing protection. And it is thus that I will always be here”, shrugging and chuckling, “likely anyway”.

Tony blinks, that... that changed a lot actually. It also explained a lot. This wasn’t some kid playing hero, or even an experienced hero just doing what’s right and their job. This wasn’t someone stuck in a bad way and doing what needed to be done purely because no one else could. This wasn’t someone trying to do good to make up for their sorted past. This was someone wise beyond their years, with little to no regard for themselves, and a living -half-living- embodiment of the word ‘hero’. Watching the teen turn his head at someone -likely his mom- shouting that supper was ready. There was a rocket-powered fistfight minutes ago and his parents’ didn’t even check on him. Christ that was depressing. But it also made him want to help this kid out all the more.

Phantom turns back to the screen, “whelp that’s my queue then I guess. And let me guess? This-” gesturing at the screen, “-is gonna become a thing? Which totally cool, little warning next time. And keep this mind, walking the straight and narrow takes more time than I got. I will steal, mildly harm, trick, and lie, as I see fit”.

Tony rolls his eyes, he’d expect no different from a kid basically left up to their own devices, “we’re all guilty of that, kid”. Phantom just laughs as the screen goes dark.

Tony leans back, well fuck, he wasn’t prepared for the kid to have shit that bad. And the King situation definitely threw him through a loop. He’ll have to talk to Thor -not Loki, dear God not Loki- about that. Being a hero and a king.

Regardless, they’re gonna help the weird spooky future kid out. And Peter absolutely liked Phantom, which hopefully wouldn’t be a bad thing. Hopefully. (And it wasn’t, if you ignored Peter carrying out more than a few pranks on Phantom’s behalf).

End.

[viking-raider]

Powerless *Sensitive*

Summary: Henry is woken up in the middle of the night, by Kal, only to find you in a powerless battle, with something much darker than the night outside. The darkness inside yourself.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 1,686

Rating: M - Violence, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Demons, Kal, light fluff, slight daddy kink

Inspiration: This was given to me via an anon.

Author’s Note: This is VERY sensitive content, many will find this hard to read. If you’re ever feeling this way, please reach out to those that can help you, a family member or a therapist.

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore​, @bellastellaluna​, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185​, @winchwm​, @royallylazy​, @sofiebstar​, @worldicreate​, @agniavateira​, @fantasygirlsuniverse​, @witches-of-discovery-a​, @xuxszx​, @ayamenimthiriel​, @keiva1000​, @klaine-92​, @itsreigns​, @constip8merm8​, @scorpionchild81​, @mylifefallingupthestairs​, @onlyhenrys​, @luclittlepond​, @ellixthea​, @lebguardians​, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier​, @cherrybloomn​

“Kal!” Henry groaned as the 45kg Akita pounced on him.

“Come on, Kal, it's the middle of the night!” He scolded him, pushing him off, and that's when he heard the odd strangled sound. “Y/n?” He called, abruptly awake and rolled onto his back, his hand moving out to touch you, only coming up with cold sheets.

The odd strangled sound reached him again, now fully awake, Henry quickly identified the sound; it was a choked sob. He sat up in bed and looked through the open doorway and saw you standing in the living room, turned sideways and clutching something in one hand and pressing it to the forearm of your other arm. You whimpered and shifted, the street light coming in from the living room window made the object in your hand glint, Henry's stomach clenched, watching you start to pull it across your arm, and was out of bed, in a flash of limbs and blankets.

“Y/n, no!” He yelled, startling you. “Stop.” He added softer, his socked feet sliding to a stop across the hardwood.

You backed away from him, pressing the knife firmer against your forearm, blood dripping off your fingers and shaking your head, mindlessly at him. “No.” You squeaked, shaking hard.

Henry took slow deep breaths, calming himself down, knowing that if he got worked up and in over his head, you would only freak out more and do something neither of you could live with. As calm as he could get, Henry slowly stretched his arm out to you, motioning with his fingers. “Give me the knife, y/n.” He said to you, quietly and gulped, watching your dark red blood drip to the floor. “Please.”

“No.” You answered, your voice weak from tears. “No, I can't.”

“Yes, you can.” He nodded, licking his lips. “You can give to me,” he smiled softly at you. “I know, you can, sweetheart. You're so str--”

“Don't try that shite on me, Henry!” You barked, standing up straighter, even more agitated. “Fucking emotional blackmail, I have quite enough of that on my own!” You growled, sliding the knife a little more along your forearm; making Henry wince and look away, scrunch his eyes closed.

“I'm sorry.” He whispered, slowly opening his eyes again, seeing the blood pool and flow through the fingers of your limp hand. He had to get your attention, snap you out of whatever the fuck you were going through and take the knife away from you. “I didn't mean it like that way, love.” He told you, slowly, taking the teeniest step forward. “I just meant,” He licked his lips, trying to figure something out. “I know, you're going through something right now,” he sighed, relaxing. “obviously.” he motioned to your arm. “but, you don't have to go through it like that, babe. I'm right here, with you.” He bit his lips, gulping down his emotions, and held his hand out again.

“Let me help.”

“You using reverse psychology, on a psychology major, Puppy?” You laughed, smirking darkly at him. “That was damn good, Hen.” You complimented him, but didn't give into him. “But, no. I'm tired, of feeling this way, almost nothing works, and even that feels like its slipping away. So, what's the fucking point, anymore?” You told him, sliding the knife a little lower.

That's when another section of Henry's brain clicked on, his body tensed and he fixed you with a stern expression. “Give Daddy the knife, Baby.” He ordered you, in a sharp voice.

It clicked on the similar section of your own brain, making your head tilt with instinctive response and caught you off-guard enough, for Henry to lunge forward, his hand closing around the one you held the knife with, yanked it away from your arm, and completely out of your hand, tossing it on the coffee table, as he used the leverage of your hand to spin you around and pull you back against him, crossing your arms against your chest, and locking his arms over them, holding you up. Henry dropped his face into your neck and shoulder, panting hard from adrenaline and pent up emotions, both of you shaking against each other, and sobbing freely.

“Don't do that to me again, Baby.” Henry cried, pressing his forehead to your temple. “Please, for the love of God, don't do that again, y/n.” He gulped hard, squeezing his eyes shut against fresh tears, he'd almost lost you. “I can't live without you.”

“I'm sorry, Daddy.” You cried, dropping your head back against his chest. “I'm so sorry, Henry. I-I don't kn-know what came over...”

“Ssshhhh.” He hushed you, pressing his lips to your cheek. “It's all right, I got you now, sweetie.” He whispered lovely to you, carefully turning you around to face him and pressed his lips to your forehead, then your lips. “You're safe with me.” He told you, laying your head on his chest and just held you for a while, before directing you to the bathroom.

Picking you up, Henry set you on the bathroom counter and knelt to pull out the cotton pads and antiseptic wash from under the sink. Holding your bloody arm over the sink, Henry rinsed it off with water first, and checked them. Luckily, the four long cuts weren't deep enough for a hospital visit. Thank God for small miracles. Henry thought, pressing a few cotton pads on them, then soak those with the wash, making you grunt and hiss.

“A small price.” He said, giving you a sympathetic smile. “Keep your arm like that, we don't need anymore blood all over your clothes and the house.” He told you, making sure you kept your arm over the sink, then went out to the kitchen, grabbing the roll of paper towels off the holder and a bottle of disinfectant, he cleaned up all the blood in the living room and the trail to the bathroom. “Let's see.” He sighed, carefully removing the soiled pads and was relieved they stopped bleeding for the most part. “Stay here.” He told you, giving you a look of warning, then jogged out to the car, taking out the medical kit he had in the trunk, thanks to his mum, who made him carry one in the car.

You never know, Henry! She'd said as she handed to him.

“No, you don't.” he sighed, coming back in the bathroom.

“Don't what?” You asked quietly, blinking at him.

“Nothing, just recalling something my mother said.” He answered, unzipping the kit and pulled out the roll of medical gauze, carefully wrapping it around your wounded arm and securing it with a bit of medical tape. “Fucking Christ, Nugget.” He sighed, raking his bloody hands through his hair and looking the two of you over, your shirt and shorts were covered in blood, there were drip marks on your thighs and a smudge on your face; Henry had it all over his hands, upper arms and shirt. “Look at me.” He whispered, staring at you. “Come on, look at me.” He said, resting his hands on edge of the counter, on either side of your legs.

You leaned forward and rested your forehead against Henry's chest, your hands grabbing a hold of his hips. “I'm sorry, Daddy.” You mumbled, sucking on your bottom lip.

Henry nodded his head and kissed the top of yours, this is how you wanted to do it. That was fine with Henry, as long as you were all right and safe. “Look at Daddy, Baby.” He whispered into your hair, feeling the shiver of obedience race down your back, lifting his head. “There's that beautiful face.” He cooed at you, sweetly, and grinned. “Tell me, you've always woken me up or come to me, before it gets like this.” He said, his face and voice softening with confused concern. “Why didn't you come to me this time, Baby? What happened?”

“I don't know.” You sighed, blinking at him and biting your lip. “I was awake and moving, before I even realized what I was doing, and-” You floundered, trying to describe what had gone on inside of you. “and I just...got-lost in it, before I was able to get a hold of it and prevent it.” You told him, shaking your head, it was a weak summary of what had happened, but, you couldn't figure out how to actually explain it. “It consumed me, like the darkest night and I was powerless.”

“I'm sorry.” Henry whispered, wrapping his arms around you. “I wish, I could have been awake, when it started.” He told you, letting you scoot closer to him, loosely wrapping your legs around his thighs and your arms around his torso, pressing your cheek to his chest. “It's odd, though. I usually do wake up, even a little bit, when you get out of bed. I didn't feel you get up, at all.” He thought about it. “It was Kal, that woke me up.” Henry looked out the bathroom door and saw Kal sitting in the middle of the hallway, staring at the two of you.

“When the bark didn't work.” You mumbled into his shirt.

“He barked?” Henry frowned down at you, even more bothered.

You helped up your thumb and first two fingers for him to see. “Three times.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He sighed, pushing a hand through his curls. “If it wasn't for him..”

“I'd be dead.” You stated, flatly.

Henry pulled back, grabbing your face in his hands and looked at you with shocked, hurt. “Don't ever say that again.” He told you, though it sounded a lot more like a beg.

You gripped Henry's wrists and looked him in the eyes. “I promise.” You told him, taking a deep breath. “I'm not going any where, now or ever, Henry. My life is the better, with you in it.”

“God, I hope so.” Henry whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. “My life is too.”

[softbiker]

Born to Run - Chapter 16

Warnings: cursing, angst (sorry not sorry)

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: And we’re back - buckle up, folks. Things are starting to get rough around here. I apologize in advance for this. But thank you for continuing to read and follow this series! Only a few more chapters left...but we’ll see how long that takes me lol. As always, let me know what you think!

He had seen her text about being late for dinner, shooting back that he didn’t mind, that they’d be doing some work at the club this afternoon anyway. That part was mostly true - he was already on his way to the clubhouse to tell Steve Rogers to calm the fuck down. As an afterthought, he’d tacked on the little kiss face emoji, restraining himself from typing out the three words he’d like to say instead. She responded with a thumbs up.

And then - radio silence.

Bucky tried to be cool about it, be the chill boyfriend; Y/N had a full time job, quite a demanding one, and he understood that. Hell, he was damn proud of it, of her and her brains and all her hard work. Smart, beautiful, and making her own way in the world. She may not have been the biker type, but she was certainly a badass.

And she wasn’t texting him back.

Typically, they were in touch throughout the day - she told him about her patients, and he’d sympathize, let her complain. He told her what he was up to at the club - so far as he could - or sent her stupid pictures from the internet to make her laugh. They were never too clingy, neither of them wanted to be that couple, but there were never more than a few hours without some type of correspondence. He loved that about them - how they always wanted to talk about everything and nothing.

He refreshed his messages again, thumb scrolling upwards through the string of unanswered texts from his end, a knot of worry tightening in his stomach as he noticed the little read receipts at the bottom.

What the hell did you do, Barnes?

**********

Y/N massaged her temples, holding her face in her hands. Across from her, Natasha was silent. The muted hiss of the oxygen machine and the steady pulse of the heart monitor were the only noises in the room; they weren’t loud enough to drown out the alarming scream of her thoughts.

And just this morning, just a few hours ago, she thought she loved him. A liar. A stranger.

“An FBI agent?” she repeated, less a question than an incredulous echo of the words she didn’t want to believe. They bounced around her brain until the syllables collapsed, meaningless and hollow.

“So all of you are…undercover? With the FBI?” Y/N finally looked up at Natasha, whose cold green gaze was cracked with something like pity. Nat nodded, pursing her lips.

“I’m CIA, actually,” she amended, swirling her long-cold coffee cup in her hands. “So is Barton. Little bit of a difference.”

Y/N glared sharply at her, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, it makes a huge difference which intelligence organization you’ve all been lying to me about.” She could hear her voice rising, the sharpened steel edge of her words. Palms flat on her knees, she sucked in a deep breath, counted 10, tried to calm her mind.

When she first came here, sparse belongings shoved into the trunk of her car, standing in the driveway of an empty home in a lonely town, she had had nothing. No one. She left it all behind for the sake of her future, finding a way for herself. Alone, unsure, afraid she was making a terrible mistake. And in spite of that she pushed forward, committed to keeping her head down and serving out her time until she was free to go back to her life. Her real life.

And then…Bucky happened.

A swirling sense of vertigo sent her mind reeling. How had she let this go so far? How had she fallen in so deep with a man she clearly didn’t know? Who was this girl, this version of herself who leapt without looking and left motorcycle tracks in her wake?

Small and quiet, nearly drowned out by the rushing of her own blood, a voice in the back of her mind whispered:

A girl in love.

No. No. She couldn’t - didn’t - love him. Because he wasn’t real, only a mirage, an idea. A simple illusion she had stupidly fallen for.

A tissue appeared in front of her face, offered in Nat’s nail-bitten fingers. As she reached for it reflexively, YN realized she was crying.

“I know this must be hard for you,” Natasha ventured, bloodshot eyes cautiously following the path of the tissue across Y/N’s face - one eye, then the other, then her sniffling nose. “You and Barnes have something really special -”

“No.” Y/N cut her off. Her lips pressed into a firm line to keep from trembling. The poor tissue was crushed to a ball between her hands. She swallowed harshly, throat aching, before speaking again.

“No,” she sighed, a little calmer; in her mind, a vault door clanged shut over her heart. She imagined herself spinning the spoke handle, the lock mechanisms tumbling into place with cold precision, sealing her in. “We’re not that serious.”

Nat raised a skeptical red brow. She’d barely seen Bucky at the clubhouse in the last month; he was all but moved in to Y/N’s place. They’d come to family dinners with the Avengers, and then go home together - home. They both called it that.

