#dni problem solvers

[wholemonsternut]

i miss the era of silly ask memes such as 'write this message in your handwriting' that would just micro-expose random ppl to me where i'm like "ah, you put your dots are really high, huh?"

it's not a dead art, i think 90% of my following are inactive and all i have are just niche serious accounts on my dash instead of just anybody

[inkedells]

thinking about bratty sub!logan at the moment.

m!dni: smutty headcanon/imagine below the cut idrk how to categorize this LMAO

the man has a pain kink, you're telling me he doesn't disobey you just to get you to slap him wherever?? because face or ass, he doesn't care!! and yeah, you notice his cock jump whenever you retaliate like that, but you don't bring it up, because you figure it'll sound better whispered in his ear while you're edging him: i know you like it when i hit you, logan. if you let me fuck you one day, i'll do it 'till you're red.

but before you get to that point, he's bratty in a logan way, where he argues with you and talks back so he can convince himself he's in control. the minute you touch his wet cock, he's trying really hard not to whine but he can't stop it, and it's high and breathy and so not a sound he's ever allowed himself to make. logan is nothing if not a problem-solver, so he slaps a hand over his mouth to shut himself up. you won't have that, so you quickly reach up and dig your nails into his wrist before pinning it back against the bed (he puts up a fight at first, but you squeeze his cock as a warning and he relents).

It's the sharpness of the pain blooming under your fingers that finally convinces him he doesn't need to be his usual self, because this isn't usual sex, and you're not like any of his usual partners.

requests are open! if i should turn this into a full-blown fic lmk >:)))

[itsthestutterforme]

History Repeating 2/2

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI, sexual themes (oral sex, fingering, public sex)

Rafe’s eyes never left you as you get called to and fro the minute you stepped foot at the fundraiser event.

He’s always respected your career as an event coordinator. It’s not for everyone to be bombarded with questions and problems all day like and still expected to hold your composure.

You do it all with such grace. You barely broke a sweat. He waited patiently at a standing table by the bar with your purse slung over his shoulder proudly.

Once things mellowed down, you glided over to Rafe and he greets you with a quick peck. “Hey, Miss Problem Solver,” he teases.

“Hey,” you said with a satisfied sigh, looking around at your work finally paying off before your very eyes.

“Looks like you’ll need a celebratory drink.” “I can’t drink when I’m on the job, Rafe.”

“Well technically your job is over. Everything is planned out and everyone is drinking and having a good time…” he trails off.

You waited for him to continue and when he doesn’t, you look to find him staring at you. His gaze darkened a little and your mouth felt super dry all of a sudden.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I think it’s time you start enjoying yourself,” “But I am enjoying myself,” you defend and he holds your stubborn gaze.

He continues to look at you without saying anything else, his eyes slowly dilated to the size of saucers and the tips of his ears turned red.

Oh.

**

“Rafe, we’re gonna get caught.” You whispered against his lips as he mindlessly locks the door of the conference room behind the two of you.

“We’ll only get caught if you’re loud,” he mumbles into your neck, tugging at the neckline of your dress for more access.

His warm lips grazed your skin as he kissed up the base of your neck until he reached your lips, placing a long kiss on them.

“You know I’m loud, Rafe.”

“I know,” he says with a proud smile, lifting you on the conference table and pushed your dress up over your waist.

“Rafe,” you warned but it came out as a whimper.

Pulling your panties down your legs and stuffed it into his back pocket.

Going down on his knees, he pulls you to the very edge of the table and your hands found the back of his head as he parts your folds with his tongue.

He flattens his tongue over your bundle nerves, making eye contact with you as he sinks two of his fingers inside of you and curled them upwards. Your legs clenched when the tip of his fingers prodded a gspot.

“Fuck,” you groaned, leaning your head against the table.

Only closing your eyes for a moment, Rafe grumbles against you, sucking at your clit harshly.

“Look at me,” he states, waiting until you lifted your head to meet his gaze.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he instructs, increasing the pace of his fingers as he alternated between kitten licking your clit and sucking at it.

Moving your hips against his face, you feel a knot rapidly building in your stomach. His usual blue, ogate eyes were now a crystal green under the dim lighting.

“M’close, Rafe.” You whimpered and the beautiful man that he was kept the exact pace he was doing your orgasm finally came over you.

You closed your legs around his head in an attempt to push him away but he buckled down, twisting his finger downward making you yelp out.

He laughs against you. “Can never stay quiet can you,” he taunts, pulling away from your overstimulated clit.

Your core throbbed when you see your juices drenching everything from his cheeks on down. Moving up your body, he kisses between your breasts as he twists his fingers inside of you.

Ambitious to pull another orgasm for you, he rubs quick circles on your clit with his thumb while continued to finger fuck you. He knew you were close from how your walls were suctioning in his fingers.

Rafe’s dick was painfully throbbing in his pants at the sounds of your soft moans and wet squelching that echoed through the room.

The band in your stomach broke and you went limp in his arms once your orgasm hit you like a freight train.

A loud moan left your lips once you reached your peak and Rafe concealed the sounds by putting a hand over your mouth.

“Goddamn, Y/N. Shut the fuck up,” he whispers into your ear.

“Sorry,” you mumbled into his hand, sighing when he finally pulled his fingers out of you and sucked them dry.

“You couldn’t have waited until we got home?” you croaked when he took his hand away from your mouth.

Not wanting to leave a mess, Rafe leans back down to lick up you juices from your thighs causing you to whine.

“Nope,” he finally answers after relishing in the way you taste.

He brought you to your feet and pulled your dress down so it covered everything.

When he pulled away from you, your legs gave out on you and you fell back into his chest.

Blinking owlishly at him, your grew frustrated at how incoherent you suddenly became.

This is exactly how Rafe wanted you. Brain fuzzy. Slow blinking. Unable to form sentences. Completely fucked out.

“Let’s go home,”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, lifting you in his arms effortlessly and carrying you outside as you thought of an excuse for you to leave.

[miniwheat77]

Wild. (Rudy x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, MINORS DNI! unprotected p in v sex, (sorry if I missed any.)

*not edited*

When people think of Rudy they think of him as a kind, gentle, loving man. And they’re not wrong, not at all. He’s gentle, he’s a good problem solver. He’s good at soothing people when they’re upset in any way. He’s good at de-escalating situations, and he’s a phenomenal getaway driver.

Everyone knows Rudy is a family man, but he doesn’t talk much about his wife. Alejandro has only met her a couple of times and knows that she’s quiet and reserved.

But everything was about to change, because you were coming to work on base as a bookkeeper for Alejandro.

—

When people met you, they were surprised. You were stunning which made sense because of course, Rudy was good looking. But than, talk started around the base.

Alejandro had overheard very gross conversations between a few of his men, making them do push ups and handing out suspensions like candy on Halloween. He didn’t expect Rudy’s wife of all people to be such a big topic. You got plenty of glances from the men on base and it made you uncomfortable and Alejandro was furious obviously. They looked like a pack of hungry wolves and it was absolutely ridiculous behavior.

After about a month or so, everything finally calmed down. Everything slowly started going back to normal, but you were still getting cat called. They would say gross things to you, stare you down. They were ridiculous.

You were sitting in the mess hall, figuring out a spreadsheet and drinking coffee. Rudy and Alejandro were getting coffee, and you were getting frustrated with the conversations you were overhearing from the table near you. “Yeah, I’d hit that. There’s no way Rudolfo is satisfying that.”

That was your last straw. You let out a very exaggerated sigh, standing up and pushing your chair in. Which gathers a few glances from those around you. You stand there with the spreadsheets in your hand. Leaning up against the table with your arms crossed. “You know I’m sitting 5 feet away from you, I can hear absolutely everything you’re saying.” You say. This catches the attention of everyone, including Rudy and Alejandro who are waiting for coffee. “Yeah? So what. Nothing I said was untrue.” He shrugs. He smiles.

You send him a very fake smile.