“Still,” Nat went on, treading lightly as she could. “This is a lot to process - but we’re still here for you. I’ve already made some calls. We can find a new residency position for you, an apartment somewhere-”

Y/N was already shaking her head.

“Keep it. All of it.” She stood from her chair, tossing the wrung-out tissue into the waste bin beside her. Chin lifted, she stared down at Natasha where she still sat, bewildered and bleary-eyed. “I don’t want your help, your money, your connections - I don’t want any of it. I’m done.” With the back of one hand, she wiped away the last of her tears. “I want nothing to do with the Avengers - or whoever the hell you are.”

Pursing her lips, Natasha nodded. She looked paler and more tired than ever; the cuticles of her thumbs were picked raw and close to bleeding.

“If that’s the way you want it.” She folded her hands together in her lap. The white bones of her knuckles appeared delicate and small beneath the skin. “Good luck, Y/N. I really mean that.”

Y/N nodded at the prone figure in the bed, motionless and silent, eking out life with each drip of his IV.

“Looks like you need it more than I do.”

When she was gone, Natasha stared at the empty doorway for a long time, barely blinking. A nurse walked by, glancing in for a moment before turning sharply away from her thousand yard stare. Shifting in her chair, she reached over and rested a hand on top of Nick’s, both their fingers cold and dry, soft breaths the only noise between them.

**********                                                                                                

“Buck. Listen to me - we don’t have any more time.” Steve crossed his arms over his broad chest, sympathetic but firm. “If you really care about Y/N, you’ll help us pull out of this op. It’s the only way to keep her safe.”

Bucky rounded on him, a mutinous fury in his eyes.

“Her safety is the only thing I care about,” he said, clenching his teeth. “Why do you think I’ve kept her out of all this? I haven’t told her a damn thing - and now I’m supposed to expect her to just uproot her entire life? How exactly do I explain that, Steve? Huh?” He raised both brows in a dare, a push against Steve’s immovable self-righteousness. Steve didn’t budge.

“How about you try telling the truth?” He dared right back, not one to back down from a game of chicken.

Bucky’s heart clenched, a mixture of defensive anger and guilt and fear swirling in his gut at the thought. It was the simplest and hardest thing he could do now. Tell the truth. His lies weren’t without good reason, but they were still lies. And what if she couldn’t forgive them? His throat felt thick and dry as he tried to swallow.

“I can’t lose her, Steve,” he whispered, voice scraping. “I…I can’t.” Bucky leaned back on the work bench behind him, gripping the edges of the table with tight fingers. He stared down at his feet. “I don’t even know what I’m doing’ this for anymore.”

Steve’s arms feel to his sides as he looked at Bucky, soft blue gaze filled with an aching sympathy. Their jobs - both before, when they were deployed, and now, back home but still in the field - had crowded out any room, any hope, for a normal life. Marriage. A home. Children. Things they didn’t think to want when they were young and signed their lives on a dotted line. They hadn’t known what they were giving up.

Steve shuffled over a few steps and eased onto the bench next to Bucky, the table groaning in protest at their combined weight.

“It’s really that serious with you two, huh,” he mused, knocking Bucky’s elbow with his own. “Never seen you so caught up on one girl before, Buck.”

Snorting, Bucky looked around the garage, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well.” He toed one of his boots against the scuffed concrete floor. “This is different - she’s different. Jesus, Steve, I-I think…” he sucked in a fortifying breath. “I think I love her.”

Steve’s brows shot up. He’d never heard Bucky say those words. He’d had his fair share of girls - Bucky was never hard up for dates, not even as a gangly teenager; his pretty eyes and charming smile and half-quoted poetry books helped him out with that. Steve was the more serious of the two, talking about “the right one” and looking for love. Bucky just liked to have fun. Of the two of them, Steve never imagined that Bucky would be the one wanting to settle down first.

“Wow,” Steve breathed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, hey, Buck that’s…that’s great.” He clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, pal.”

Bucky looked up with a hopeful smile, meeting Steve’s eyes with a bashful look. Bucky Barnes. Bashful. Steve had really seen it all.

“Thanks, Steve.” Bucky ducked his head back down. One of his hands reached absently to tuck his hair behind his ears. “I’ve…never felt like this before - about anyone.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Steve grinned.

Bucky’s shoulders dropped and he sighed deeply.

“I just don’t wanna mess this up with her, you know?”

“Then maybe it’s time for the truth,” Steve said softly, staring at Bucky’s profile. “The longer you wait…”

“I know,” Bucky sighed again.

“So what are you waiting for?” Steve shook his shoulder again, offering an encouraging smile. “Go see about your girl, you idiot.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky shook off Steve’s hand, rising from the work bench. His bike was waiting for him across the garage, the sleek chrome glinting in a beam of afternoon sun. He snatched his jacket from where it hung on a hook by the door and shrugged his shoulders into it, reaching to the pocket for his keys.

“I’ll catch you later, Steve,” he nodded. Glancing back over his shoulder, he licked his lower lip. “Wish me luck?”

“You won’t need it - not if she’s the right one.”

“Yeah, yeah, there you go with that shit again,” Bucky waved him off, swinging a leg over the bike and starting the engine. He tried to tell himself that it was the rumbling of his bike that set his stomach fluttering. He wished Steve would have told him good luck.

 **********                                                                                                  

She had a duffel bag sitting by the door, socks and boxers that wouldn’t quite fit bursting from the top. Her heart stumbled and then picked up again at a breakneck pace when she heard the grumbling of his bike outside, the rattle of his keys in the front door.

“Baby?” He called as he poked his head in. “I thought you were gonna be home late?”

There was a long pause, a chasm of silence she couldn’t begin to cross. She knew he could see her in the kitchen, her back turned, hands gripping the edges of the sink. Her chest felt tight and she realized she was holding her breath.

Bucky felt his palms grow clammy again, and he flexed his hands, cracking the knuckles of each one alternately. Looking down, he saw the duffel bag by the door, a lonely sock hanging from its open mouth.

When he was 12, Bucky had finally convinced his mom to let him go to a local amusement park with his friends. Coasting on his sugary soda high and sticky-fingered from cotton candy, he and his buddies had sworn to ride every last ride - even the Devil Drop. An impressive 250-foot installation that attracted thrill seekers all year round, the ride lifted him up, up, up - until he was certain he could make out the roof of his house in the distance. And then, with ruthless ambivalence, the ride dropped their carriage. Stomach plummeting, legs glued to the seat, he’d screamed and gripped the bars of his harness and screwed his eyes shut, waiting for it all to be over. When he clambered down from the ride, his knees shook, and he felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck just before he threw up in the bushes. He’d never gone on a ride like that again.

But he remembered this feeling.

“Y/N.” His feet were heavy and slow as he moved towards the kitchen, as though he were wading through water. “What is this?” She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to the sink, refusing to look at him. Tongue heavy in his mouth, he tried to swallow. “Baby, you’re scarin’ me. What’s going on?”

One hand pressed against her heart, she took a deep breath. Then two.

“It’s over.” She set her shoulders and finally turned to face him, her eyes dry but red-rimmed. “We’re done.” With a nod, she gestured to the lonely bag by her front door. “I’ve packed up your things already, and I want you gone - tonight.”

His mouth fell open in shock.

“What- no. No! Honey, what are you talking about? Please, just talk to me - I don’t understand-” he begged, taking another step towards her. She flinched back, pressing herself against the sink.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m upset about-”

“But I don’t!” His eyes were wide, pleading, and he fought to lower his voice. “Will you just tell me what’s wrong?”

Something in it, that innocent, loving look in his eyes, made her snap. A hidden angry part of her, all teeth and bloodlust, began to roar.

“What’s wrong is that I don’t know who the hell you are!” He’d never heard her raise her voice before, and it frightened him, stopped him cold in his pursuit. It gratified her, the way he paled and took a step back. “What’s wrong is that you’ve been lying to me from the moment I met you! I mean - what the fuck was I supposed to think when I found out that my boyfriend’s identity is just a character he invented cause he’s undercover with the goddamned FBI?”

Bucky’s mouth had gone dry and he tasted bile in his throat. The furious heat of her gaze was too intense and he looked down at the scuffed toes of his boots, unable to meet it.

“How did you find out?” he asked a moment later, still staring at the floor.

“Natasha.” Y/N folded her arms. “I ran into her at the hospital.” Reaching for her coffee cup on the counter, she took a small sip, grimacing when she realized it had gone cold. “You might want to go visit your friend, by the way. He’s in pretty bad shape.”

Shaking fingers raked his hair back from his face as Bucky’s mind raced, trying to think of what to say.

“I…I know you must be angry,” he started - judging from the look on her face, it was a gross understatement. “But I hid this from you to keep you safe. Please believe me, I would never lie to you-”

She laughed, harsh and sad, and shook her head.

“That is unbelievable coming from you - all you’ve done is lie to me since we met!”

“It’s my job, Y/N,” he said, jaw clenched.

“Exactly! And I don’t want any part of it!” Her lower lip trembled, but she forged ahead. “Coverups and secrets and lies…that’s not what I want. I can’t build my life around that.”  

And there it was - the real challenge, the question she wouldn’t ask, the question he had been afraid to answer.

“You don’t have to.” His voice came out quiet and hoarse. “I’m quitting.”

A beat. He’d caught her off guard, and he watched as she quickly reassembled her defenses.

“What do you mean?”

Cautiously, he took a step forward; when she didn’t back away, he held her gaze and took the plunge.

“I mean I’m leaving the FBI after this,” he said. “It’s not what I want anymore, either. I…” a deep breath, steeling his nerves. “I want you. I want a future - Y/N, I’m in love with you.” He heard her breath catch, and he closed the last few feet between them to grip her hands in his own. He wanted to say it again, just to taste the sweetness of the words. “I love you, sweetheart. So, wherever you wanna go, let’s go. Let’s get outta here, baby, let’s run and not look back. It doesn’t make a difference to me; all I’ve gotta do is finish this job and then I’m out. I’m all yours - I promise.”

In her head, she could see it, a supercut of daydreams and hopes - the two of them moving furniture into a cramped apartment in the city, adopting a dog and lining the window sill with tiny succulents. A white dress. A pair of rings.

Closing her eyes, she gathered each thought, snatching each one by the wings as it flew by, and placed them all in her vault. She let the door swing shut, hearing the heavy bolt slide home.

Calmly, firmly, she pulled her hands from his grip.

When she opened her eyes again, it was like meeting a stranger - she was standing right in front of him but he’d never felt so far away. His fingers grasped at empty air and his throat closed up. He wanted to get on his knees, beg her not to say the part that came next.

“It’s too late for that, Bucky.” She took a step away, out of his reach. He didn’t try to follow. “I’m sorry, but…” she shook her head. “I just can’t forgive this. I’m-I’m really sorry.” Lifting her chin, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, took one more step backwards. Bucky felt cold all the way down to his boots. There was no mercy in her gaze - no hatred, either. She had shed her tears, and would give him no more.

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

[deans-mind-palace]

Stitches

May I please request a Dean x Female Reader where she admits she's in love with him after a hunt where he nearly died and she has to patch him up? With some fluff and maybe smut?

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N is in love with Dean, unbeknownst to him. During a hunt he saves her and risks his own life. He nearly died and now you have a grumpy, on the floor bleeding hunter sitting on your bed and you are just about to explode.

Word Count: 2,265

Warnings: Mentions of fighting and blood. Needles stitching into human skin. Smut

Author’s Note: This was based on an anonymous request. I really hope you like it and would love to have some feedback from you. Also I forgot asking you, if you want to be added to the Dean taglist! You can message me privately. But you don’t have to do any of that! :) Remember, guys, likes are silver, comments are gold.

Your bullet hit the first werewolf right in the heart. "Y/N! Watch out!" yelled Dean, but it was too late. Before you could react, the hunter jumped between you and the other werewolf. The creature hit him instead of you and threw him against the next wall. It cracked ugly and Dean lay motionless. Panic ran through your body with the adrenaline as you pulled the trigger and put a silver bullet into the werewolf's black heart. While the werewolf howled in agony for the last time, you ran to the motionless body of your best friend. He hadn't moved and was still lying there in the same bent position in which he had hit the wall.

Fear pumped through your veins as you fell to the floor next to him and pulled his body into your lap. He could not be dead. Please, you begged silently, don't let him be dead. When he had taken his last breath, that would be it for you. Without him, your life had no meaning! You loved the man.

You laid your trembling fingers gently on the main arteries in his neck, took his pulse. A wave of relief washed over you. He was alive! His pulse was weak and his breathing was shallow, but he was alive!

A dead werewolf lay on the ground behind you in human form, but your attention was only focused on the blond hunter in your lap. "Dean," you said softly, running your fingertips across his forehead, brushing aside the blood-crusted blond hair. He had lost a lot of blood from a gash on his eyebrow that needed to be stitched, but the hunter was too heavy for you to carry him to the car alone.

His breath was heavy and rattling. The longer he remained unconscious, the more the fear grew in you to lose him. You saw no serious injuries, so why didn't he fucking wake up? You were scared to death and your lower lip trembled as the first tears started to run down your cheeks. "Dean. Wake up. Please wake up." Your voice no more than a strained whisper. Your fingers running through his hair incessantly as you begged for him to wake up. Suddenly a tear dripped on his face and his eyelids began to flutter. They opened wide. Dean moaned painfully and a wave of relief rushed over you. It took him a moment to get his bearings, then his apple-green gaze focused on you.

"W-what happened?" he asked dazedly and looked around in confusion. Then he remembered and his gaze slipped back to you. "Aw. You cried for me?" He smirked and you weren't sure if you wanted to kiss him or slap him. You ignored him and his eyes found the body behind you. "You hit them both," he said approvingly, and you just nodded as you wiped the tears from your cheeks.

"Well then, we have to remove the bodies." He tried to stand up, swaying, and a hissing sound escaped him. His face twisted painfully and his hand flinched to his left ribs. At that moment your relief turned to anger.

You couldn't believe it! That stupid, stupid hunter. Didn't have any sense of self-preservation at all. That idiot! That - argh! There were simply no words to describe Dean Winchester's stupidity! You already had the werewolf, and all you had to do was shoot if Dean hadn't jumped in to save you. So you had to pull aside at the last moment to avoid hitting Dean. You would have had it so the stupid hunter wouldn't have had to play martyr again. It was a miracle you got the werewolf anyway!

"You, do nothing!" you said coldly. "I'm going to pack our stuff and you're going to sit tight until we drive back to the motel, understand?" The hunter was so confused by your sudden change of mood that he sat down without a word. He watched your every move, no matter how small. The way you kept brushing your hair away from your face. Something you always did unconsciously when your thoughts kept bothering you. With a subliminal aggressiveness you collected all your stuff and threw it back into your bags. With a jerk you closed the zippers and threw the bags over your shoulder before stomping over to him. He could see the anger in your eyes. Still he did not understand it. What was wrong with you? One second you were crying for him, the next you had a look in your eyes like you wanted to twist his neck.

"Come on. Let's go." you demanded Dean after you removed your fingerprints, and without giving him another look, you walked past him towards the car. He stayed behind alone and stood up in groaning and pain. For a moment he became dizzy from the blood loss and had to hold on to a bookshelf to avoid falling down again before he slowly limped after you.

The drive to the motel was silent. He had given you the key to the car without argument, because he didn't want to make your condition worse and attract your anger. That's why he looked out of the window in silence or watched as your fingers tightened so tightly around the steering wheel that your knuckles came out white.

Meanwhile, your mind was racing. Deep inside you knew that you were not angry with Dean but with yourself for not being able to protect him. But you pushed that thought away brusquely as soon as you saw the motel. You pulled the key out of the ignition and slammed the car door behind you. Dean flinched at the sound but said nothing. He got out, and meanwhile, you carried your things into that little room.

"Sit on the bed," you told him without looking at him. "And don't bleed on the floor!" "Yes, Ma'am." he grumbled and secretly rubbed the tip of his shoe across a small red drop on the floor, hoping you didn't see it.

You rummaged in your pocket and only seconds later you returned with needle, thread and a bottle of cheap whiskey. You bent down to him. He had a perfect view of your cleavage, but as soon as you poured some alcohol on a cotton pad and started to clean his wound, he flinched. The alcohol burned like hell and ate into the wound with a sharp sting. You continued unperturbed as he flinched beneath you.

"Dean! Hold still" you warned him, but your movements became softer and more relaxed. He felt it. Then you put the bloody cotton wool aside and looked at the wound, now that it was free of all dirt and clotted blood. "It will definitely need stitches." you muttered as you examined it more closely. You took needle and thread and began to carefully prick Dean's eyebrow to stitch it up. "Grit your teeth," you instructed him. He cursed. "Ouch! You're too harsh." he moaned.

"It's your own fault." you replied without pity and moved on to the next stitch. You were so angry with him. So, so angry that your hand shook. "What's the matter with you?" Dean asked, who couldn't understand your mood, but slowly couldn't take it anymore. "You ask me what's wrong with me?!" you asked incredulously. "What's wrong with you, Dean?" "What do you mean?" he asked confusedly. Anger rumbled in your stomach and you put the needle down to take a few deep breaths. It didn't calm you down. "I thought you were about to die, Dean." Your voice got louder. How could he do this to you over and over again? "I don't understand your damn problem!" His voice swelled up too. "I saved your life. You should be thanking me." What if he really died one day because of you. You could never forgive yourself for that. You couldn't live with that. " Thanking you?" you repeated in bewilderment. "I will never be grateful if you die for me, Winchester!" Before he could answer, you went on. He reached for your hand, but you snatched it away. "Why are you so reckless with your life, Dean? Doesn't it mean anything to you? Why do you throw yourself between me and a demon at every chance you get?" You sounded tired. You massaged your temples. You just didn't understand. "Is it me, or why do you have such a longing for death?' you asked, your voice became quieter and quieter towards the end and you turned away to hide your tears. "The best death for me would be to save your life," the blond hunter replied soundlessly. Anger rushed through your veins. He shouldn't say such things! "Don't you ever say that again, you hear me?" you shouted at him. "Jesus Christ, Y/N! Why is it such a big deal?" he cursed when he saw you crying. "Because I fucking love you!" you yelled. Only when his reply failed to come did you realise what you had said and slapped your hand over your mouth. Oh, God, what had you done? "D-Dean, I-I. Oh, God... I didn't mean it... I didn't mean it. Say something!" you begged anxiously.

He raised his eyes and looked right at you. You saw something in his green eyes you hadn't seen in a long time. Hope. He rose up under groaning and stepped towards you. He pressed one hand against his broken ribs as he limped towards you. Suddenly he was standing inches away from you. You could smell his aftershave and felt his breath on your face. "Did you mean what you just said?" he whispered. Nervously you kneaded your hands. "I-I, Dean, look, I'm sorry --" he interrupted you. "Y/N. Did you mean it?" he repeated and took another step closer. He was standing right in front of you now. His eyes moved to your lips, where they stayed. "I-I, yes," you nervously admitted. A smile spread to his lips. "Good, because I'm serious about this too," he whispered against your lips, and the next moment they were on yours. They were soft and warm. They tasted like cinnamon, beer and metallically like blood, but it was a wonderful kiss. He pulled you against him and kissed you harder.

You couldn't believe your luck and kissed back forcefully. Breathing heavily, you parted for air, then you turned on each other again. When the bulge in his jeans collided with your centre, you moaned at the same time. Together you stumbled to the bed. You tried to take off his shirt while he kissed a trail down your neck and his hands went under your shirt. But as soon as he raised his arms so you could pull it over his head, a painful sound escaped his lips. You sighed and gave him a kiss. "Sex with a broken rib is not a good idea," you mumbled. But he just kissed you again and went on. "I don't care." He kissed you again. "I want you." But only seconds later, he flinched again. "Dean!" You pushed him away forcefully. "Stop. You need to rest." His green eyes looked at you like a child who'd lost his favorite toy. His blond hair was ruffled from your hands and his lips were swollen red. You wanted to pull him back to you at that sight, but you had to be reasonable.

"I have an idea," you said slyly, and goose bumps ran down his body as you covered his chest with feathery kisses. You continued on your way down until you reached the waistband of his jeans. Tantalizingly, you let your fingertips dance over the distinct bulge. He squirmed underneath your touch and you smiled. Then you unbuckled his belt and took off his jeans and boxer shorts. His eyes sparkled in cheerful anticipation.

In admiration you looked at his cock. You blew over the wet tip and he twitched in anticipation. "Baby." Dean wailed and buried his hands in your hair as you traced the vein at the bottom of his cock with your fingertip. "Don't tease! I need you." You smiled and all of a sudden your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock. He moaned and threw his head back. You inserted him agonizingly slowly into your mouth before your tongue began to play around his head. His hips bucked up involuntarily. Slowly you moved the tip of your tongue over the slit where precum oozed out. Dean made wonderful breathless sounds above you.

Suddenly you began to bob you head up and down firmly. Taking him in as deep as you could. Dean moaned and your fingers played his base. His hands clawed deeper into your hair and you looked up at him. His green eyes met yours before he closed his eyes with relish and began to push into you. You sensed that he was close to orgasm and got faster. A long moaning followed and then he twitched in your mouth. You continued and one white spurt after another shot into your mouth. You swallowed it all and licked him clean before he went limp and left your mouth with an obscene sound. Sweat ran down Dean's forehead and he looked at you under half-closed eyelids. "That was fucking amazing, baby. I love you." Then he pulled you to him and kissed you while he tasted himself on your lips.

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Dean Tags:  @vicariouslythruspn​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @zizzlekwum​ @ashthefirefox​ @outofnowhere82​ @rintheemolion​

[salacious-mlm-snowbird]

Rage and Spite

Kieran Duffy x Male!Reader

Rating: SFW, tags: murdèr, torturé and fluff, word count: 2036

A/N: this was requested by @agaycowboi and btw I’m so sorry it took this long, I was being trained by my manager at my new job plus I was behind in school so apologies for that!! Otherwise enjoy :)

You were furious, seething with fuckin’ rage, tonight you wanted to treat Kieran to a couple of drinks in Rhodes as a present for being accepted into the gang. You two are in the saloon drinking and having a fun time when you went to the bar to get more drinks, but when you turned around you saw a sight you thought you’d never have the displeasure of seeing in a lifetime.

 Kieran Duffy had his scrawny arms wrapped around the waist of a fuckin’ harlot who works in the saloon as a public ledger, he was kissing her in a way he’s only ever kissed you, so much passion was hidden behind the drunk blush across his cheeks. You dropped the bottle of whiskey to the floor and stomped over to him before grabbing the woman by the hair, pulling her off of Kieran, “What the hell?!” she shouted as you shoved her to the floor. “W-Wait, Y/n! I didn’t mean it!” Kieran squeaks as you grab him by the collar of his blue shirt, you reared your fist back and launched it at his cheek, pain exploded in the side of Kieran’s face as he fell to the ground.

You huff and walk out of the saloon with a growl, Kieran tried calling after you but you didn’t listen as you climbed onto your horse before you raced out of Rhodes with no destination in mind, how could he do that to you? You were his goddamn lover! You felt tears threaten to spill but you only frowned and wiped them away before they could fall. It felt like a couple hours before you pulled off the road and trotted through the grass for a moment before pulling on the reigns to make your horse come to a halt.

“Good job, darlin’, I know I pushed you a little too hard. Sorry about that.” You said to your horse, patting the side of the neck of your mount as an apology and appreciation, pulling out a carrot you lean over and present it to the large animal, s/he takes it with a snort and gobbled up the carrot with a soft chuff of happiness. You dismount your darling horse with a sigh before grabbing your bedroll, placing it a couple feet from the big horse, you then begin to gather loose dry brush along with some twigs and sticks from the surrounding woody area. 

Satisfied with the amount you had gathered, you go back towards your makeshift camp and start to try and set up a small fire; it took you a couple of tries but you got it on the fourth attempt of lighting the damn thing and keeping it lit. You didn’t even realize that it had been hours since you ran away from Rhodes, here you sat in front of a small fire while you hugged your knees, soft whimpers escape your lips as tears fell down your face. Everyone treated Kieran like absolute shit, in the beginning, even you but that soon changed when you saw that he was innocent and that he didn’t know a damn thing about Colm and his boys.

Kieran warmed up to you quickly and he soon became attached to you, leaving you poems and pressed flowers on your bedroll every couple of nights. Unfortunately, you had to hide the presents from everyone, so you kept them in your leather journal for safekeeping and such, since Kieran began to gift you things of that nature you felt you had to give him something in return the only way you knew how.

You started by leaving pretty bird feathers in the strap on his hat, then you started gifting him bigger things like raccoon skulls and muskrat skins before giving him a bearskin at some point. The items you had scavenged and hunted were a lot harder to hide but the only thing the others did was look at you two weirdly, given your ruthless reputation in the gang they left you guys alone for the most part.

You were so busy sifting through pleasant memories, you never heard the footsteps sneaking up on you, eyes widening in shock when a hand clamped over your mouth and the smooth barrel of a gun pressing against your temple. You reluctantly complied with the hands of the men who had captured you as they roughly tied your hands behind your back, you growled softly when the sight of agent Ross and agent Milton came into your view.

“Surprised to see you without your rut mate, Mr. L/n. A man of your caliber should be more aware of his surroundings seeing as we just found you on our way to your camp. We thought maybe it would be better and more effective to capture a high ranking member like yourself and use you as our informant instead of massacring your whole gang. If you’re willing to participate, if not, we’ll just have to kill you and your friends anyway.” Agent Milton said with a smirk, you growl against the firm hand that held your mouth.

Agent Milton laughs before using the butt of his revolver to knock you out, you fell limp against Agent Ross but only for a moment as they let you fall onto your face so that they could tie your ankles together as well. Agent Ross holstered his gun and slung you over his shoulder before settling you on his horse’s rump, the group of Pinkertons mounted up and left your horse alone as they rode away, your mount not really knowing what to do so s/he just began trotting towards home.

When you woke up, you were tied to a chair with your shirt and guns missing, a litany of scratches and bruises cascades all across your back, arms, chest, and stomach. No doubt even more was below the belt, luckily no Pinkerton decided to have a look for themselves. You were slumped over in the chair, mumbling incoherently to yourself, blood and spit dripped from your mouth after numerous fists previously landed harshly on your face as a way to try and pry information from you.

“Just cooperate with us, Y/n. you’ll then be set free, well, under certain conditions.” Agent Milton said as his hand glides over various tools of torture, “Fuck… you.” You manage to growl as you lift your head to glare daggers into the back of his head, he smirked to himself before he grabbed a knife and turned toward you. Milton wordlessly steps forward and slashed at your chest with the knife, blood spilled freely from the wide laceration, your vocal cords bled a little as you screamed in pain while Milton continued to carve into your chest until the word, ‘R A T’ was legible.

“You’re a pathetic little rat, Y/n, thinking that you’ll make it outta here alive. That you’ll ever see your whore again-.” Milton went on and on about you but as soon as he mentioned Kieran your mind fractured in two, the leather straps that held down your arms and legs snapped in half as you forced your limps upwards with a broken yell. Milton tried reaching for his gun but was stopped as you grabbed a bloody throwing knife and shoved it into the side of his neck, blood spurting out of the man’s jugular, a series of growls and grunts escaped your bloodied mouth as you repeatedly stabbed Milton in the face and neck. 

You saw red as you grabbed his gun and shot your way out of what looks to be Van Horn, you found your guns stashed in a run-down building and grabbed them before continuing to shoot and kill your way through the countless bounty hunters and Pinkertons. After you determine the coast is clear enough, you grab a dead Pinkerton’s horse and make your way back to Clemens Point, many thoughts were filling your mind as if anything Milton said was true but what if it was? 

You shook your head and continued to head through Lemoyne, using your spurs to make the Tennessee Walker pick up speed, racing through the swamps before coming across the torn down cobblestone building, you slow down the speed of your current mount and trot down the small pathway. “Holy shit! It’s Y/n! Dutch, he’s back!” Lenny shouted as he jogged over to you from his spot on guard duty, you began leaning forward in exhaustion and ultimately fell off of the horse to the dirt.

“Jesus! Son, what the hell happened to you?!”

You growled softly as you tried to get up with the help of Dutch and Miss Grimshaw, they questioned you about what happened and you answered as many as you could as they walked you over to your tent to lay you down, Miss Grimshaw quickly walked over to the medical caravan to grab some supplies before returning to your side. She started to patch you up while saying reassuring things to you. You half-listened as you were really out of it by the time she got the bleeding to stop, you fell asleep shortly after Miss Grimshaw dressed your various wounds, Swanson even gave you some morphine to help with the pain.

Kieran returned to camp after he had sobered up enough to ride back, he felt embarrassed and terrified that he had lost you because of some stupid bullshit at the saloon. As soon as he walked past the tree line he saw the various camp members by your tent, ‘Something’s wrong…’ he thought to himself, he rushed over to your tent but was stopped by Arthur walking out of your tent, “Hold it, O’Driscoll, you can’t see him right now. Y/n was kidnapped by Pinkertons and was tortured for most of the night, he ain’t doin’ too well. You can see him in the morning. Plus, you need to sober up some, I can smell you from here.” The blonde man said while lighting a cigarette, Kieran’s eyes welled up with tears immediately following the news of what happened to you. 