“Listen.. Sergeant Ramirez right? There’s a reason that none of the women on this base interact with you. Because you’re a total creep who keeps talking about having sex with a married woman.” You laugh. “I don’t know why my sex life is sooooo interesting to you, but since you must know, it’s great. Rudy is satisfying me just fine, I’m a VERY happy wife. But thanks for your.. weirdly obsessive concern.” You step closer, your face only a few inches from his. “If I hear you say “I’d hit that.” One more fucking time, I’m going to hit you right in the jaw with my fist. Am I clear?” You narrow your eyes at him. He’s clearly embarrassed, nodding his head. “Great!” You say. Walking away from your table, down the hall. “Jesus Christ.” Alejandro laughs. “Didn’t realize she had such a fire in her.” Rudy laughs, bringing his coffee up to his lips. “Oh, no tienes idea del tipo de actitud que domino en el dormitorio.” He takes a drink of his coffee, trying not to smile when Alejandro nearly chokes on his. “Jesus Rudy!” He laughs.

“I’m gonna go check on her.” Rudy laughs. He’s not wearing his normal gear yet, still just wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt. Wearing that signature comfortable grey jacket he has. He opens the door to your room, seeing you looking over something. “Hey. You alright, amor?” He breathes. You nod your head. Turning to look at him. “Don’t let them get to you.. they’re just.. immature.”

“They don’t get to me, I just hate that they think you’re so soft.” You narrow your eyes, an evil grin playing at your lips. “The Rudy I know is far more devilish than they know.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah? That’s cause I have to do something to combat that fucking attitude of yours.” He crosses his arms. You roll your eyes. “Fuck you Rudy.” You laugh. “Sí, te gustaría eso, ¿no?” He smirks. “Quizás lo haría.” You reply. He snorts, locking the door behind himself. He pushes his jacket off, discarding it on the floor as he makes his way toward you. He cups your face, kissing you hard. Helping you pull your clothes off, only stopping to tug your shirt off. He reaches for his belt but you stop his hand. “Keep it on.” You breath.

He rolls his eyes.

He grasps your wrist, tugging you until your back is to him. His lips ghosting by your ear. “I forgot..” he chuckles. The fabric of his shirt burns your bare skin. “You like the way it rattles when I fuck you.” He whispers. “I hope you think about the way I fuck you anytime you hear something rattling.” He growls, pushing you down onto the bed. You whine as he pulls your hands behind your back, lining his cock up with your aching hole. When he sinks into you, you’re gasping out. Trying to take in a breath. Turning to look at him. He pushes your hips into the mattress, rutting his hips into you. “Fuck Rudy-“ you gasp. He’s breathing hard as he fucks into you, gritting his teeth. No matter how many times he was inside of you, he’d never get used to it.

He tries to keep you quiet as he rocks his hips into yours but he doesn’t really care who hears at this point anymore. You push your hips back into him, and he smiles as he moves away. “I wanna ride you.” You breathe. He smiles. He sees your chair, sitting down in it and you move quickly sit in his lap, lining him up with your entrance again, moaning as you sink down onto him. He rests his hands on your hips, looking up at you as you start to rock your hips into him. “Fuck..” he sighs. “You’re so fucking good at this.” He breathes. “Siéntete tan jodidamente bien mi amor.” He breathes, looking up at you through his eyelashes. His eyes are dark and loving as he looks up at you. “God, no wonder they think you’re so sweet, stop looking at me like that.” You breath, pushing down on his chest and rocking into him, raising up off of him more, taking more of him down. “Ah-“ he moans, a smile still on his face. “I’m not doing anything.” He mutters. “Yeah you are, you keep looking at me like you love me or something.” You giggle, a gasp leaving your lips as he thrusts up into you. “Maybe that’s just because I love you. Love that attitude, love your personality.” He breathes. “Love this perfect body you have, love the way you make me feel. And god do I love watching you put people in their fucking place.” He gasps. Thrusting up into you faster. You clutch onto the chair for dear life. “Me vuelves loca de mierda.” He gasps, tilting his head back.

You cup his cheeks, kissing him as he holds your hips, thrusting up into you. He can feel you getting tighter around him, and he’s fucked you enough to know that you’re close, so he stands up with you, lays you back on your bed, and hammers his hips into yours until your crying out his name. “Yeah, that’s it. Cum for me.” He breathes. “Muéstrame lo buena chica que eres.” He growls. You reach your peak with a gasp, eyes screwing shut and he pins your hips to the bed so that you can’t squirm away from him as he rides out your high. He grits his teeth, letting out a cry when he reaches his own orgasm. Not pulling out of you even when he knows he should.

He takes a deep breath. Pulling away from you with a sigh, moving himself to lay next to you.

When you make eye contact, he’s got that same look in his eye that makes you laugh. “What?” He rolls his eyes. “Nothing, I love you.” You breathe. “I love you too. Now Cmere.” He breathes, pulling you into him.

A knock at the door has you both going stiff.

“I think you’ve made your point, hermano.”

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless. 

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea. 

is it bad?? 

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words. 

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right. 

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes. 

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor. 

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill. 

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness. 

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes. 

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game. 

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly. 

“Not you, too,” you groused. 

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased. 

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in. 

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there. 

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches. 

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas. 

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence. 

Still nothing. 

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night. 

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good. 

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems. 

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot. 

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after?? 

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink. 

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try? 

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment. 

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly. 

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought. 

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best. 

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill. 

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering. 

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification. 

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again. 

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips. 

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for? 

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

<- Prev | Next ->

thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

[finniestoncrane]

To Use And Abuse

Dano!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 2k Part 2 Here! commission: eddie breaks into the apartment of his no.1 fan to test how much they love him 🐀💚 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: humiliation/degradation, dubcon if you consider the fact he broke in, public sex/streamed sex

The notification lit up your phone. You hadn’t quite been aware of how dark it had become around you as you stared blankly at your TV until the sudden flash temporarily blinded you. But you could forgive the brief headache it caused when you saw what the notification was for. The two words that were sure to make your evening, regardless of what the day had been like, what your plans were, or where you were when they flashed up on the screen.

Incoming Stream

Luckily, you weren’t exactly the most social these days. It was hard to keep up with friends, or even make any, in Gotham. And those that you could get close to were always the first ones to leave. If you were lucky. Otherwise, it was a never-ending succession of funerals, where you were so numbed by constant grief that it was impossible to cry. No friends, Gotham had taken them from you. But luckily, one man was seeking revenge on your behalf. On everyone’s behalf, actually.

Shifting from your sofa to the second-hand and cluttered desk in the corner of your studio apartment, you set yourself up on the kitchen chair that you used for work. You could feel your heart rate rising as you waited for your shitty laptop to come to life, the browser already opening on the login page for the stream you were so excited for. And after a few moments of darkness, there he was. Dimly lit, covered in his mask and glasses. Commanding your attention. The Riddler.

A moniker he had only come up with the week before, it suited him so well. Gotham’s newest vigilante, a man who worked in puzzles and hints, a man who was a problem solver, not one who created them.

Giddy with almost schoolgirl glee, you leaned your elbows on the desk, your chin in your hands, and sighed as you stared at the screen. You were enthralled by him. In love with him really, or whatever was closest to love that you could experience with a stranger through a monitor. So much so that you could picture yourself, filtered in rose hue, a delicate glissando playing from nowhere as you drew a heart around his face with your finger. It felt like a sickeningly sweet moment from a romcom each time you were graced with the honour of listening to one of his sermons. All you wanted was to offer him your adoration and praise.

So, as you did each week, you began to type your feelings into the chat.

Your sermons mean so much to me. You’re truly like a preacher. You speak the good word. There is no God, there is no Gotham, only The Riddler. I worship you. I want to praise you at your feet. You’re our saviour.