Arthur looked down at Kieran with a somber look before stepping aside and motioning for him to go inside your tent, he does so quickly but stops mid-stride when he saw the state you were in. Tears spilled down the sides of his face, his lip quivered as he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing now, “Y-Y/n, I’m-m so sorry, I sh-should’ve been w-with you! Oh god, please let him recover from this… fuck, I’m s-so ‘hic’ sorry.” Kieran said as he knelt beside you, gently resting his forehead on your bare shoulder.

“It’s okay, Kieran, I’ll be fine. I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have left the saloon like I did. Forgive me?” You mumble, he gasped when you spoke, listening intently to your words. “N-No, I should be the one apologizing, I was the one who kissed her. I-I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Y/n, it’ll never happen again. I promise.” Kieran said as he grasped your uninjured hand, softly rubbing your knuckles with his thumbs, “Good, can I have a drink of water?” You say as you look over at the small bucket of water and a metal tin cup that sat next to it on a crate.

Kieran grabbed the cup and dunked it into the water to get a good amount of cool water, you try to sit up a little so you could drink, leaning back on your elbows you wait for him to bring the cup to you. Kieran presents the cup to your lips and you drink like you never have had water before, “S-Slow down, you’re gonna choke.” The brunette man said as he rubbed his hand on your shoulder. You gasp softly when you stopped gulping down the water, with a deep sigh you lay back down, the thick layer of gauze on your chest peeled a little, showing the edges of a large laceration to Kieran.

“I’ll be ok, doll, don’t worry about me too much.” You said with a pained grin, he smiles softly before carefully leaning over to kiss your lips, “I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you too, doll.”

[iam-kenough]

Will you ever notice me? (Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character)

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 16

- I can't believe you are getting married, Marston. It's like pigs could fly - Iris chuckled, fixing John's tie. She should help at bride's tent but it was wild place to be since Mrs Grimshaw scolded everyone around, like it was matter of life and death, not happiest day of someone's life. So she decided to give an emotional support for groom, who was alone.

- Thank you for cheering me up - his voice was raspy - I am nervous as shit.

- Why? After all those years you are nervous to marry Abigail? - Iris threw him surprised look. She rested on clothes trunk, waving her legs in the air.

- She...she can still say no, right?

- You kidding me?! - Iris scoffed- You are made for each other! And I am happy to say I see you like this, it gives me hopes I'm gonna leave and marry someone properly.

- You mean Morgan? - he chuckled, 'cause it sounded ridiculous.

- Arthur? He would never marry someone, especially me! - Iris got the idea of what he was laughing about and smirked too.

- And where is he anyway?

- He said something about staying away from him so I won't spoil the surprise, he doesn't know what I'm gonna wear today.  Just like you don't know with Abigail!

- Oh God, just when I forgot for a second - he groaned, burrying face in hands.

- It looks like Reverend Swanson is ready - Iris said peeking out of the tent.

- S-should I go? - John gulped, getting up like he was about to faint and get back on the floor.

- Go and get her - Iris patted John's arm to encourage him.

She slipped out of tent and looked around. It was almost like mother nature knew it's gonna be wedding tonight. Air was warm and smelled like pines, there were decorations made from white roses (it took girls ages to accomplish something like this) and lanterns, giving their camp look almost like from fairy tale. They moved their tents and wagons to make room on the grass for drinking and sitting around campfire and dancing.

Iris was wearing very pretty and very atypical dress. When all Ladies of Van Der Linge gang went downtown to search for dresses they found this small Parisian shop they would never go to if it wasn't meant to be for Abigail's wedding sake. At first, when she saw that dress Iris wasn't sure if it was right for her but it fitted like glove. The top was tight and had straps crossing on her exposed back, when the bottom half was A shaped, giving her this princess look as it was going down to the ground, fabric folding nicely. It had dark rich green colour. Iris's hair was braided in crown around her head and she was wearing bold, red lips. Even if she felt in this dress like a fool at first, lady in the shop convinced her that if someone should try it out, as a new fashion trend, it was meant for Iris and her sweet arms to try.

Right after ceremony took place she tried to search for Arthur but she couldn't see him. Guess he got bored with me for today, she thought. But the evening with friends still seemed fun. After few drinks and toasts she started feeling urge to have a cigarette, so when she spotted Dutch sneaking out for one, she followed, bumping into him right after one of wagons.

- Evening, can I have one please? - she giggled, balancing herself with drink in hand.

- Sure, help yourself - Dutch gave her thoughtful smile. Iris joined him, leaning against the wagon.

- What a beautiful night. Makes me feel like I was normal or something - she smirked, lighting cig up.

- Aren't you? You probably coming next - Dutch pushed her a little using shoulder, with friendly manner.

- I don't think so. No one would have me, I talk to much making men roll their eyes back into their heads with boredom and irritation.

- Forgive me my being nosey but Arthur and you..? - Dutch mocked her.

- You must be joking and not knowing man you raised to think he would ever marry some crazy brat. I guess his just having fun with me, even if I thought it's love at first. No strings attached.

- I was almost sure you are basically living together so I assumed things - Dutch rolled his eyes.

- Look, I can tell you the difference. There is John, cuddling with his wife and having a beer together. And then there I am, having a cigarette with you, Dutch when Arthur is nowhere around me since the start of this party. That's difference between love and fun.

- I think you were hopeless romantic by the books you read and songs you are humming all days..? - he dragged onto his cigarette.

- It's just books - she waved it away - Life isn't like this, especially ours! I am no good girl who's gonna get the best husband picked by her daddy. So I am holding onto something what makes me happy, even if it's silly.

- I really misjudged you then - Dutch said with mysterious smile playing on his lips as he left her to have the rest of cigarette alone. Iris was making small circles with smoke, looking into starry sky. She kinda felt dumb for thinking that Arthur would care about some stupid romance when it was his brother's wedding day. Because that what it was, silly. She started humming a song she overheard from campfire and her legs were tapping a rythm. She wasn't even thinking about being alone in the dark while others had fun.

- Hey, you - Arthur appeared from nowhere, which made Iris jump up with fear. He was wearing suit, and was clean shaved. It made Iris's heart skip a beat too.

- Jesus, I think it's heart attack - she hissed, hand agaist her chest.

- You hiding away from me? - he murmured into her ear and purred slightly - How dare you hide away when you look like this?

Arthur wasn't waiting long to drag her to the tent. He kicked apart her ankles and pulled dress up, just to soon after that rock her brain, pinning her doggy style against the trunks, pulling out successful quicky with her without being noticed as gone or disappeared.  After all happened, Arthur turned Iris around and kissed on the temple, like he always did after rough sex.

- I-I love you - she exclaimed as she paced, burrowed in his arms. Iris was almost sure she never said it out loud before, she was just thinking this deep inside. Girl blushed, hiding face away from him, burrying it in the croock of Arthur's neck. So it was kind of confession in this crazy relationship.

- 'Fcourse you do, you are the most naive and pure creature I had met - he caressed her cheek with dark chuckle - No one else would be crazy enough to fall in love with me.

He didn't say he loves her back, Iris thought. That's sad.

- You are just lovable, I think it's that - she blushed briefly.

- Lovable? - he bursted into laugh, which made Iris head vibrate when her temple rested against his skin - I would never let myself fall in love with someone who's careless and cold like me.

Iris bursted into laugh too, he was kind of right. Arthur was an outlaw, dangerous and ruthless one, who was risking his life actively almost everyday for last 20 years or so. What he was saying made sense, but Iris felt little pin poking her heart, because that meant she also isn't on the best page in his records. She was cold and careless too.

- I think we should go - she whispered, trying to hold chuckle so she won't be looking like hurt idiot she just were - I'm sure everyone around noticed we're not there.

As they left the tent she noticed people are dancing in pairs, or thirds, laughing and fooling around. Iris decided to push her luck and ask Arthur if he would consider dancing with her a little. He was never much of a dancer and she usually were turned down by Arthur, even when Dutch's phonograph was playing something nice and slow, so they could just cuddle and rock to the tact. Iris turned around to say something but he weren't there, she bumped into someone instead.

-

I was searching for you everywhere - Mary-Beth squeezed her tight, amortising bump - I kind of fancy a dance with my little friend.

- Oh, that's very nice proposition! - Iris let Mary-Beth kiss her hand, pretending she's a man inviting her friend to dance.

- M'lady - Mary-Beth chuckled. She was beautiful tonight, Iris thought. Romantic dress in baby blue color suited her blond, curly hair and rosy complexion. Real lady.

They were dancing together, giggling and throwing each other looks like they tried to seduce each other. Mary-Beth was nice and warm and for short amount of time Iris was thinking that she wouldn't mind being with a woman somehow. Then they heard a gunshot and everyone froze in place.

It was matter of seconds as Iris understood what just happened. They were attacked, someone had to snitch camp was having a party tonight to hit at the moment they were most vunurable, drunk and dressed well, not fitting for a fight. Mary-Beth suddenly felt heavier in girl's arms and when she noticed hole between her eyes she screamed in panic. That bullet was meant for Iris and that was more than sure. Another gunshot and bullet flying above her head. She felt to the ground.

The terror begin, everyone throw themselves behind trunks, barrels and wagons. Iris stayed on the ground, crawling towards nearest cover, Mary-Beth's blood dripping down her face as it was on Iris's cheek. She crawled inside her tent and started grabing the most necessary things. It was mostly money, 'cause in this situation Iris considered that there might be an option that tonight she's gonna lose all her belongings. Part of them were on horse, guns attached to saddle, she had there winter clothes too.

Iris smelled burning wood and she bursted out of tent, with revolver in her hands. Pinkertons set they things on fire and her tent was the closest one to start burning. Iris was running around the camp, ditching bullets. Arthur, where was he?

- Arthur! Arthur Morgan! - she screamed at the top of their lungs. Suddenly she felt grip around her neck, as one of Pinkertons started choking her. She knocked him out by smashing his nose with back of her head. She felt like dress on her was ripping apart with her every move, not being very suitable for fighting man.

- Arthur! - she yelled in histeria, not sure if anyone heard her. Then she jumped in place as in front of her someone threw fire bottle and it cut her ways out, splashing oil leaving small marks on her skin. It was burning on her flesh.

Iris looked around, not being sure what to do. All she wanted was to feel Arthur's calloused hand and hear his furious voice. But life chosed for her, as all she could do was jump on her horse, which was neighing in terror and run, saving them both, or get shot burning in flammable oil at the same time. She tripped over her dress, tearing it completely and made her choice. With mad tears in her eyes she started galloping through the night. She's gonna find him tomorrow, it was better than get killed and not seeing him anymore again.

***

After hours of running away and taking random paths just to keep lawman off her back Iris was wrecked. She couldn't collect her head yet to analyse what just happened. If there was time she would look around the people faces. Snitch obviously wasn't there with them at time ambushed happened. Iris rested her head against horses mane and begin to sob. All she knew that she's parted from everyone she knew and it wasn't even sure they are still alive. Iris brushed it off, Arthur would never die such stupid death, girl knew him. Tomorrow she will run back and search for him under every rock on her path. She suddenly heard voices coming from the distance and galloping horses. On the road nearby there were lawmen, searching through area. Iris wasn't far enough, she thought. There is half state after her even if she paid her bounties on time. So she stirred up her horse and continued on galloping, in hope this night the hounds won't find the foxes.

Going north was here only choice. No one was crazy enough to go to far out there, as the snow was deep and avalanches could kill one just like that. But after all Iris was growing up there. She could handle it, right?

[kevindayisafrog]

I had the idea to write this in the bath..leave me alone (and there are big gaps between the paragraphs, don’t ask why) ignore any spelling mistakes or don’t, I’m not your mum :)

Baz

Bunce drives another wooden stake through a seething vampire, her face cool and collected. The vampire screeches in fear before wilting like a rose onto the chapel’s blood stained floor, leaving only ashes and rags behind. I hear Simon above me, thrashing his wings against the stuffy air and creating an unneeded breeze that sends chills down my shirt collar. I turn and place a tense hand upon a pale faced woman as she sprints towards me, fangs out. Fire spills out of my chapped hands and she tries to back away, but we’re too flammable. She shoots up into flames and a pile of smoking ash floats down onto the ground. I hear Simon land behind me with a thud and I turn as he rips a wooden frame from the roof. Oh Crowley, he looks so good. His shoulders are throbbing from the fight and I feel like I’d turn to a pile of ashes just watching him. I turn my back against him with a violent blush and help Bunce as a vampire corners her, ripping the splintered wood from her hands. Without hesitation I grab them by the neck and pull. It’s handy having this strength with added knowledge of vampire slaying, but fuck me, it doesn’t make it any less disturbing. The vampire drops to his knees and falls into Bunce who shrieks and pushes the abandoned torso onto the floor. I drop the head onto the dismembered body with a slapping sound and freeze as Bunce’s face turns to stone as she watches over my shoulder

Simon

I land onto the ground and rip down a wooden beam from the low ceiling. This vampire is a fucking nightmare. I try to ignore Baz’s burning eyes as he watches from behind us, probably wanting to set us all on fire. Just to hurt us all. Or maybe just me. He’d hurt just me. I mean, I guess I am the one who hurt him first (I thought he wanted the fucking break up!) I lunge towards the smooth faced girl as she leans backwards with a menacing grin. I try again as she sprints to my back, pulling my collar down as I can feel her breath on my neck. I flap my wings out to knock her to the ground and tighten my grip on the beam, pulling it over my shoulder to swing down into her chest. But she dives back up quicker than a blink and tears the wood from my hands. Jesus fucking Christ, I’m never going near a vampire ever again. They’re way too much effort. I wrap my tail around her ankle and pull her legs from beneath her as she drives the makeshift stake into my heaving chest.

Baz

I dive at the girl and rip her throat out with my fangs, spitting it into her awed face. “Traitor!” she screams before I twist her head off like a corkscrew. I throw it across the room before dropping down to hold Simon in my lap. He’s so warm from the fight and his bronze hair is already sticking to my red blazer in matted crimson curls. “You idiot, I told you that stakes could kill anyone”, I try to sound annoyed but it comes out in a cracked whisper, showing him the pain that I’ve been trying to hide behind boredom. I thought that he didn’t want anything to do with me, so why did he call me first to help him? Does he still want us? I thought that he made it clear he doesn’t want me. I drop my head to rest my forehead on his, feeling his shaky breaths brush my lips. “I’m sorry”, he whispers, barely audible. “No, shut up, Snow. Just shut up”, a tearless sob escapes my throat and I feel warmth as he wraps his leathery wing around my back. “I was supposed to go first”, I open my eyes to smile at him and pull my head back to search his glassy eyes for the Simon I know. “I’m sorry”, he whispers again, grimacing as the pain drills into him. I try to ignore the smell of blood as it slowly covers our clothes, a burnt popcorn taste pulling my fangs closer to his bloodied lips. “Don’t apologize, please. You’ll be alright little puff”, I whisper the words into his lips and he pulls me into him. The blood seeps through my tongue and I try to pull away but his grip is tight on my shoulders. I cry into our kiss and try not to think of the worst. I thought that I would die kissing Simon Snow, not the other way around.

Penelope

Simon can’t die. He just can’t. People like him don’t just keel up and accept death. He can’t. I rack my brain for a spell to help him. My mum told me one. We were sat on the sofa watching Holby City and someone was badly injured, they had a metal washing line pole shoved into their chest. What did she say? She made a joke about having only one spell that can help. A song. A rhyme? Oh for Crowley’s sake Penny, what was it?

Baz

Bunce dives at me and tears the wing from my back. “Baz, I know a spell that can help”, her eyes are dancing with desperation and her voice reeks of hope. “I don’t think a spell can reverse this”, I can’t look at her because I don’t want her to know that I’ve lost hope. I just want to take away his pain. “Just try it Baz, just try”, Bunce’s words hang between us among the unspoken truth, as I just sigh and weakly pull my wand from my blazer pocket and point it towards Simon’s heaving chest. “On your command”, I whisper, trying to pull my fangs back into wherever they came from. “Sing Bohemian Rhapsody, it will turn the damage onto you but..but your body can heal itself, can’t it?” I turn to look at her with a snarl. Bloody idiot. “It’s a stake through the heart, Pen. He’ll die”, Simon chokes the words out and I try to ignore the urge of licking off the blood that begins to trickle down his cheek. I don’t want to hurt him. “I don’t care, I don’t need to be here”, I press the wand and my palm against his chest and begin to sing the song. “Baz, don’t. Please, don’t. I need you. I need you alive”, a tear falls down his temple as he groans the words. “I’m no bloody use to you if you’re dead”, I try to make the words sound light but they come out like barbed wire. I give Bunce a look and she quietly nods and holds Simon down. “Are you sure you want to do this?”, she asks me, looking into my half hidden eyes. “Shut up”, I snap. I didn’t mean to. But maybe if I push her away she won’t be hurt if I do die. Will I die? Not that it matters, but..

Simon

“Baz, don’t”, I try to thrash about but Penny is pushing down onto my shoulders with all her might. I reach up to place my hand onto Baz’s cheek, it’s so cold. “Please, don’t do it”, if he’s noticed my hand he doesn’t show it, he’s too stubborn. I stroke his pale skin and drop my hand when he begins the song. His voice is so lush.

Baz

“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”

The words sound hollow and frail when they leave my lips, so I push all my magic into them. (I hope that the lisp created by my fangs won’t effect the spell).

“Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality”.

It doesn’t feel different, I don’t think it’s working. I scrunch up my face and try to soften my tone.

“Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see”

Simon’s crystal blue eyes fling open and his back arches so that his head falls into Penny’s lap. “It’s working”, she whispers in excitement.

“I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy”

His body twitches slightly and I try to ignore the pain of fire in my chest. It’s working.

“Because I’m easy come, easy go, little high, little low”

My words fall out like knives and a burning in my veins begin to appear. A drumming of magic bursting through my wrists.

“Anyway the wind blows”

Sparks of yellow break from my skin and into Simon’s chest, his eyes leaking tears that drip onto Penny’s arm. A breeze flutters from my wand and blows my hair back, pulling my head slightly away from Simon before bashing our heads together like magnets.

“Doesn’t really matter to me”

My voice wavers as the sparks turn to hollow flames around Simon’s chest as his back shoots upwards and then back down. I try to whisper the next line but his bleeding stops as I brush my finger across his chest. I reach for the wood but it turns to dust and falls away from his chest. “Simon”, I whisper before the burning in my veins engulfs my words.

Simon

Baz falls backwards and pushes himself away from me, his wrists convulsing. My wings suddenly pull me up and I land on my feet, my body buzzing with something I haven’t felt in a long time. I rub my hand against my chest and feel that my skin isn’t even broken anymore. “It worked”, Penny whispers as I turn to smile at her. The buzzing intensifies and I feel the old flame light up inside of me. Magic in me. Magic. In me. I reach my hands onto my waist and whisper the old incantation, the words like sweet butter upon my tongue.

Baz

I feel empty. My hands won’t stop shaking and my head is spinning to blur my eyes. “Simon”, I try to call for him but my words choke in my throat. He’s alive.

Simon

The Sword of Mages feels like gold in my hands and I choke on a sob as I clutch it to my waist. I swing it around me as Penny jumps to her feet squealing with joy. We jump up and down like primary school kids on a school trip, but I don’t care. I’m me again. Baz can love me again. Baz. I turn to show him my magic and immediately drop the sword. “Baz?”

Baz

He did it. I always knew he’d win. Ever since first year I knew he was capable of everything. He is the chosen one, after all. “Simon..” I whisper, letting the word sit in my mouth like a silky pudding, before lying back and resting my head on the floor. You did it. Simon Snow, you did it. I’ve always been so proud.

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright {15}: Bah, Humbug

Previous: What’s Your Hurry? 

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Swearing! Kissing!

Summary: After a barrage of unfortunate mishaps, all you want is to skip Christmas. 

          You came in hot, snow covering your coat and a tear in your jeans. Your cheeks are red, too rosy for your liking, and your lips are cracked, a combination of windchill and lack of chapstick.

           Stepping into Jimin’s apartment, you let out a frustrated grunt and throw your items on the ground. Jimin watches with surprise as you hurl your coat on top of your bag, kicking each boot off your foot violently.

           You scream in frustration as you stare at your belongings, wet and bloody.

           “Ah, Noona, are you okay?” Jimin asks.

           “Fuck Christmas!” You yell, angry tears starting to fall.

           “Noona,” Jimin is taken aback by your words. “It’s your favorite time of year!”

           “Bah fucking humbug!” You snap, chapped hands wiping your tears away harshly.

           “Baby,” Jimin is taking strides to you but you hold your hand up, stopping him.

           “I’m serious, Jimin! Fuck Christmas. Fuck the holiday season,”

           “Honey you had a bad day, you don’t mean it.”

           “I do! I’m writing my letter to Santa: Dear Santa, I think I’m going to sit this one out. Deck the halls, decorate the tree, wrap the presents without me.”

           “Baby, no,”

           “Everything that could go wrong, is going wrong, and I’m done. I’m done trying. I’m done participating. I’m done spending time on a commercialized holiday that means nothing because no one gives a fuck that Jesus is the reason for the season. So, fuck Christmas. I’ll see you next year.”

           “Baby you can’t be serious,” Jimin is trying not to smile, he knows in your heart you are kidding, but the seriousness of your tone, the tears in your eyes, coupled with the blood dripping down your leg is forcing him to remain stoic.

           “I haven’t even finished my to do list from last year!”

           “It’s not about finishing your to do list,”

           “I just feel so burned out, my cup doesn’t runneth over, it’s empty, dry, not a drop,”

           “I have enough for both of us. Can’t we just celebrate?”

           “No, Jimin, no. I don’t want a tree, I don’t want party lights or snow, don’t even get me started on snow! I just want to pass the holiday in silence, I don’t want to participate in it, I don’t want to be around it.”

           “Did you fall?” Jimin’s voice is soft. His kind eyes and gentle lilt has you in tears again, sobbing, shaking tears. Jimin is quick to usher you to the couch before placing a kiss on your temple and getting the first aid kit from his bathroom.

           “I love these jeans, I’ve had them for so many years, they’re my favorite! And stupid snow ruined them!” You can’t hold back the weeks of anguish bubbling up.

           “I think it would be better if you just take them off,” Jimin suggests surveying the damage. Standing and shimmying out of your jeans is a sight to behold, and Jimin is trying everything in his mind to not laugh at the image. “I don’t have anything else to wear,”

           “I can go to your place and get you something, you also maybe left a pair of sweats from last weekend,”

           “When I spilled red wine on my Ivy Park sweat suit?” You ask, fresh tears falling again.

           “Yeah, those,” Jimin is gently cleaning your wound, softly picking out a few pieces of gravel that tried to burrow into your flesh.

           “Great, more evidence of my failures,”

           “You’re not a failure,”

           “Lies,”

           “Honey, can you just, sit tight while I take care of this?” He asks, eyes staring pleadingly at yours.

           “Fine, ruining my relationship, add that to the list,” You mutter.

           “I thought you were too busy checking off items from last year?” Jimin chides.

           “Fuck you,” You say, more venom than you intend. Jimin’s shaking his head, dark locks ruffling.

           “You don’t mean that,” He says placing two fresh bandages on your knees before placing a gentle kiss to them.

           “No, I don’t,” You confirm.

           “Why don’t I go get your sweats and get you a drink, and we can stay on the couch and watch TV all night. You can order food and I won’t complain when we watch the same five Brooklyn Nine-Nine episodes.”

           “Can we start with The Bet?” Your voice is hopeful.

           “We can start with whatever you like,” Jimin says placing a tender kiss to your temple.

           “Jiminie?” You whisper, eyes wide.

           “Hmm?” He asks, lips still pressed to your skin.

           “I love you,” You state confidently.

           “I love you too, Scrooge,” Jimin stands and winks before disappearing in his bedroom, rifling for the sweats you had nearly cried over ruining. You’d saved up for them, setting aside a little by little to buy the matching coral Ivy Park ensemble. You were devastated when the movie had startled you, and you spilled the liquid all over yourself. Jimin had laughed a little too hard before offering to clean your outfit. You let him, sinking into the couch underneath the mountains of blankets. You thought that was the low point of this Christmas season, but it was truly just a bump on your descent to the bottom.

           You’d been dropping hints to Jimin about taking the next step in your relationship, of moving forward instead of remaining stagnant, so far, he hadn’t caught on. You were up for a promotion that went to a less qualified but more well-known coworker. Your presents to your parents had arrived broken, you’d fallen at least three times, each worse than the last, and your best friend is going through a nasty break up that you can’t guide her through. Oh, and your sister is pregnant for the first time and is nesting hard, making it even more difficult to be far from your family.

           Christmas had always been kind to you, and it seems like it wanted to make up for too much good karma. Too many white Christmases, too many kisses underneath the mistletoe, too many holiday movies and Christmas cookies. Too much love, from your family, from your friends, from Jimin. May the baby Jesus bless Jimin, Jimin, kind of heart, gentle and kind, brilliant and giving and loving.

           “Alright, here you go baby,” Jimin says handing you your coral ensemble.

           “Jimin, did you buy me a new outfit?” Your eyes are unwilling to meet his, too busy scanning your outfit for the remnants of red wine.

           “I, yeah, yeah I did,” He says trying to shrug it off.

           “I, thanks?” You say standing. “I’ll be right back.” You disappear to the bathroom, taking stock of yourself in your new, stainless, coral sweat suit. You bite back the feeling of being mad, of being annoyed that he bought it for you when you were saving to replace it. Frustrated that in your weakest moments, Jimin was unfailingly sweet and kind.

           “Jagi, are you going to stay in there all night?” Jimin’s propped himself opposite the bathroom door and leans against the wall, waiting for you.

           “Yeah, I’m just,” You stop abruptly, no knowing he was so close and lower your volume. “I just needed a minute.”

           “Okay, are you feeling alright?”

           “Everything hurts from the innumerable falls I’ve had,” You say following him to the living room.

           “Then let’s go sit,” Jimin says. He’s set out a few snacks and sparkling water for you both. He sits first, having turned on the TV show and waits for you to sit.

           “Jimin, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” You say, feet beginning to root in the ground.

           “Oh?” He asks, gentle eyes glossing with concern.

           “I, I don’t want us to become stagnant,” Your voice is soft, too soft.

           “Stagnant?”

           “Unmoving, I want our relationship to move forward,” You clarify.

           “Oh,” Jimin says, recognizing your subtext.

           “And I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I think we should move in together,” Your voice is stronger as your sentence finishes, conviction strengthening.

           “I do too,” Jimin says.

           “What?” You ask, unsure you heard him right.

           “I was going to ask you on Christmas, I know your lease is up soon, and I just, I want you here all the time, every minute of every day,” Jimin’s eyes are little moons as he beams at you.

           “Well, I guess we better celebrate Christmas then,” You say shrugging, sitting down next to him.

           “I thought you were going to sit this one out?” Jimin’s still smiling, laughter dancing in his eyes.

           “I couldn’t miss this one, this year.”  

Next: Ain’t Nothing Better Than This

[yeoldontknow]

Balls Deep | M+

Author’s Note: this work is entirely an act of fiction. if features subjects which may be triggering or uncomfortable to read, including but not limited to non-traditional and indecent sexual acts. i do not advocate or condone the use of this location for this purpose. please take the warnings seriously before continuing. | chanyeol’s pseudonym comes from Darcy Argue, a jazz composer/conductor Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: smut; public sex; alternate universe; married partnership; romance Summary: While taking your class to lunch during a field trip, your husband suggests an indecent and amoral misuse of the McDonald’s playplace. Rating: NC-17 Warnings: explicit sex; public sex; indecent use of a playplace; graphic sexual acts within a playplace; explicit language; dominating themes; light gagging; spanking; fingering (female receiving); unprotected sex; mentions of cumplay; dirty talk; creampie **please take these warnings seriously and do not read if you are uncomfortable Word Count: 10K

Standing to the side of the eating area in Chicago’s largest McDonald’s, you cautiously eye the group of twenty first graders charged under your wing. They’ve scattered, as children are wont to do, spread throughout the restaurant floor, some eating, some chattering, and many playing. Looking at your watch, you see there’s still thirty minutes left to the scheduled lunch time, and let your gaze shift to the bus driver who eats alone, headphones tucked into her ears, enjoying her brief moment of peace.

This is not the first field trip you’ve chaperoned, however it is the first you’ve managed on your own, an undercurrent of pride making your chest swell. And it is this, perhaps, that exacerbates your anxiety considering there is something terribly, terribly wrong with this journey.

A hand slips beneath the waistband of your trousers, cupping your ass with strong, confident fingers, arm discreetly hidden under your coat and ensuring no one can see. The hand in question belongs to the only person allowed to challenge you like this, in public, at work; your husband, the man who understands you are always wanting him - especially when confronted with risk, and especially when you absolutely should not be wanting him at all.

The hand, to be frank, doesn’t even belong on the field trip. And so, this hand is a problem.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ you mutter through pursed lips. ‘I could get in so much trouble for this.’ Keeping a smile plastered to your face for the sake of the children, your eyes glaze slightly as you peer across the room, looking without seeing, putting in effort to avoid looking at the exquisite body attached to the hand., even though your vision craves to be flooded with nothing but him.

‘You know deep down you’re ecstatic I’m here,’ Chanyeol singsongs sweetly, casting a coy glance at your profile.

In your peripheral, you watch him smile, wide and long and so breathtakingly charming, and feel yourself blush, cheeks flooding with warmth. You hate that he controls the blood beneath your skin, even after all this time, and even from the moment you first saw him. 