Was it overkill? Maybe. But you were desperate for his attention. And not once had he ever given it to you. Others had been given a shout out when they had something to input, but your zealous and continued support and love were overlooked. It was becoming disheartening, but you were far from giving up. If anything, it only made you want him more.

And you knew how ridiculous that was, but far be it from you to care. Not now, not after months of dedicated lust and desire. Even after the stream had ended, you stayed on the site, staring at the empty, black screen. You could make out your reflection. Pathetic, desperate, delusional maybe. Scrolling through the chat, you scowled at the accolades and compliments that were delivered to everyone but you over the course of the brief time that he had been on the screen.

Eventually, you decided to close the tab, instead reverting to your second favourite hobby of scouring through articles about him. His exploits, so much speculation about his identity and his meaning, his future and the potential behind him, comparisons between him and the Batman. So few pictures of him outside of some lazy screencaps. But you were happy to stare at them for hours. You had, in fact. By the time you looked at the clock at the bottom of the screen, two hours had passed.

Reaching up to stretch, mindful of your horrid posture, you were caught on the inhale of a yawn as two hands reached around you. One clamped your mouth, stifling a quick to form scream, the other pressed tight to your sternum, keeping you still.

“You’re shorter than I imagined. Exactly as pathetic as I thought though. Your living arrangements almost make mine seem pleasant.”

You recognised his voice instantly, your ears and brain immediately catching on, your heart following quickly behind as its pace quickened, blood pumping vigorously, pulse insane, breath shallow and ragged.

“Oh my god… is it really you?”

He let out a soft giggle, his fingers tensing where they held you.

“You tell me, sweetie.”

Letting go of you finally, he watched as you sank into the chair and fell to the floor, clumsily pulling yourself up to stand in front of him. You couldn’t tell what his expression was below the mask, but you could only imagine it was a cruel grin from the way his eyes lit up behind his glasses.

“How… How did you… my door was locked… There was no information on my account… Everything was behind so many layers of security.”

 “Oh-ho-ho! You silly thing. Did you not realise I’d find you?”

“How… How did-”

“Because I’m not a fucking idiot! That’s how. Did you really think you were protected by your pathetic security measures? That site was my kingdom!”

His voice flitted from the tones of anger to a lilting tune, as he delivered the next words in a taunting singsong, wagging his finger with the tempo of the tune.

“And I know everything that goes on in there.”

As you stuttered over confusion, trying to decide if you were more scared or more excited that the object of your obsessive desires was in front of you, he shook his head and sighed.

“Not quite the welcome I expected, a bit of a let-down like everything else in this world. I thought you said you wanted me here?”

He was stifling a giggle, his voice pitched high and strung with giddy glee.

“You do want me here, right? You weren’t lying? Because, heh…” the brief pause that he took to scoff, a derisive laughter that seemed to come from a place of sincere contempt, had you trembling slightly. Whether with anticipation, excitement or genuine terror you couldn’t be sure. Likely all three.

“…you know how I feel about liars!”

The sharp increase in volume was unexpected, but it was the way that he grabbed your waist and pushed you against the wall that made you choke on your breath. The gasp brought sharp and freezing cold air into your throat, not quite reaching your lungs. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, a deep heat spreading through your abdomen, a distinct throb in your clit as you fought the urge to toss your head back and beg him to take you there and then.

Staring back at him, his eyes glinting, the only part of his face you could make out, you bit at your lip. Hidden behind the thick material was a hidden stranger, someone you might never know. He could be anyone, and the thrill of mystery had you salivating. You instinctively leaned into it. He was so unpredictable, committed to danger. There was no telling how wrong this could go if you displayed your desire to submit to him. But you couldn’t help yourself.

“I-I’m not lying… I do want you here. I’m glad you’re here!”

Taking note of the tone in your voice, he felt his heart flutter. You weren’t lying, you were sincere. And you were his for the taking, as evidenced by how desperate you looked, how wide your pupils were, the way your chest heaved, back arching against the wall towards him.

“Then show me.”

His leather-gloved hands were on your shoulders, pushing you to your knees, and you followed easily putting up no fight. Once you were on the ground, you stared up at him expectantly, ready to obey his next command.

“Bow down then, worship me.”

As you slowly lowered yourself to the ground, you felt the sudden pressure of his weight between your shoulders. He pushed you down further, your chest and stomach flush with the ground, his heavy boot refusing to let up.

“Lick them.”

You looked up at him, expecting to meet his eye, the view blocked instead by his cell phone which pointed down at you. It was difficult to avoid the lens as it focused on you, recording your sudden flushed cheeks and trembling lip.

“Show them all how great you think I am. Lick my boots, that’s what you’re all about, huh?”

He watched you staying there, completely still, clearly in need of some more encouragement.

“Or are you suddenly so shy?”

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, straining his ear towards you, placing a hand behind it dramatically.

“Hm? I can’t hear you, little princess. Speak up. Or start licking.”

Still unsure of what to do, your mind telling you to hold off a moment longer, your body trying to follow his demands with foolish zeal, your hesitation brought out a softer side of him. With the camera of his phone still pointed directly at you, he lowered himself briefly to you. His gloved hand brushed your dark bangs away from your face briefly, his wide eyes fixed on yours as he thumbed your cheek. And his voice was surprisingly gentle and cooing, in contrast to the sickening words that it spoke.

“Don’t embarrass yourself in front of the stream. I’m sure they already think you’re a pathetic little slut, you don’t want them to think you’re an idiot too. Or are you? Are you just a stupid girl whose desperate cunt gets hot and wet and throbs at the first sign of a man who takes action?”

You could feel yourself nodding, agreeing with him despite your own morals and ethics shouting against it.

“Well, that’s good news then! Be the stupid little bitch you are and start. Licking. My. Boots.”

You looked directly into the lens of the camera before lowering yourself, determined to give them a show. Committed to letting everyone, not just the Riddler, know how keen you were to please him. And staring into his eyes, you pressed your tongue out, mouth wide and ready. And finally, you let the tip flick over the toe of his boots. A sensation he surely wouldn’t have felt through the thick material, but which made him throw his head back with a sigh regardless.

With a moan, you covered more of the surface area in your saliva, satisfied, body aching with want as you listened to his breath hitch. It stopped suddenly though, his head lowering back down to catch your eyes, his hand on the back of your head, pulling you up.

“See? That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. That’s a good, stupid, pathetic girl. And who do you worship? Who do you belong to?”

“You, sir.”

As you nodded, he mimicked you, his nods more frantic, almost cruel in the way he seemed to be mocking you. Soothing over your cheek with his hand before slapping it twice, you could see the edges of his mask shift as he smiled wide.

“What a good little bitch you are.”

Hooking his thumb over your bottom lip, he felt his chest hitch as you began sucking it. Clearly well trained, even if he had no part in it. There was a lot to you that he was keen to explore, physically and mentally. There was every chance that you would make the perfect subservient captive, a plaything to relieve his stress at the end of a busy day of his own brand of vigilante justice. His disgusting, pathetic slut. His to use and abuse. And you’d probably thank him for it. The thought of which sent a twitch through his cock, which had begun to harden the minute you had opened your whorish mouth and done exactly as he’d commanded. If only the rest of Gotham would bend to his will so easily.

[intrepidacious]

three: every day's a holiday [3/3]

» time after time series: chapter three

this is a repost of my time loop fic in shorter parts for greater reading convenience. please refer to the series masterlist for more context.

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 3.1k

chapter warnings: one last reminder to internalize the premise of the fic, i will just assume you know what’s up from this point on; canon-typical violence; mention of alcohol; some more permanent damage; even more banter. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

Four more days pass something like this: You tell Bucky, who makes you promise not to say anything to Sam, and then you fail to change anything of significance. Hours of research amount to nothing more than finding out the keycode to open the wall on the first floor. It’s somewhat of a relief. Ever since the ceiling incident, you haven’t been keen on moving through the tunnels unless absolutely necessary.

It doesn’t help that Bucky keeps acting shifty whenever you show him his handwriting.