‘Yes, of course I’m happy,’ you sigh, turning to meet Chanyeol’s heated stare. ‘It’s just that you actually don’t have permission to be here and, oh hey, your hand is down my pants. And while I do want this, -’ Chanyeol squeezes the plump flesh of your ass cheek, smirking as you fall slightly forward, eyes fluttering with a quiet inhale. 

Regaining your composure, you blink. ‘I’m not sure my students want to see the more private side of their teacher’s life.’

Momentarily believing you won the argument, you let yourself drown in Chanyeol’s eyes, luxuriating in the affection and adoration you find. Even behind his play, there’s an air of gentleness, one that wins over his irises, and lets your heart rate settle, readying for his hand to leave your skin.

But then, his lips into a wolfish grin, wide and impish and utterly feral, and all at once his sweetness dissipates.

‘Should I call you Miss Y/N, then?’ he beams, gifting your ass with another strong squeeze.

Stone faced, all your blood rushes to your toes, heart bottoming out in your cunt as adrenaline courses through your veins instead, betraying you. He knows you only like to be called Kitten in bed, and Miss when he's been particularly naughty.

‘You’re turning a field trip into a game of role play,' you mutter, words quick and voice low as you shake your head. 'This is exactly why you shouldn’t be here.’

‘That’s besides the point, bright star.’ Chanyeol moves closer, his shoulder nudging softly against yours and allowing the wind to carry his cologne through your open mouth, right onto your tongue. It drips, like honey, down your throat, warming everything it touches as you try to drink it down, realizing you are parched for him. ‘I’m right here, with you. Don’t I add a ray of sunshine to your otherwise bland day?’

Rolling your eyes, you try not to laugh. ‘I’m a little preoccupied, Chan. I’m working and - ohh, fuck what are you doing?’ 

You choke on a gasp as Chanyeol pushes his hand lower, deeper, sliding down through your underwear until his fingers toy gently with your folds, stroking idly with the barest of touches. You shiver, biting your lip to keep from making sound as your walls clench around nothing in anticipation. Mindlessly, your arm reaches for the tiled wall beside you, feeling the blood rush beneath your fingertips as your press against its coolness.

‘Just keep talking, baby,’ he whispers, voice low and full of gravel. He presses firmly against your slit with the flat of his hand, ensuring that his fingers do not slide in, teasing. ‘Stay calm. Don’t let anyone notice you, Miss Y/N.

There’s a hint of laughter in his voice, amusement and encouragement laced through the words, but your focus lands upon the weight and intention of his expression, the way he seems to burn before the long expanse of white snow just beyond the window, and all at once it hurts to breathe. Playfulness lives within the deep richness of his voice, but not in his eyes - heavy lidded and thick with desire. His tongue runs over his bottom lip, gaze cast downward at smooth expanse of your chest beneath your button up shirt. Chanyeol swallows thickly, brow furrowed with wanting, and he runs his index finger over your slit, lips twitching in a smile as he feels your wetness.

‘Chan,’ you whine, breathless as you struggle to find the right things to say. ‘I can’t think when you’re doing that, fuck me.’

Further excuses die on your lips, dissolving on contact with the heat of your tongue, your mouth, your skin, your lungs. It’s winter, winter in Chicago, and yet you are alight beside him, the thick wool of your coat suddenly too heavy for the temperature of his touch. Casting his eyes away from you and the dry, red part of your lips, his expression morphs into a smile of placid nonchalance as he slowly guides the tip of his middle finger into your core.

‘You don’t need to ask for it, baby,’ he teases, voice running over your skin, hot and heavy like melted chocolate.

Closing your eyes, you try to think of something, anything that is not his touch, his mouth, his hands, but come up empty. Attempting to maintain the slow, even pattern of your breath, you push your anticipation and craving for more aside, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your expression in check. 

‘Chan,’ you begin, gathering your strength. Opening your eyes, your vision is blurred, unfocused. ‘Not here. Are you really insinuating that you would fuck me? In a McDonald’s?’

He hums, a deep rumble of thunder that makes your bones quake as he bends to kiss against your ear. ‘I thought it was established a long time ago that I’d fuck you anywhere.’

'Jesus Christ,' you breathe, blood starting to feel like a live wire. ‘You really can’t say those things to me when I’m working.’

Chanyeol laughs quietly, a musical, erotic sound that cascades down your spine and spreads fire along your joints, forcing a rush of wetness to your core that builds exponentially, only to be swept and swirled by his finger. It’s a delicate touch, not nearly satisfying or deep enough to bring comfort or relief, purposely keeping you on edge and on the precipice of demanding more.

‘It’s just as…hard for me,’ he murmurs, lowering his lips to your earlobe. Tilting away momentarily, he pushes your hair over your shoulder with his free hand before placing a chaste kiss to the soft flesh. ‘I want you all the time; feels like I  can’t breathe if I’m not buried inside you.’ He swallows, the slow exhale through his nose raising gooseflesh on your arms as it travels down your neck. ‘One look at you, and I get hard on sight. I want my mouth full of you, your cunt full of me,' he finishes with a kiss, biting at the lobe before pulling away.

Skin wet and meeting his breathe in an alluring breeze, a chill rushes over you, eyelids fluttering as a whimper escapes your chest. He's got you exactly where he wants you, teetering on the edge of desire as you lean closer and closer to his side.

Pressing a final kiss just below your ear, Chanyeol turns away. ‘What’s that big plastic thing over there?’ he asks, pointing to the large play area in the adjoining room.

‘The play place?’ Your answer is nothing but air, a small exhale and a clipped enunciation which give away you are beginning to cave.

Sensing he's nearly won you over, he pushes his finger through your folds, up to the knuckle, and curls it, smirking as you cover your mouth to quietly release a moan. A chuckle reverberates within his chest, the baritone echo vibrating into your bones, as he offers a lingering kiss against your temple.

‘Let me fuck you in that.’

Raising your head to meet his gaze, you find the wild determination that has nestled at the corners of his lips. His cheeks are flushed, likely just as flushed as yours, breath coming heavily as his eyes cannot help but wander rather deliberately over your lips, having their fill of you. And still, his finger maintains its empty rhythm, promising more - something harder, something thicker, something deeper - and delivering none.

'Absolutely not,' you stammer, mind racing to formulate a coherent answer. 'That thing is crawling with germs.'

Chanyeol simply smiles, pushing his finger inside you to the hilt, slowly thrusting as he luxuriates in your wetness.

'Baby, you have a master's degree in education,' he counters, smirking as your head tips back to expose more of your neck. The heat of his breath washes over you, the fullness of his lips sucking at your exposed tendon. 'You can figure it out - lay down your coat, lay down my coat. Don't you have cleansing wipes with you?'

As long as you've known him, his voice has been your addiction, a sound that burrows into your blood and rearranges the chambers of your heart. You're alive with him, alive with the sound of him, and your thighs begin to ache - wanting and wanting to be wrapped around his, heels pressing into his back, feeling him, full of him. Breathless, your mind struggles to hold onto the words he says, caught up in the way he sounds, in the way he rolls through you, in the way he's yours, and only manage to truly comprehend the last things he says.

'Cleansing wipes?' Your voice stumbles over speech, awkward and saddened to follow the music he kissed into you. 'In my laptop bag, yeah. Why?'

You don't get it - rather, you cannot get it, all of your focus paid to the way his finger rocks into you, the knuckles of his other fingers meeting your folds with his teasing thrusts, and the frustrating of yearning for more fogs your mind. Images flash behind your eyes: you, riding him with your shirt open and his mouth at your breasts; you, on your back as the plastic melts into your spine, the thrust of his cock hitting deep enough for you think it could hurt if you were any less trusting; you, come running down your thighs and nipples reddened from his teeth.

And then, after seeing the ways he wants you and could have you, you finally understand.

'No!' you exclaim, eyes suddenly wide as you rear back to face him. 'Do you know how badly that will burn?”

Chanyeol simply blinks, expression unmoved. Dropping his voice an octave, his eyebrow twitches in an effort to remain utterly, unabashedly serious. 'Do you know how badly I want to fuck you?'

The words shoot straight to the hot center of your core, wetting your folds and letting his finger slide in deeper with ease. Body beginning to tremble with need, you watch as Chanyeol's focus bores into your soul, demanding and unwavering and craving, as redness spreads over his own neck. You've seen that flush countless times in your life, the beginnings of a fire that will blaze into you until you are spent and sweating; a fire that cannot be satiated, and you know he means it. When he flushes like this, he is only idly holding the remnants of his control, boxed in by a thirst that burns you both to ash.

That flush means he's been needing you since you left, since you woke up and made love sweetly - just once - and you left him, wanting you again and again, distraught and lonely and going hungry.

'Get me to the fucking play place,' you insist. 'Right now.'

A keening whine erupts from his throat, expression crumbling from one of pained concentration to one of adoration, passion, and longing. 'Happily.'

Chanyeol pulls his hand from your core slowly, taking his time so he does not hurt you, and ensuring you feel every movement of his hand. Hissing, your fingers ball into a fist against the tile and you keep your eyes on him, watching as he lifts his finger to his lips. Time seems to stand still as he runs the pad of his finger over his bottom lip, letting your juices create a glossy sheen over the plump flesh before he takes it into his mouth, eyes rolling slightly back as he drinks you off his skin.

'That's my goddess,' he says, tongue gliding over his lip to take the last of you down. 'Always so sweet for me.'

Transfixed by the movement of his mouth and tongue, you simply reach for his hand and guide him towards the play place, letting the wetness of his finger ground you in the moment. Coming to the entrance, you pause, Chanyeol bumping into you softly from the force of his eager steps, and watch as numerous children - some your students, some the children of other patrons - slide down into the ball-pit and eagerly crawl through the tubes at every level.

'I knew this was a terrible idea,' you mutter under your breath, gripping Chanyeol's hand tighter. Casing a narrowed gaze at your husband, you cock and eyebrow, expectant. 'How do you presume we get everyone out of there?'

Smirking, he rolls his eyes as he releases your hand. 'Are you or are you not an authority figure?'

Moving to the center of the room, Chanyeol claps his hands loudly several times, getting everyone's attention. 'Children!' he yells, not noticing the way some of the kids wince at his volume. 'Your teacher and I need to do a brief safety check of the play...thing. Go sit by the tables for 10 minutes while we check for....broken things and harmful objects.'

'Who are you, sir? A small seven year old from your class, Seo-Jun, comes to stand next to Chanyeol, tugging gently on the hem of his coat. He cranes his head upwards to see Chanyeol, seemingly unfazed by his height.

Painting a serene smile on his face, Chanyeol knees to meet the boy's eyes. 'I’m the music teacher, Mr. Argue,' Chanyeol explains, and you find yourself covering your mouth to stifle a laugh.

'But I’ve never seen you before,' Seo-Jun says, cocking his head to the side as he inspects Chanyeol's features, curious.

Without hesitation, Chanyeol places his hand on the boy's shoulder and turns him, rising to a stand. Then you obviously don’t come to class enough. Go sit. Safety first'

Seo-Jun hums as he walks away, considering Chanyeol and turning back to glance at him as he is joined by a friend, a smaller girl you recognize as Eun-Ha. She too casts brief looks at Chanyeol, lips pulled into a smile as she whispers to Seo-Jun skeptical of his presence. The rest of the children move without question, parents and other patrons herding their children away, eyes narrowed and wary of your presence.

Proud, Chanyeol returns to your side and takes your hand, leading you towards the entrance to the play place.

‘Excellent job, baby,' you praise with a giggle, 'But Seo-Jun is seven. He has no choice but to go to class with everyone else. They go together as a class at the same time every day.'

'I don’t know how this works,' Chanyeol huffs, though is fueled enough by his wanting that he does not pout. 'He’s sitting, isn’t he?'

Chuckling at his cheeky grin, you pause at a tubular entrance, studying the construct with a keen eye. There are three tubes that function as both an entrance and exit, a slide into a ball pit, a rope to climb, and a wall with foot straps that leads directly to a red square just below the center; within the construct, there is a ladder that leads into a further ball pit, and a tunnel that leads to a trampoline off to the side. The play place itself stretches upwards to the ceiling, and, while you are sure such physical tests of motor skills are easy to manage, as you scan the sizes of all the tubes you struggle to imagine how Chanyeol will fit inside with you.

'My love,' you begin, hearing Chanyeol release a noise of acknowledgement at your side. He steps closer, wanting to be as near as possible, mind racing as he formulates a strategy. 'How do you suppose you will fit inside this? That we will fit inside this?'

He shrugs, nonchalant. 'I’ve been practicing yoga lately. I’ve become quite the flexible man.'

'Brilliant,' you counter. 'So why don’t you just fuck yourself?' Turning to face him with a wide smile, you snort at his minutely scandalized expression, waiting for him to whine in distress.

Instead, he lets himself get close, as close as he was before, lips moving against your ear. 'Because,' he purrs, nose gently guiding your head to the side to make room for him, 'your cunt is the sweetest thing I’ve ever been inside. And nothing, and no one,' he continues, biting your earlobe gently enough to feel small pressure, 'will ever keep me from hearing you cry my name as you come.'

Your hand reaches for his arm, steadying yourself as your core clenches around nothing once more, nerves driven to the brink of desire. His arm wraps possessively around your waist, pulling you to his side, heart and mind aware of your faltering strength.

'Now,' he carries on, voice a little louder than he intends, propelled by his eagerness. 'I’ve thought about this. If I go in first and you follow after, there’s that big purple box up there.' Chanyeol points to a long rectangular box with a small window, high above the floor, in the center of the plastic fort. 'It’s big enough to fit two people. And besides, how else are parents supposed to get their kids, right? Adults are meant to fit in this for that reason alone.'

Considering his words for a few seconds, you find yourself agreeing with him. The rectangle is large enough to fit you both, and neither of you have ever been the type to back down from a challenge. Briefly, you recall the sweltering green plastic of a porta-loo at Lollapalooza, a 11AM fucking that could only happen when the porta-loo was clean and untouched. It put the sweat on your brow and neck, the smell of it lingering in your nostrils for hours, but the smile, and the satisfaction, lasted for days.

Running your hand through your hair, you sigh, regarding the play place with a sheepish smile. 'I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.'

Satisfied, with you and with himself, Chanyeol grabs your hand and squeezes it, a low exclamation of delight rolling through him as he gifts your cheek with a kiss. 'I shall never say you don’t love me.'

Your body tilts into his, pressing your cheek against his lips, luxuriating in the softness as your as flutter closed. He showers you in moments of affection like this always, hand reaching for yours and lips just as eager for a smooth expanse of your skin. Being parted, regardless of the length of time, hurts, blood and body addicted to one another, relieved only when you are close and savoring the contact.

He kisses your cheek three times like this, nose running along your cheekbone in ardor, breath catching in his lungs as he takes in the smell of your perfume.

'Thank you,' he murmurs, lips moving against your skin. 'For wanting me.'

Pulling away from him, you swallow thickly, looking down at your feet and letting a wave of longing glide along your nerves. Wetness pools at your core once more, and you can feel a patch of slick growing on your underwear.

Lifting your arm, you gesture vaguely at the play place. 'Get on with it, then.'

Nodding enthusiastically, Chanyeol discards his jacket, folding it neatly before placing it at your feet with a grin. Adoration pools in his irises, and you feel yourself begin to drown before he moves, getting on all fours with an eagerness you find to be adorably childlike. With a shake of his bum, Chanyeol makes for the green tube, quickly negotiating his entrance as though he had come prepared for an excursion like this. Once inside the tube, the echoes of his clambering reach your ears, and you rest the back of your hand against your lips, chuckling to yourself as you hear the banging of his large feet carrying him, messily, through the tube.

'Yoga paying off then?' you call with a giggle, listening for sounds that give away his location.

'Fuck off.' Chanyeol's voice carries slowly, muffled by the thick plastic that separates you from him.

'What am I supposed to say if you get stuck in there?'

You smile widens when your only response is a muffled hum of exasperation, the sounds of his struggle falling quiet. Even without him beside you, the tension in the atmosphere continues to linger, heightened by the silence and the shift in humor. His focus on achieving his goal is palpable, seeping through the play place and quickening the speed of your blood through your heart. Always, he is like this, committed to winning only slightly less than he is committed to you, and when the two collide, there are few things that could ease him out of such an intense state of wanting.

Bending to pick up his coat, you press your face to the wool, letting your eyes fall closed as his cologne makes your lungs burn. Just the scent of him makes you salivate, the softness of the fabric ticking your cheeks and raising a phantom touch of his fingers, memories of all the times he's cupped your face as he kissed you, held your face in his hands as he rocked into you, thumbs wiping tears from your eyes the night he proposed, after your first fight, after he told you he loved you.

His hands have been all over you, and still you feel him, always, wanting him just as much as the first time he looked you in the eyes, ears red and mouth dry, telling you he wouldn't be able to sleep if you went another night knowing how badly he needed you.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of light tapping, a rhythmic pulsing from somewhere in the fort, and you raise your head, smirking, expecting to hear his needy plea for help within a tube. Instead, you find your husband within the purple rectangle, peeking out the small window, beaming and waving, pressing his hand and forehead to the plastic, silently begging you to join him.

'Would you look at that,' you mutter. 'Looks like we'll be using my coat, then.'

Dropping his coat back to the floor, you regard the tube skeptically before sighing, getting on your hands and knees to mimic Chanyeol's approach. After a few moments of awkward, uncoordinated crawling, you emerge from the end of the tube, finding yourself at a fork. The route to your right appears much smaller, enough that you would have to crawl on your stomach to make through entirely, and cannot fathom how Chanyeol would have fit his legs through the corners. Heading left, you crawl until you find yourself at a thin, narrow ladder leading up to the red cube below the purple one.

With an exasperated sigh, you pull yourself out of the small space, navigating carefully, so you can get on the ladder without slipping.

'Chan, how the fuck do I get up this without breaking things?' you ask, looking around and feeling certain this ladder will not hold your weight.

'I dunno,' Chanyeol's voice comes, distant yet remarkably close, echoing around you through the tunnels. ‘Climb.’

'Fucking...climb where,' you mutter, hoping for a different ladder to be mentioned.

'I went up the wall grip,' Chanyeol says matter-of-factly, assuming you and everyone else you have met in your life knows exactly what he is referencing. 

'Helpful.'

You begin climbing the ladder, slowly placing your shoes on each rung and pausing so that you don't slip, hoping that the ladder doesn't tip back. The yellow metal is slippery, and with each grasp you sneer, hoping it's just because your hands are clammy, that the heat from desire has mixed with the heating of the building and the heat that has gathered in the play place, making everything feel damp.

'How’s it going, precious? Where are you?' Chanyeol’s voice calls, encouraging and excited.

'I’m climbing the ladder of death,' you manage, reaching the top and seeing a tilted entrance to the red square.

Narrowing your eyes, you look down to your feet, keeping aware of the heel of your shoes as you coordinate flattening yourself enough to push yourself both off the ladder and up into the square.

Chanyeol's laugh ripples through the tubes, a symphony that makes you grip the plastic landing with fervor. 'I’m fairly certain you’re making that sound far more exciting than it actually is.'

'Children are meant to climb this, Chanyeol.' Pushing yourself up into the red square, you let yourself be led by the sound of his voice. 'Not grown adults.'

'How did you even get there?' he asks, though he does not pause for your answer. 'You must have gone the wrong way.'

Emerging into the purple rectangle, you cock and eyebrow at him as he beams, scrambling to take your hands and helping you inside. 'I didn't know there was a map for fucking.'

Pulling you into the center of the rectangle, Chanyeol's smile morphs from one of an amused grin to one of profound affection, irises swimming with a heady combination of want and need and unprecedented devotion. He lets himself have his fill of you as you settle, his penetrating stare raising the temperature several degrees just by its intensity. Moving your hair from your face, he lets his fingers card through the strands, his expression softening. 

'You made it,' he praises, forehead dropping to yours before pressing a kiss to your nose.

Inching closer, you relish the way he never fails to create a cocktail of almost painful arousal and blood deep longing that burns, not unlike a star, between you as you fall heart first into one another. Letting your foreheads touch and breaths become shared for several moments, luxuriating in the act of breathing and existing together, you feel a wave of desire course through your veins as he hums, lost in pleasure and becoming carried away with the totality of you. Shaking your head, you pull back, settling on the floor as your cross your legs, looking from side to side with a grin.

'This is...cozy,' you tease, cocking your head to the side playfully.

Chuckling, Chanyeol pushes back to settle on his legs, rotating so his back rests against the wall, creating enough space for his long limbs to extend in front of him. He enthusiastically spreads his arms, inviting and welcoming you to him, and you eagerly comply, moving to his side to sling one leg over his lap, settling on, and against, him with a contented sigh.

Delicately cupping his face in your hands, you let your fingers stroke over the shell of his ears and lean forward to capture his lips in a kiss, corner of your mouth curling into a satisfied smile as he releases a small, relieved moan. His hands grip your hips beneath your coat, pressing you roughly down against his groin as he rolls up into you slowly, gently, enacting a promise of what's to come. Licking at his lips, he opens for you, tongues touching and gliding, your hands shifting to the base of his neck, fisting in his hair and massaging his scalp in encouragement.

Breaking the kiss, his head falls back, mouth open and panting as he struggles to catch his breath, lips red and wet, eyes dark from the dilation of his pupils.

'Better?' he asks with an impish smirk, a gruff sound that barrels through you, pooling in your belly.

'Tons.'

Claiming his lips once more, you try to keep the kiss chaste, hoping to tease the edges of his control as you move down to his jaw, his thumbs rubbing hard circles into your hips through your pants. But his hands move swiftly, sensing you're ready to pull away, and he places one hand firmly on the back of your neck, keeping you in place, deepening the kiss as he rolls up into your center once more. Through his pants, you feel the hardness of his cock beginning to form, the pressure against your core, even through layers of clothes enough to send a choked breath tumbling into his waiting mouth.

Running his tongue along your bottom lip before sucking it between his teeth, he lets his hands slip away from your neck, reassured he has you where he wants you, and lets his fingers nestle beneath the collar of your shirt. It’s a featherlight touch, the tickle of him against a soft, rarely touched and barely seen part of you sending a pool of anticipation and wetness to your folds, and you feel how slick you have become as you move against him.

Hands still gripping his hair, you tug him back, breaking the kiss as you grind down into his lap, transfixed by the way his brow furrows, eyes locked on yours and tongue coming to lick his lips before he bits the flesh in wanting. Repeating the action, you grind into him and his head falls forward onto your shoulder, body wired and hands needy, his level of arousal given away by the slow dry thrust he offers to your core.

'Tell me this wasn’t a good idea,' Chanyeol moans into your neck, lips moving against your skin as he speaks. 

With a growl of possessiveness, he places a wet kiss at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His hands push the collar of your shirt aside, forcibly enough the button at your breasts slips open, and attaches his lips to the skin before he nips at you, teeth ghosting over the places his tongue so deftly heats. Clutching at him, your hands leave his hair to press your fingers into the muscle of his broad shoulders, shuddering through a current of arousal as your head tips back, opening to him, offering and giving yourself over to his heart, his mouth, his soul. 

Enticed, Chanyeol takes a hand away from your hip, smiling as you whine at the loss of contact, and cradles the back of your head against his palm. Nuzzling against the center of your throat, he mumbles a low curse before biting at the tendon, sending fire into your veins and making you grind deeply against his lap, aching to hold him inside you. 

‘It was an awful idea,’ you whimper, tugging at his hair once more to move his face away. Gliding your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, you grip his hands and guide them to the buttons of your shirt. ‘But I need you, and I don’t really care where or how it happens. I just need you to hurry up.’

He releases a breathy laugh, large fingers struggling to undo the small buttons of your shirt without requiring further encouragement. ‘We’ll have to keep quiet, baby,’ he reminds you with an unsteady tone, ears turning an adorable shade of crimson as your shirt falls off your shoulders and down your arms. With your breasts exposed, you watch as he swallows, rolling up into your core as he kisses at your chest. ‘Think you can manage that?’

Bringing your hands to his neck, you slide them down to his tie, tugging at the Windsor knot with vigor as you smile. 

‘Can you?’ you counter. ‘Or will we have to use this?’

Using two fingers you push his face gently away from your chest, showing him the end of his tie. Years together and still be blushes at the sight of you, spine and body and mind wound to a coil at the knowledge you are his, no one else’s, and the very thought always sends his voice to an octave of possession that makes your bones rattle. Truthfully, you are both vocal, but his voice hits like thunder, juts against your skin and burrows into your pores with the same earnestness as he buries himself into you, keeping you full and keeping the world on edge, knowing you are his, you are his, you are his, and he absolutely will never let you go.

Nostrils flaring at the thought of either you or he, or both of you, so caught up in lust and loving that you crave one another’s names into your skin from the volume of having and taking that a gag is required, he pulls his hands from your body. Brow turning severe and demanding, he juts his chin forward and lowers his voice, stepping into a place of authority.

‘Bra off. Undress yourself for me,’ he commands, undoing the rest of the knot.

With wide eyed obedience, you bring your arms back to the clasp of your bra, unlatching it and wishing the silk of your fingers was the rough callous of fingertips, aching for the heaviness of his touch. It falls away from you the same moment his tie slithers from his neck and into the space between your bodies. Sweat builds at your hairline and the base of your neck, settling into grooves you did not know you contained until he roused the full length of your being, skin slick with a craving for his body on yours that borders precariously on greed. 

Enthralled by the harsh rise and fall of his chest, you kiss sweetly at his lips, nipples hardened by a yearning for his palms against the sensitive nerves. And it hits you, amidst the voraciousness of your appetite and the endless stretch of utter reverence your heart carries for him, that this kind of wanting has thrown you both off your axis, delivered you to the brink of a risk that carries a dangerous consequence.

Stomach dropping, you let the anxiety coat your throat as you speak. ‘Chan.’ Your hands come to hold his, halting his motions of unbuttoning his shirt, steadying his movements.

Immediately, he stops, gaze full of concern and scans your body for hurt or marks or a reason he should stop. Always, this is his gut reaction to a hint of sadness or worry in your voice - a soul bound promise to ensure your wellbeing, and ensure he loves you back into the sun.

Gliding his hand over your cheek, fingers moving into your hair as he strokes the strands, his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you as close to his chest as he can. ‘What is it, baby?’

Softening at his concern, your own hand rests against his cheek, breath catching in your chest with a mild ache as he leans into your touch. ‘We do shit like this all the time, but...now,  I could lose my job.’

Nodding, he catches your lips and searing kiss, pouring his encouragement and understanding into your blood. You drink it down, hoping that this kind of affection will give you wings, will provide you the confidence to be young and free and wholly alive, and in love, in the arms of the man who taught you to be brave. But still, he gives you an out, refusing to push you to a limit you aren’t ready to take.

‘We don’t have to, baby,’ he affirms, breaking the kiss and regarding you with a conviction that makes your mouth run dry. ‘Not if you don’t want it.’

Shaking your head, you pull his hand from your hair, twining your fingers together in reassurance. ‘I do. You know I do.’ He lifts your clasped hands to his mouth, dropping a kiss against your knuckles. Overwhelmed by the kindness he radiates, you offer him a tender smile, even when half-hard and longing to be buried between your thighs. ‘But there’s a window right there. What if someone sees?’

Chanyeol's gaze shifts away from your face, settling behind you to regard the small clear circle. He pauses briefly, mind racing and thoughts loud enough you can almost hear them, before he breaks into a wide grin, releasing his hand to guide your hips up and away from his lap. Abruptly, he flips you, swiftly moving his hand to your mouth to muffle your exclamation of shock and squeezes your hip in warning. Now, with you resting on all fours he curls over your back, planting a wet kiss to the center of your spine, easing your bodies forward until your face rests directly in the center of the window. 

‘Then you’ll have you keep watch.' 

You can hear the smirk in his voice, the blissed out honey cadence he adopts when he gets to be the one in control, leading your fucking with a confidence that makes your thighs clench, inner walls gripping at a hollow sense of nothingness.

From this angle you can just make out the edges of the tables, will see the moment anyone approaches the play place and can alert Chanyeol to stop. But still, you are reminded of the risk of someone approaching, the heat of anxiety urging you along to finish, and to finish silently, with Chanyeol’s hands and skin all over you.

And you'd protest this angle, would remind him that this is wrong and unprofessional and illegal, if you did not want him just as violently, too, since you left him in the morning. You came, loudly and into the smooth angle of his shoulder, clutching at his arms with enough pressure to tear straight through to the bone, but still you wanted him. You got out of bed, naked and sweating and trembling, and still you wanted him. You got dressed, covered your sensitive groin with underwear that moistened on contact, and still you wanted him.

This, of course, was his tactic. To remind you there are many other ways to be seen, and to be had, and he would always find his way to drink his fill of you, choosing the most isolated approach to assure your body in pleasure was for his eyes only. Taming you, his universe, for all the world to see if only they would look up.

Rutting against your ass with a shallow grunt, the pad of his index finger runs over your bottom lip, tracing the flesh with a roughness that makes blood rush beneath the skin. 

'Why didn't you wear a skirt today?'  he laments, dipping his finger into your open mouth. Closing around it, you suck at the digit, eyes falling closed as you imagine your mouth full, wrapped around his cock with your head held firmly in place. His voice breaks, stumbling over his words before he can properly gather them. 'Would have been so much faster to get inside you.'