You wait two days before you get a hand mirror and awkwardly copy down his letters. It’s not a long phrase, only two words: скажи ей. It doesn’t tell you a whole lot to google it, only makes you frown at your laptop. Tell her.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” you test the following morning. The letters have started to fade, no matter how careful you are.

Bucky doesn’t meet your eyes when he says, “Not now.” He doesn’t mention it again later.

And then there’s the coffee.

You don’t tend to vary a lot with your own order, or with Sam’s, who really prefers the iced teas anyway, but introducing Bucky to different ways of taking his coffee is the one part of your day you’re allowing yourself a little lightness.

At heart, you’re a problem-solver, and right now, this seems like the only problem you have any control over.

He likes caramel, but doesn’t prefer it over vanilla. Texture is more important to him than temperature, and you find out he likes oat milk almost by accident. It’s a tiny victory.

The rest still sucks.

“We need to find these damn cameras,” you tell Bucky as you kick Riff in the head. “Maybe if they don’t see us coming, they don’t send a whole squadron at once.”

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Sam’s voice sounds through the comms.

“We stayed out of the cameras’ range,” Bucky shouts over the cacophony of shots hitting the shield. “That’s not our problem.”

Damnit. If it’s not the cameras, either, something else entirely must trigger the alarm. Another idea down the drain. “Now!”

Down goes the blaster gun, quickly followed by your friend with the knife. Your heart is beating in your throat. Less than two minutes until the computers blow, and then the timing game truly begins. “Let’s move!” you say. “Just stay close to me.”

The copy. The explosion. Blaster gun getting back up. Jesse James by the far wall. The idiot with the explosives near the tunnel entrance. It’s like the most depressing clockwork on the planet, tuned precisely to the second. You get a bit farther each time you rewind it, but as soon as you’ve taken care of all the eventualities you’ve encountered, you enter dangerous waters.

Because as soon as you shoot your last checkpoint, anything could happen. And the not knowing is what’s killing him.

Bucky is walking ahead of you, his heavy breaths the only sound reverberating off the tunnel walls. The silence makes you want to scream, but you just bite your lip raw and keep your finger on the trigger, wearily watching the ceiling, the dancing shadows along the walls, his back. Every step further into the unknown has you more on edge.

When you hear a swooshing sound, you raise your gun instantly, but Bucky holds his hand over the muzzle. The fact that it’s the right one makes you freeze.

“Why the hell aren’t you answering me?” Sam yells at you, and a cloud of dust whirls up when his feet hit the floor heavily. “I thought you were dead!”

“Not quite yet,” Bucky murmurs, throwing him the shield back without a glance, without stopping for a second.

You lower your gun. “Comms broke,” you say shortly, daring another look over your shoulder. Still nothing. “I thought you were getting our ride ready.”

“I was, before the two of you went radio silent on me,” Sam grumbles, reattaching his shield. “I took another look uphill, too, there’re even more heading down here.”

And don’t you know it. Your steps quicken somewhat.

Another turn and you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, catch a stripe of reddish twilight in the distance that makes your heart beat even faster. Just as you’re about to dare a sigh of relief, you can see Bucky’s shoulders tense out of the corner of your eye.

You don’t think, moving purely out of instinct. You dive towards him, throwing your own body over his side as if it could be enough of a barrier against this curse. He tumbles, metal arm automatically clenched around your waist.

Not again. Not when you’re so close you can smell it.

You don’t even know where the shot comes from. All you know is the pain exploding in your side.

Even without your doing, time passes so terribly slowly.

Your mouth is opened wide, even though no sound comes out. Sam shouts something, but you can’t make out his words. The only thing you can focus on is the blood slowly spreading on Bucky’s vest, and his eyes, wide and wild. He catches you as your knees buckle.

“Y/N!” Your name falls from his lips like a cry.

There are at least five more shots before your world goes dark.

And then you gasp awake, blinking at the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Your hands fly to your side and you bite down a whimper at the searing pain. For once, it’s your own blood covering your palms when you carefully lift up your top to inspect the wound. The bullet seems to only have grazed you before lodging itself into Bucky, but you’re still bleeding profusely.

Stumbling to your bathroom, you grab the first clean towel you can find and hold it under a stream of warm water before applying pressure. Tears well up in your eyes at the sting. The music keeps going and going, but you still stifle your sobs in your shoulder. And then—

“Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass kicked!”

You take a few unsteady breaths, trying to free your blocked nose. “I don’t feel so good today, Sam!”

Your bedroom door opens and you quickly slam the door to your tiny bathroom shut with your foot before he sees you.

“Come on, Y/L/N,” you hear him right outside your door. Inches away from you, and from your bloody bed sheets. “You already bailed on our run yesterday, don’t leave me hangin’ again.”

You almost laugh through gritted teeth. For you, it’s been a good month since you went with him on one of your weekly runs. Last Thursday, you’ve given some whimsy excuse you can’t even remember anymore; that was only yesterday.

“Sorry,” you say, your voice wobbling a bit. “I’m not feeling so hot today.”

There’s a prolonged silence on the other side and you can’t decide if you’re silently begging him to leave or to come in, pressing the towel into your side so hard it almost makes you sick. The music turns off.

A rustling noise has you blink through your tears, staring at the door as if you could will a window into it. It’s followed by some soft thumps and more swishing, before you hear steps stop in front of the bathroom again.

“I’ll make you a hot water bottle,” Sam says gently. “Do you need anything else?”

You press the back of your hand against your mouth to muffle your whimper. The green symbols sting your nose. “No,” you manage softly. “Thank you.”

Surely, the universe is laughing at you.

When you emerge from the bathroom, an improvised towel tourniquet wrapped around your torso, you find your bed made. Sam must have stripped your bloody sheets and stuck them in the laundry basket. The gesture almost makes you start crying again.

It doesn’t seem like it’s the first time he’s done something like this, but it’s the first time he’s done it for you. You think about Sarah, and you can’t help but wonder when he’s going to see her again. If he’s ever going to see her again.

You stopped changing your sheets days ago. It’s always the same ones when you wake up.

Almost unconsciously, you find yourself drawn towards the shelves on the other side of your room. The book is still there, still mocking you with its cheerful cover. No matter how many times you put it away, it always ends up in the wrong spot. Your fingers trace the broken spine. The Wind in the Willows.

I’ll be here when you’re done acting like a child.

Your throat constricts when you realize there might be only one way out of this.

* * *

You don’t know how long you stand there, gaze unfocused, trying and failing to think of any other solution. The only other one you have left is Sam, and you first have to convince Bucky to tell him. Despite it all, you’re not about to start breaking promises.

When you open the door to your bedroom, you’re greeted by a whining ball of fur.

“Not now, Alpine.”

She meows at you pitifully, running around your legs repeatedly until you almost trip up the stairs.

“You are a hellcat from hell,” you murmur, picking her up with one hand, wincing at the stretch. Immediately, she digs her claws into your forearm and you hiss. “Fine. Fine! You brought this on yourself,” you tell her and carry her out to the hall, not too gently putting her down and locking her out of the living area.

You have more urgent things to take care of than Bucky’s stupid, egotistical piece of work of a cat.

“Hey.”

You flinch and then curse quietly at the stabbing pain just below your ribs.

“Sorry.” Bucky strolls a bit closer, his steps louder now, before he leans against the wall next to you. “You look like shit.”

You make yourself look at him. This is the part that somehow never gets any easier. His eyes are so blue in the morning light, his hair auburn at the tips. “I need to talk to you.”

The letters on your arm have almost faded into nothing, but he still believes you.

“What about you, and Sam?”

Always that question. “We’re fine,” you say, like you always do, but he’s too good at reading you. The way you hold yourself, the faint tear tracks you haven’t washed away, the bulky shirt you barely managed to button with one hand.

His expression hardens and softens at the same time. “Where?”

“Don’t—” you start, but the blood loss makes you dizzy, and his eyes drag you under like a current. You’re so tired.

“Tell me.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you as you lift up your shirt, careful not to touch your makeshift bandage. It’s not working very well, the red tinge on the towel still growing at a sickening rate. Bucky curses under his breath.

You’re not sure how you get to the med ward in only a few seconds, but you’re still dazed when he loosens his grip around you and starts rummaging through the cupboards.

“Don’t get up,” he says sternly, and you drop your head back on the cot.

So damn useless.

“This is gonna hurt, doll,” Bucky says before peeling the towel off your skin in one smooth move.

Turns out he’s right. Your fingers dig into your thigh, your teeth clenched tightly.

“Did you disinfect this at all before you mummified yourself?” Your tense silence is answer enough. “Oh, for the love of god.”

Despite the sharpness in his tone, his fingers are surprisingly soft against your skin as he skilfully, methodically cleans out your wound and applies a fresh layer of gauze. It makes your eyes water.

It’s only when he’s finished with your new tourniquet and he sits down on the floor in front of you that you notice the light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Are you okay?” you whisper.

Bucky’s jaw doesn’t unclench with his mirthless chuckle. His wild ocean eyes remain fixed on your side. “This is because of me,” he says, and you can almost taste the undercurrent of loathing in his words.

“That’s not true.” This is no one’s fault but your own.

“Not worth that.”

“Hey,” you say, and the edge in your voice makes him look at you. “The ‘no self-deprecation’ thing wasn’t my idea, so I’d appreciate you sticking to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Well, tough,” you say after a beat. “‘Cause that’s just how it is.”

You count the ticks of the clock outside until you lose track of the numbers before you commit to your decision. “I’m going to talk to Strange.”

Bucky presses his lips together. “Are you sure?”

“No, but I’m out of my depth.” Laughing still hurts. “And we’re going to tell Sam.” You can see him open his mouth, so you continue talking before he can protest. “I promised that I would tell you first, and I’ve done that. We’ve been at this for almost a week, I can’t do it anymore, I just can’t fucking do it anymore.”

Hot tears threaten to spill and you turn your head towards the ceiling in angry embarrassment.

“We can’t do this alone, we don’t work together, we don’t, we—we need Sam. Maybe he can think about something we don’t. But I’m tired, Buck. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“I’m sorry.” There’s a weight to it that makes your insides ache.

“Me too.”

You’ve never felt so powerless in your life, but you still reach out to him, slowly, your hand shaking. He interlaces his fingers with yours calmly, easily, and the warmth of it travels up all the way to your cheeks.

* * * * *

“They do have a point,” you said, scrolling through another news article about ULTIMATUM. You’d changed into slightly more dignified clothes and were now perched over your phone in one of the leather office chairs in the meeting room, knees tucked under your chin, your second cup of coffee perilously balanced on the armrest.

“So did Karli Morgenthau,” Sam said. “Doesn’t mean the way they go about making it is right.”

You hummed in agreement, zooming in on one of the pictures. The girl in the white jacket in its center wasn’t Karli, but she did remind you of her. She had the same defiant hold of her chin that you’d seen on the news so many times, the same soft, angry way of holding herself. The reporters had picked up on it, too. They didn’t know her name yet, didn’t even know if she was going to try to fill her footsteps or if it was a mere coincidence that made her the focal point of the photographs, but they’d still resorted to calling her the New Flag Smasher.

As if they were all the same.

“What I still don’t get is why you would need me. I mean, he’s right.” You nodded at Bucky. “You have done this sort of thing before. I haven’t.”

“You’ve done a pretty decent job at these kinds of extraction missions in the past, though,” Sam said. “And unlike Sergeant Grumpy Cat over here, I’m still a full-time human with a will to live. I don’t trust the methods these people use, so we could use an extra pair of hands.”

The irony of his phrasing didn’t escape you.

“So I’m your worst-case solution,” you clarified. “Charming. How do you even know you can trust me? We don’t know each other, I’m sure there’s other people, better agents you can—”

“Steve did.” It was Bucky who said it, and the surprise made you stop talking. “Trust you.”

“And what does that matter? Steve’s gone.” You dug your nails into your palms so hard it hurt. “They’re all gone, so what difference does it make, really, if he trusted me, or didn’t, or you do. The world’s gonna keep moving either way, and we still can’t change that. I can’t change that.”

“So what’s your—”

You took a deep, shuddering breath. When you held it, so did the world. Sam’s hand froze mid-air, his sentence unfinished, and Bucky became even more still, his face turned towards the floor.

Your tears fell in the quiet of a standing universe, unexpected and angry, with no one there to witness them. It took you a few minutes to calm down again, to rub at your cheeks until your eyes finally dried up again. In the silence, you realized something, almost through a haze.

With one last critical look at your reflection on your phone screen, you released your hold and everything started to move again. Sam grabbed his mug, the same one you’d kept him from breaking earlier.

“—plan, then?” he finished his question calmly, taking a sip. “Do nothing instead, because nothing matters?”

“He’s put you up to this, hasn’t he?” you said tonelessly. “Steve. You said he’s the one who told you about me. What else did he say?”

“To remind you you still owe Captain America a favor,” Sam answered.

Of course he’d done that.

You sat in silence again, but this time the AC kept whirring and Bucky kept tapping his mug with his metal fingers, the coffee untouched. It was a breathing kind of quiet.

“Well, good thing Walker’s out of a job, then.” You took another breath and reached for the coffee pot. “What do you need me to do?”

“What is it you can do, exactly?” Bucky asked.

You looked at Sam. “What did you tell him?”

“That you’re a trained S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with the kind of abilities we can use,” he replied, a sly smile on his face. At least he stuck to the official story.

You contemplated the pair of them. They were both good men, trustworthy, loyal; according to Steve, at least. Then again, you’d never had cause to doubt his judgment before.

Well. Not until the end.

“What I can do stays between us,” you said finally, crossing your arms. “That’s my one condition.”

Sam knew already, anyway, so it was really up to Bucky. He leaned forward on his elbows, vibranium fingers interlocking with his flesh ones, blue eyes narrowed in on you. “To do what, exactly?”

“Save you a few broken bones and bullet wounds.” You clearly intrigued him, and you couldn’t quite hide the smug look spreading on your face. “What do you say, Barnes? Think you can trust me?”

part 1 | part 2 | series masterlist

[rotyoursoul]

Imagine

Illumi’s feelings for his unyielding (captive) darling have become taxing. Thankfully, he is a problem solver. [TW: YANDERE themes / Minors DNI]

“So, which will it be, death or needle? I would make your death painless but I cannot guarantee the same with my needle.”

Your mouth is sealed shut and has been this way for a while as Illumi tried to coax an answer from you.

“I can help you decide if you’d like. I, personally, would prefer the needle. Your death would leave me… empty, but without distraction. The needle would allow you and I to coexist. However, I can see how this option may not appeal to you.”

After a another beat, you pick before he can choose for you. At least you’d have one last round of autonomy before the needle was nestled into your skull.

“Perfect.” He concludes, all business. “Yes, my apologies. This may hurt but not for very long.”

[teawithghosts]

Get to know your mutuals!

Got tagged by @wishfulsketching! Let's do this~

What's the origin of your blog title?

I honestly can't remember but it's been the one that has stuck with me the longest.

OTP(s)+ shipnames(s):

Zaundads and Jayvik (Arcane), Hartwin (Kingsman), BayoJean (Bayonetta), Hankcon (Detroit: Become Human), Cherik (any rendition of Xmen foreverrrrr)

I was trying to remember which were my oldest and it's a toss up between Zelgadis/Amelia (The Slayers) and Xena/Gabrielle (Xena: Warrior Princess)

Favourite color:

I'm an all shades of purple kinda gal but I do love me a teal from time to time.

Song stuck in your head:

This one specific rendition of Malagueña Salerosa

Weirdest habit/trait:

i fucking love eating freezer ice

Hobbies:

the usual reading, gaming, cross stitching, writing, drawing i used to do archery and i miss it so much...