Pulling his finger from your lips with a soft pop, his hands move to the button of your trousers, thumbing it open and undoing the zipper as his other slips beneath the waistband of your underwear. He grips the band of your pants firmly, ready to tug them down at a moments notice, but instead lets two fingers trace the wetness that has smeared over your folds, gliding them along your slit without letting them push inside. Biting your lip, you press your ass back against his hips, feeling the full force of his erection at this angle, and shiver, wanting to be full twice over. 

'I could have looked you in the eye when you come around me,' he continues through grit teeth, meeting your ass with a thrust that makes him hiss. 'Asking me with your eyes to fill you up, quiet but aching for it.'

His hand leaves you, slipping up and away from a core that makes you whine in displeasure. Behind you, Chanyeol chuckles at the sound, a dark laugh that tumbles down your back in an avalanche. Guiding your pants over and down your ass, he pushes them down to your knees, walking his hands up your legs before scratching at the sensitive skin where your thighs meet your groin. Lowering your chin to your chest, you exhale silently, nails digging into the plastic to keep yourself quiet. 

'When I saw you put these on this morning,' he says, snapping the band of your underwear, 'I immediately wanted to take them off.'

Silently, you curse, the atmosphere becoming thick and heady. All of your body feels dampened by him, cunt and pores dripping with want for him, saliva wetting your parted lips and pussy aching to be soaked full of him. He lets both hands slide over your stomach, pausing his ministrations, pulling your back into an arch against his chest, and demanding that you listen. Raising your head, you look back out the window, vision unfocused and note the way life seems to continue, mundane and dull, not fifty feet below.

'You expected me to just let you walk away from me.’ Mouth against your ear, he licks at the shell, moving his hands up slowly to cup your breasts, massaging the supple flesh . 'My come still dripping down your legs, staining you so pretty.'

Clenching around nothing at the rich chocolate of his voice, you release a wet moan, rolling your shoulders forward slightly to put more of your breasts in his hands. 'Chan, please.'

'What do you want, kitten?' he whispers, sounding so sweet, so docile, so utterly, unbelievably dangerous. 

'Your fingers,’ you try, pushing back against his groin. Lifting one hand, you reach back, hoping to palm against his cock, but he removes his hand from your chest, grabbing your wrist to press it back to the floor. With a soft whimper of defeat, you try again ‘Want your cock inside me. Please, anything.'

He hums, considering your words and releasing your wrist to settle between your legs. Sliding the line of your underwear to the side, the pressure against your folds making you sigh, he swirls two fingers over your cunt. The sound of your wetness seems to echo in the plastic cube, though you know it’s just your heightened senses making everything - everything about his touch, his breath, and the almost painful emptiness of your inner walls - resonate. 

'Do you know what I wanted this morning?' he asks, voice low as he presses the tips of his fingers inside you.

Whelmed by the sudden something moving inside you, you simply shake your head, luxuriating in the sensation of his skin and bony knuckles as they spread you delicately before moving further into inside, to the second knuckle. 

'Words, kitten. Use them,’ he commands. ‘Or do you want me to spank you? Remind you what happens when you disobey?'

Removing his other hand from your breast, he slides the fullness of his palm down your spine before lifting it, delivering a light slap at the same moment he lets his fingers push deep inside you to the hilt. 

A moan builds in your chest, threatening to splinter the cage bones before you catch it, choking on the sound.

Swallowing thickly, you inhale deeply, letting the oxygen burn before you speak. 'What did you want?'

He sets a slow rhythm with his fingers, spreading them with every other outward thrust to prepare you. The bones in his knuckles tease you, and you clench around his hand, desperate to hold him inside.

'I wanted to fuck my come back into you,’ he bites you, ‘add more to it before I spread it over your chest. Maybe even come on your tongue.'

Chanyeol adds a third finger, speeding up the rhythm and lets his other hand fall back on the soft flesh of your ass, spanking you harder this time over your underwear. Moaning, you squeeze your eyes shut, wiggling back into his palm as he massages the area before he reaches for the band, pulling your underwear down and letting the curve of your cheeks keep the band in place. 

‘You felt how much I wanted you too,’ he chastises. ‘Felt my dick against your hip and you got up, gave me a full view of this ass like I wouldn’t want another bite.’

Again, he lifts his hand, creating a slight breeze in the air that makes the wetness at your clit and thighs tingle. This time, his spank is hard, a crack that seems to detonate around the plastic. A soft cry is wrenched from your lips, legs starting to tremble as you lift the back of your hand to your mouth, muffling your exclamation of pain and pleasure. 

Noticing your weakening resolve, Chanyeol stops the soothing rub of your skin prematurely, letting the sting of his palm burn into the flesh as he blindly sends his hand seeking. It’s not a deep hurt, certainly nothing compared to the times he’s slapped your ass red, punished you for the way you called him at work and talked him to a painful erection; the way you wrapped your lips around his cock and sucked him to the edge only to walk away, going back to dinner with his parents; the way you wore silk to his office’s holiday dinner, and sat far away from him all night, spreading your legs wide to reveal your lack of underwear every time he walked by. 

No, this sting is positively placid compared to the times he’s ensured you would not sit without remembering his hand, but it aches just the same, tightening the muscles in the base of your spine and suddenly making you painfully aware of your neglected clit.

Chanyeol releases a soft noise of satisfaction before bringing his hand to your face, fist full of his tie.

'Open up,’ he commands. ‘You’ll have to bite down on this to keep yourself quiet.’

Obediently, you open your mouth, letting him gently push the fabric inside, the bulge of the base tucked against your tongue and ensuring it does not come apart.

‘Can you breathe, baby?’ Chanyeol softly takes your chin and turns your head toward his leaning, over you to make sure you are safe. ‘Comfortable? Let me know if it’s too much.’

Eyes locked on his, studying the deep black of his pupils, full of lust and longing and concern, you nod, thinking this kind of affection would be sweet if he did not curl his fingers at the first sign of your approval, grazing the sweet spot inside you with practiced diligence. Immediately, your eyes blow wide, biting down on the tie and letting it muffle the exclamation of ecstasy he rips from you.

And all at once, his hands on you disappear, leaving you alone and slipping from your center with a speed that makes your head look frantically back to his, seeking an answer.

'Play with yourself,’ he mutters before slipping his fingers into his mouth and sucking your juices from them. His eyes roll back briefly, tongue peeking out to lap the spaces in between. ‘I need to undo these and I don't have much room.'

The pun of his reference to the space inside the cube and the lack of room within his trousers makes you smile, but only momentarily. Wiping a hand on your leg, hoping the traces of sweat that have built along your skin will clean some part of you fingers and knowing, with lament, that it will only aid in ensuring they become more sticky, you lightly toy with your clit. The relief you had hoped for does not come, and you know, without a shadow of a doubt this was his plan. 

You would never touch yourself as forcibly as you craved, always hyper aware of the germs children carry, the germs of public spaces, thrilled by the risk and disgusted by the consequence, trapping yourself in your own tug of war that kept you on edge and waiting for him to push you. 

Chanyeol wastes no time in undoing the button and fly of his trousers, already too far gone in his own wanting to delay his pleasure. He’d wanted you since morning, wanted you since he decided to come to you, wanted you before he’d stepped inside the restaurant, and now that he has you as he wants you, there is little control left within his veins to cool his blood. He tugs his pants and briefs down in one swift motion, the length of his erection springing free and standing tall. 

Gripping it steadily with his hand, he settles back behind you, kissing your ear, your cheek, your neck as he places his knees comfortably between yours. 

‘Hands and knees, kitten,’ he says gently, biting the juncture of your neck and shoulder hard enough for it to bruise. ‘Make sure no one sees.’ 

With your hands in place and your forehead lulling enough to rest against the window, Chanyeol guides the tip of his cock to your center. Your eyes flutter closed as you feel the come and go of his hand as he pumps himself, taking the wetness from your thighs and folds, spreading it over his length. 

‘I can slip right inside,’ he murmurs to himself. ‘You get so wet for me. I’m so lucky to have a pussy made of velvet.’

And with that, he pushes himself slowly inside, gripping your hips to keep you both steady. 

Grateful for the tie in your mouth, you moan at the feeling of being spread so full, whining desperately as he rolls his hips, delivering himself to your center and burying his cock inside you to the hilt. Without hesitation, Chanyeol pulls his hips back with an agile snap, only to come forward again, the bones of his hips smacking into yours and making you slip forward. He sets a punishing rhythm, fingers pressing into your flesh hard enough for you to know you will be carrying his marks - the indentation of his teeth on your shoulder turning a soft shade of lavender, the dots of his fingers surely deep enough to adorn a regal shade of blue, and the sweet red of the hickeys he kissed onto your neck blooming not unlike the petals of flowers.

The hot steel of his member scorches you, sends your heart beating into your throat, the rush of your blood flooding your ears as your tongue throbs in time with your pulse. Already, you feel yourself clenching around him, wanting him deeper, wanting him harder, wanting him everywhere, and know that you will not lost. In public, you rarely do, given over to the raw intensity of lust, scorched thin and turned to ash before either of you moves within the other. 

Chanyeol bends down against your back, dropping his teeth to the indents he had created without applying any pressure, grunting against your skin and licking aimlessly with his tongue as he thrusts into you. The wet sounds of your fucking fill the cube, and the thought crosses your mind briefly that such a vigorous rhythm will surely give you away, but it bleeds away, burned by the press of his tip against your spot. It’s hard to focus on much other than this, the pound of his hips against yours, the almost painful way your skin presses into the plastic - marked by something other than his touch - and the way the intoxicating aroma of his musk has started to temper the atmosphere. You smell him, deep down into your lungs, and you choke on him, crying out into the tie and wishing it was his mouth swallowing your voice whole. 

‘You’re so pretty when you’re like this,’ he mutters, lifting his mouth from your shoulder and pressing it to your ear. ‘Stuffed full of me and wanting more.’

Clenching around his cock, you reach weakly behind you, grappling for his hip to scratch a long line against the skin. The most sensitive part of him, his sides, was always your crutch, a method of regaining an element of power when he had you this way, but once again, he grabs your wrist and presses it back to the ground, rolling into you slowly before pulling out, leaving just his tip inside you.

‘Stay still,’ he threatens, rolling his hips in figure-eights. ‘You know how we both get when I let you touch me.’ He eases his cock back inside you, offering you shallow, tantalizing thrusts. The tease makes your thighs shake. ‘I’ll scream your name tonight, when you’re the only one who can hear me beg for you.’

You can’t answer, violently torn between shaking your head no and nodding your head yes. When he’s like this, often his head is thrown back in bliss, Chanyeol yelling your name like a prayer, and you miss it - miss the music in his soul, the enduring cry of pleasure is yours. But instead, you scratch along the plastic, rocking your ass back against his cock, hoping to take him deeper. 

‘I’m going to make you come,’ he says, speeding up his thrusts once more as his hand ghosts over your arm, down your stomach, before pressing gently on your mound. ‘I’m going to make you come and I want to feel it.’

With that, he resumes unforgiving rhythm of his thrusts, his fingers diving down over your cunt to tap in time against your clit. The shock of firm, precise pleasure against the swollen bundle of nerves makes your walls clench erratically, your ass thrusting back against his hips messily, desperate in your uncoordinated attempt to reach the climax you can feel building in your belly and thighs. Eyes starting to water, your vision blurs, breath coming in strained huffs as he alternates taps and swirls of his finger in time with his thrusts. 

‘That’s it, kitten,’ he coos, his own thrusts losing their rhythm as he nears his orgasm. ‘Come all over my cock. Let me fill this pussy up. And be quiet about it.’ 

Inside and around you, he is relentless, leading you over the edge before offering a final push, pressing roughly against your clit as he hits your spot. Muffled, your tongue licks at the tie as you struggle to yell his name, clenching around his cock as your back arches, orgasm making the blood in your veins feel like wildfire. The coil in your belly releases in waves, rolling down and through your skin in a torrent that makes your nerves ache. You feel him, all of him - deep inside you as you tremble around him; against your skin, his chest slick and his mouth wet, his own whines sadly tucked away inside his throat; within your bones, rocking the structure of your marrow into something that carries nothing but the kiss of his name. 

Chanyeol is a sensory overload, the totality of him making you throb through your orgasm, vision hazed by white and pussy dripping over him, the wet squelch of your release making the cube sound as though it’s starting to sweat. 

His thrusts gain momentum as the aftershocks of your orgasm pushes your nerves into oversensitivity, though they are hardly coordinated. Against your legs, his thighs begin to shake, trembling with the oncoming storm of his own releases. With a few thrusts, his hand moves away from your clit to grip your hips, his head falling into the base of your neck as he comes, hot and wet inside you, the warmth of his release coating your walls and mixing with your own juices. 

He stills against you, both of you shaking together, rocked by the force of want and coming down from the raw tempest of yearning you both keep locked away, as best you can. Slowly, his fingers release your hips, rubbing soft, gentle circles over the bruises in apology as his lips give shape to barely audible whispers.

‘I love you,’ he mutters to himself, blissed out and unwilling to find reality. ‘I love you, I love you, you’re everything, my heart.’

Smiling to yourself, you bow your head and spit out the tie, squinting as your eyes burn with sweat and tears. Your limbs are unsteady, bones feeling not unlike gel and ready to give out at a moments notice. Reaching over your shoulder, your fingers graze at his hair, carding through the strands to stroke him back to you, back to the pillar of control you need to help you come down.

Slowly, he comes back to himself with a tiny whine, kissing up your spine as he gently eases his softening cock from your core. Whimpering in discomfort, you let your arms give out beneath you, only to find Chanyeol’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest as he holds you close. Turning to face him, you nuzzle into his neck, reminding yourself you cannot fall asleep - you absolutely cannot fall asleep - even though you so desperately want to you. 

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, kissing your forehead as he smooths your hair from your face.

‘I’m fine,’ you croak, throat dry from lack of use and the strain of being gagged. ‘I’ll need a bottle of water, though.’ 

For a few seconds, you let yourself be held, glad for the privacy and glad for the protective strength in his arms as he holds you. Eventually, you hear the distant murmurs of children just beyond the play place, adrenaline becoming replaced with anxiety.

‘How do you suppose we get out of here?’ you ask, eyes popping open as you peer at him. ‘I’m not strong enough to go back down that ladder.’

Chanyeol chuckles, kissing you deeply before winking.

‘I thought about that, too,’ he says with a smirk.

‘Oh, no,’ you groan, having already seen where his thoughts have lead you.

‘There’s a slide right here that leads to a ball pit,’ he advises, utterly sure of himself. 

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you match his smirk with a teasing pull of your lips. ‘Was the whole point of this excursion one long pun?’

He blushes, smiling playfully. ‘Maybe.’