If you work, what's your profession?

my family and I run a bakery/cake shop (I did the math the other day and I make 24 cheesecakes a week)

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?

I'd like to think there's an AU version of me out there that's a published author. That or a funeral director cuz funerals here in Spain fucking suck.

Something you're good at:

My mother often said I'm a good problem solver so I'll go with that.

Something you hate:

'proship DNI' culture

people who yuck people for their yum in general

The commodification and girlbossing of Persephone's myth.

No wind in the air. No even a breeze.

Something you collect:

I'm quite fond of the collection of NMBC Sally merch I've acquired throughout the years.

Something you forget:

to call my dad

What's your love language:

i'll throw hands in a parking lot

Favourite movie/show:

Movies: Rocky Horror Picture Show, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Kingsman, Into the Spiderverse, Death Becomes Her, Blazing Saddles, Millennium Actress

TV: The Venture Bros, (Go Team Venture ✌️😭) Interview with the Vampire, Haunting of Hill House, Arcane, Twin Peaks, Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Favourite food:

I could eat ramen forever.

Favourite animal:

octopi and bears reign supreme!!!

What were you like as a child:

"She's so good! She barely makes a sound!" was something I heard a lot growing up. I was fiercely shy but liked that people found me funny so I leaned heavily on wanting to make people laugh. I enjoyed my own company and my imaginary friend was Basil of Baker Street.

Favourite subject at school:

English lit. I remember when it finally clicked and how much I enjoyed picking apart the themes and symbolism.

Least favourite subject:

German. My teacher said that since I was already bilingual i was just too lazy to learn another language.

What's your best character trait?

I do like making people laugh

What's your worst character trait?

how i express my anger

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

I really wish my grandfather was still around.

ALRIGHT! time to tag!

@glitteryrainbows @ballowvalence @poltergeist-punk @artknifeandglue @silcobrainrot

[liliansun]

no bc i can see sal being called a brat by jeno and getting it so rought and hello?? body worship was made for jaemin idc and yes haechan and renjun switches bc yes. and mark. whoo that boy is an enigma

minors dni!!

jeno would be so spiteful with it too but he’s so damn hot that anyone and everyone would drop their panties in a heartbeat if he said it. and omg JAEM w body worship,, dear lord and he’d watch you stare at his arms and he’d smirk and let you feel him up as he’s feeling you up and ooooo jesus. and don’t even get me started on the submissive twins. jun would be an unexpected switch,, twitching and squirming under your touch till he has no choice but to submit but haechan?? he wants you to force him to submit. he’ll fight you for dominance just to see you take control and fuck does he enjoy it every time. and mark,, dear lord i need to know what the fuck he meant when he said he has a really big problem bc i can be a problem solver?? i can figure out what x and y is,, i can help???!!!

[willalove75]

New Girl on the Pitch Ch. 3 Charity Benefit

Pairing: Rebecca Welton x f!reader

Summary: Your friend Keeley brings you in as the team's social media manager, Rebecca is impressed, in more ways than one.

Words:

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI

Tags: flirty, fluff, slow burn

Notes: Chapter 3, this one is longggg hehe

You walk into the office carrying more stuff in your arms than usual, the annual charity benefit is tonight and you won't have time to go home and get ready. Along with your usual work bag, you have your dress, draped in plastic, the box with your new heels in it, your makeup bag and another small bag filled with your supplies to do your hair. You have a long day ahead of you including trying to organize the teams social media accounts, as well as promoting the charity benefit throughout the day.

You hang your dress on the back of the door and put your stuff down and pull out your laptop. You post to the teams Instagram story hyping up tonight's musical guest Robbie Williams and go to check the other accounts. Your phone rings and you see "Higgins" pop up on the screen.

"Good morning Higgins!" You say as you pick up the phone.

"Good morning y/n." He says nervously.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, picking up on his nerves.

"Well, uh, yes, actually, well, um, so," he stammers.

"Higgins, what's wrong?" You're concerned, but you can't help but find his demeanor adorable.

"So I saw the post about Robbie Williams.”

"Oh shit did I spell his name wrong or something?" You go to check the post again.

"No, no, it's more like, um, well he just called and isn't able to make it tonight."

"Oh shit."

"Oh shit is right. So um, I'm on my way to tell Rebecca and-"

"Oh god she doesn't know yet?"

You hear Higgins gag over the phone "Uh, no, not yet."

"Do you want me to meet you by her office?"

You hear a sigh of relief on the other end "Yes, that would be good. I'm walking up to the building now."

"On my way."

You hang up, grab your notebook and head up to Rebecca's office. You see Higgins walk through the doors and you give him a wave. You feel so bad for the man, Rebecca fucking hates him, you don't understand why because he's so sweet. She might kill him after telling her the news.

You both walk up the stairs and Higgins takes a deep breath and turns to you, you give him a thumbs up and he walks straight into her office, you're taken back by his sudden burst of confidence.

"We have a huge problem, Robbie Williams canceled."

You walk up next to him and Ted and you see Rebecca, her hair pulled back, donning a grey fleece bathrobe, cringe with anger.

"Oh no, who is that?" Ted asks and looks over at you. You shrug your shoulders in an "I don't know" and he nods his head at you and turns his attention back to Rebecca.

Rebecca tells Higgins that he is going to be the one who finds someone else to replace Robbie. He says something about being a "world-class problem solver" as he tosses his phone up in the air, catches it, fumbles it and grabs it between his fingers before it hits the floor.

"Nice catch" You say with amusement.

Ted compliments Higgins and tells him Rebecca is grateful for all of your hard work as she looks over at him, she doesn't have to speak, from her body language alone you know she's saying "what the fuck?" to Ted. Ted turns around and looks at Rebecca's expression, he continues to smile at her as she turns her attention back to the rack filled with beautiful, expensive gowns. You feel a little insecure knowing you bought your dress on clearance at ASOS as you look at the gowns hanging in front of you.

"Ted I really am busy." Rebecca says to him as she pulls out a dress, analyzes it for a second, frowns, and puts it back on the rack.

"Okay we'll I'll get outta your hair. See you tonight!" He turns around and walks out.

You feel a wave of awkwardness wash over you as you realize it's just you and Rebecca left in her office. You watch her comb through the gowns, tea cup in hand. Even in a bathrobe this woman's figure is incredible. When you wear a bathrobe, you look like you're wearing a literal potato sack. "Rupert is a fucking moron" you think to yourself.

Rebecca looks over at you and back at the rack.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, so before I heard about the Robbie situation, I put up an Instagram story advertising him as our musical guest. So, should I take it down?"

"Oh shit." She says as she walks over to her laptop. "How many people saw it?"

You check your phone and look at the viewers.

"200 people."

"Shit. Uh, just, leave it up, fuck it. We'll figure something out later."

"Once we get a new musical guest I can advertise them instead and do something like 'we have a surprise musical guest!' and just say whoever it is and put in small font all the way at the bottom that Robbie had an emergency and had to cancel and we wish him the best. Or something like that."

"Yes! Good! Perfect we'll do that."

Rebecca is definitely not herself, she's been talking fast, has been hyper and fidgeting like a child bored at school.

"You okay?" You ask.

"Me? Yes. I'm absolutely fine. I feel quite mellow actually."

She is the actual opposite of mellow right now.

You turn your attention to the rack and look at the dresses.

"Do you know which one you're gonna wear?" You ask her.

"No, I don't know, I might not wear any of these, I might wear something entirely different." She sounds like she's spiraling a little as she goes through the rack again. One dress in particular catches your eye. You gently take the hanger off of the rack and hold it up.

"What about this one?"

You hold up a beautiful black and gold gown, you can tell just by looking at it that this dress would perfectly, and tastefully, show off her gorgeous hourglass figure.

"Oh, no," she says shaking her head. "I don't think I can pull that one off anymore."

You can't help but let out a laugh that takes Rebecca by surprise.

"Are you serious?" You ask her. She begins to stumble over her words when you interrupt. "I think that's insane that you think that, you can absolutely pull this one off."

You can tell by the way she looks at the dress that she loves it, but you see an insecurity behind her eyes.

"If you don't want to wear it, that's fine. But if you don't wear it because you 'don't think you can pull it off'" you say imitating her voice in a terrible British accent. "I think that would be nuts. I think you'll look amazing in this dress." You say as you hold it up and admire it.

You look over at Rebecca, who's looking at you, with surprise and amusement on her face. Between you being honest and telling her you think she's nuts and imitating her voice, she's a little taken back.

You return the dress to the rack, a little embarrassed.

"So, I'll see you tonight." You say with finger guns, you immediately regret doing that and drop them. You look down at your hands and back up at her, now you want to crawl under a rock and hide.

"Okay, uh, bye." You spin on your heels and head out the door, "finger guns, what the fuck." You say to yourself as you walk out.

"See you tonight." Rebecca responds, you notice she has amusement in her voice this time, a welcomed change, if you didn't just completely embarrass yourself.

Rebecca watches you leave and hears you say under your breath "finger guns, what the fuck." She has to hold her laugh in as she looks you up and down as you walk away.

The day comes and goes and it's time to get ready. You pull out your arsenal of cosmetics and do your makeup, praying to the makeup gods that it turns out half decent. You finish your makeup and fix your hair, you pin one side back and let soft curls fall to your shoulders. With your hair and makeup done, you grab your dress and shoes and get changed in the bathroom.

You stop and look at yourself in the mirror after you change, admiring your dress. Red usually doesn't look great on you, but this shade is almost perfect. You appreciate how the strapless dress shows off your collarbones but has just enough lift to make your boobs look nice too. You fix the gold necklace you also got from ASOS and look down to see your toes and gold heels peeking out from underneath the floor length dress. You take a deep breath and grab your stuff and go to leave.

You walk out with the plastic, your clothes from the day and the shoebox in your hand and walk past Ted.

"Woah there someone call Tyra because we got Richmond's Next Top Model in the building!"

You lightly blush "Thank you Ted."

You throw your stuff in your office and grab your purse and head out to the benefit. You walk towards the crowd of photographers as you make your way to the red carpet. You see Keeley, looking beautiful, as always, and Jamie. He is handsome, but he's so immature, you roll your eyes as he opens his suit jacket, further confirming he was not wearing a shirt and touches his nipples. You get to the entrance of the carpet and see Rebecca, she wore the black and gold dress and goddamn, does she look good. The way that dress hugs her hips makes your mouth water. She looks nervous as she whispers to Keeley. She poses and rushes off of the carpet. You make your way on, pose awkwardly, you've never had to do this before, and head in.

You're greeted with a glass of champagne as you walk through the doors, which you happily take and start drinking. You make your way over to the seating chart and go to turn and find your table. As you turn you see Rebecca out of the corner of your eye and redirect to turn towards her. She looks like she stopped in her tracks looking at you. You see her eyes wander up your body and meet yours. She looks both surprised and embarrassed so you try to cut the awkwardness down as much as you can.

"Hey!" You say, walking towards her, pretending you didn't notice her checking you out. "You wore the dress!" You gesture to the dress and look her up and down, fuck she's so hot.

"Yes, I decided to take a chance." She says, sipping her glass.

"Well, it certainly paid off."

"You look amazing too." Gesturing to your dress.

"Oh, thanks, it's not designer or anything, but I got a good deal and it wasn't the worst dress I tried on."

"Where did you get it?" She inquires, looking intrigued.

"Uh," you think for a second about lying but you can't come up with another place fast enough. "ASOS."

"Huh" Rebecca looks a little turned off at the mention of it. You two live in completely different worlds. "Well you look beautiful." She says with a smile.

You thank her and head to your table, you're seated with Ted, Beard, Nate, Keely, Jamie and Roy. The vibe at the table is tense to say the least, Jamie and Roy fucking hate each other. You and Keeley chat as the room goes quiet and the night begins. You quickly shoot Higgins a text to see if he's found anyone yet and all you get back is "☠🙀" Yikes.

Rebecca takes the stage and begins her opening speech, she makes a joke about herself and you see Ted give her a thumbs up. As she mentions the auctioning of the players her speech is interrupted by a voice in the back of the room. You all turn and see an older gentleman in a white suit and a shit eating grin. You turn back to see Rebecca, surprised, and a little embarrassed. She shakes it off well enough for the rest of the audience not to notice and introduces Rupert to the crowd. You can tell by his attitude, Rupert is an asshole. He's insanely cocky, full of himself, and kind of a dick. It amazes you that Rebecca married him, no less stayed married to him for 12 years.

The speeches end and the mingling begins. You're standing near the bar talking to Ted when Rebecca and Rupert walk up.

"Ted, y/n, I'd like to introduce you to Rupert Mannion."

You both shake his hand "Please, call me Rupert." as he winks at you. You feel your face twist into a disgusted look but quickly stop and you look over at Rebecca. A little jealousy, and a lot of insecurity crosses her face as she looks at him. Small talk ensues, Ted makes a joke that Rupert laughs just a little too loud at and pats his shoulder. Rebecca drinks her champagne and Rupert makes a comment about how she should slow down. Her face drops at his words and your heart breaks a little for her; he knows how to get under her skin, and he loves it. Rebecca offers for him to run the auction and after putting up a fake fight, he agrees. She goes to walk away and he makes a comment about her dress, how it looks 'youthful' and congratulates her for 'getting back out there'. You can tell his words cut her like a knife.

Just before Rebecca walks away Rupert turns and grabs someone by the arm.

"Ah, there you are."

You turn your attention back to Rupert and freeze, you almost drop your glass as Chris stands next to Rupert.

"Rebecca, darling, before you go, I'd love to introduce you to someone."

Rebecca turns back around and sees Chris. She scans the group quick and see's the familiar look of heartbreak on your face.

"Rebecca, this is Christopher, a brilliant marketing strategist."

Rebecca smiles and shakes his hand.

"Chris," Rupert continues, "This is Ted, and -"

"Y/n, how have you been?" He leans in and kisses you on the cheek, you feel your face get hot as his lips make contact with your skin.

"Oh I didn't realize you two knew each other." Rupert says with a little too much enthusiasm in his voice.

"Yeah, y/n and I go way back." He says with a cocky smile.

As much as you want to deny it, you miss him. A lot.

"So what are you doing-" you begin to say before you get cut off.

"Darling," you hear as long, manicured fingers wrap around Chris' arm.

Just when you think things couldn't get worse, you see Isabella appear next to Chris.

"There you are." She says sweetly into his ear.

You feel your heart drop into your stomach as you look at her. Tall, beautiful olive skin, thick, dark curly hair, beautiful hazel eyes and a smile that would light up the darkest rooms. She is stunning, there's no doubt about that.

"Isabella," you say as she walks into the group.

"Oh hello, how have you been love?" As she leans in and kisses you on each cheek.

"Good, good."

"Well would you look at that! I wasn't expecting a reunion!" Rupert exclaims looking directly at Rebecca.

"How do ya'll know each other?" Ted asks, clueless.

"Well, I did some social media campaigns for Isabella," you say "and Chris-"

"Y/n and I go way back." He cuts in. You glare at him.

"Chris and I actually dated for,” you take a purposeful pause “six years, was it?" You ask looking at him.

"Yeah, something like that." He says as he laughs off the slight embarrassment.

"And a congratulations is in order!" Rupert interrupts as he grabs champagne glasses off of a waiter passing by and hands them to Chris and Isabella.

Both you and Rebecca look at him, confused, and a little on edge.

"Chris?" Rupert gestures to him.

"Oh yes, well Isabella and I have an announcement-"

"We're engaged!" She exclaims as she holds up her left hand, a big, beautiful diamond sitting on her ring finger.

You feel the air leave your lungs, like someone just sucker punched you in the gut.

"Oh wow! Well congratulations you two, that's amazing. Young love, there ain’t nothin like it!" Ted says

"Yes, how wonderful!" Rebecca says with intensity in her eyes.

"Wow, I - I don't know what to say!" You begin. "And all this time I thought you didn't believe in marriage, and that it was 'just a meaningless piece of paper'" you joke as the group laughs.

"Well you know," Chris starts

"You never know what could happen when you find the right person!" Rupert interrupts.

"Yeah, I guess so" you take a sip from your glass. "I guess when you know, you know. I mean, you guys have been together for what, 6 months?" You down the rest of your glass.

"Well, I should go greet the other guests." Rebecca says, breaking the silence. "Y/n, will you come with me, we need pictures for social."

"Absolutely."

"Still doing social media? How cute." Chris says

"It was nice seeing you again Isabella." You say, ignoring Chris. "Congratulations again."

She kisses you on each cheek and you and Rebecca walk away.

You walk next to her in silence, stunned from what just happened. Without realizing it, Rebecca leads you up to the bar.

"You okay?" She asks as you stare into space.

You shake your head and snap out of it.

"Yeah, I'm good," You try to convince both yourself and Rebecca. "He's such a fucking asshole."

"Rupert?"

"No- well, yes actually, he's actually a huge asshole. But I was talking about Chris."

"He seems like a charmer." She says sincerely.

"Obnoxiously charming."

"Rupert was like that too."

You zone out again, reliving the heartbreak, thinking of Chris' smug face when Isabella announced their engagement, thinking about that entire interaction. You snap out of it when you feel a hand between your shoulder blades. You look over and Rebecca has her arm around you with a look of understanding in her eyes.

"Drink?" She asks

"Yes, like fucking six drinks please."

Rebecca orders wine and you ask for a shot, she looks at you, surprised.

"It's the first time I've seen him since he left, I gotta celebrate the occasion somehow." The bartender places the shot in front of you, you cheers with Rebecca and down it. She looks both surprised and impressed.

"I have to go talk to other guests. Are you okay?" She asks

"Yeah, I'm fine, go do your thing."

She walks away and you sit at the bar and order another shot. Keeley walks behind you and wraps her arms around you.

"I'm so sorry love, I can't believe that dickhead showed up here."

"Thanks Keels" You say, leaning into her.

"Fuck that guy!" She says as she hops into the seat next to you. "You look hot as FUCK tonight! We can't let him ruin your night!"

You laugh and pull her in for a hug. Even though she's tiny, Keeley gives the best hugs.

The auction begins and you go back to your table. Jamie is up first and an older woman bids, Keeley bids higher and they go back and fourth. Another woman pipes up and bids on Jamie, you look over and see a beautiful, young woman placing bets. You and Keeley exchange "what the fuck?" looks. Keeley and her go back and fourth and Keeley eventually wins.

A few players in, Keeley gets up to use the bathroom and Jamie waste no time going to flirt with the girl who bet on him. Keeley comes back and finds Jamie with the girl and is rightfully pissed. Roy comes up next for the auction and to your surprise, Keeley bids on him. You know it was to piss off Jamie, and it worked.

You head to the bar for more champagne and you feel someone slide next to you. You look over and see Chris.

"What do you want?" You ask looking forward.

"What's the matter? Can't we be friends?"

"No we can't be friends you asshole! Go away."

"With that attitude you're gonna have a hard time making friends." He says with a wink. "That's what's so great about Isabella, she's so kind, she has such a good heart, she's going to be an amazing wife, and hopefully a mom one day." He looks at you looking for the hurt in you eyes.

"Goodbye Chris." You don't give him the satisfaction as you grab your drink. You down it as you walk towards the exit, hand the empty glass off to a waiter and go outside.

The walk to the doors felt like it was a mile long, the closer you got, the more tears welled up in your eyes and the heavier your chest felt. You desperately try to hold your tears back until you get through the doors. You finally get outside and lean against the brick wall and exhale as tears fall from your eyes. Your breath shakes as you try to hold back sobs, conscious of the fact that you will have to go back inside and you don't want to cry your makeup off.

You hear someone softly call your name.

"Y/n?"

You turn and see Rebecca standing there, you didn't even know anyone else was out here when you walked outside. She walks over to you and gently puts her hand on your arm.

"Are you okay?"

You don't respond right away, you'd be mortified that your boss found you like this if you weren't so upset. You look up at her and notice that she had been crying too. You both stare at each other for a moment, exchanging a knowing look as she wipes away tears that fall onto her cheeks.

You're taken by surprise when she wraps her arms around you and pulls you into a hug, especially since she made a joke during her speech about not being a hugger. You wrap your arms around her as you feel her shaking breath. For someone who isn’t a big hugger, she gives amazing hugs. Her arms feel warm and strong around you, you can tell she needs this just as much as you do. You can smell her expensive perfume on her neck that immediately begins to calm you. Knowing that she’s probably feeling the same way you do right now, you feel safe in her arms.

You think about all of the shit that she's been through. Yeah your situations were similar, but you weren't married to Chris, he only cheated on you with one woman, and it wasn't plastered across every magazine and newspaper. What you've been going through feels fucking impossible, you have no idea how she's still standing.

You both pull away and you wipe the tears and mascara from under your eyes as she does the same.

"How the fuck did you do it?" You say, breaking the silence. "How the fuck are you doing it? Because this shit, is horrible."

She looks up and tries to blink tears away.

"You just do it," she tries to find the right words. "You just get up every day and do what you have to. Even when it hurts, even when you're scared," her voices shakes. "Even when you're scared that everything they said about you is true, you just have to do it." She looks away as tears fall from her eyes, her hand shaking as she wipes them away.

Without thinking twice you wrap your arms around her and hug her again. Rebecca is a little surprised but hugs you back. You feel her relax in your embrace, that last hug was for you, this one was for her. You hear a ding from Rebecca's phone and she lets go of you and checks it and sighs.

"I have to get back, are you coming back in?"

"I'll be there in a minute."

She nods at you with a little smile and goes back inside. You sit outside for a few more minutes and go back in. Keeley is visibly unhappy as Jamie seems clueless, or he just doesn’t care. The event continues and Rupert takes the stage once more to announce how much money was raised, and that he was making his own donation of a million dollars. "He's such a dick." You say under your breath.

Rebecca weirdly introduces the musical guest and some guy, that does not look like he belongs in the room, gets on stage. Ted comes back and you ask when did they find the musician, realizing you never updated the Instagram story.

"About three minutes ago."

You let out a sigh of relief knowing you didn’t fuck up as you listen to the musician, who was surprisingly, really good.

The event finally comes to an end and you walk outside and see Rebecca talking to Ted. She looks over his shoulder and you look to see Rupert leading the girl that bet on Jamie into his car with his jacket around her shoulders. You see Chris' car pull up behind Rupert's and he opens the door for Isabella. You walk over to Rebecca and you see Keeley walk out the door, juggling bottles of champagne and her bag.

"Do you want to go get like, really drunk?"

You and Rebecca look at each other and in unison say "Yes."

Keeley hails a biker with a cart attached to the back and the three of you squeeze in. You later learn its called a “rickshaw” when Rebecca and Keeley poke fun at you for your “Americanness.”

The three of you talk about how shitty the night ended up being, Keeley tells you she broke up with Jamie and you tell her you’re proud of her. You talk about Chris and what happened with Rupert and you start to get upset again. Rebecca holds your hand for comfort, her smooth skin is soothing and the warmth is welcome since your hands are pretty cold at the moment.

You look up into her eyes and her gaze meets yours. You’re not sure if it’s because both of you have been drinking, or because of your shared experience tonight, or all of the above, but for the first time you see the real Rebecca staring back at you. Her caring eyes look into yours, no anger or stress to be seen anywhere on her face. You see her lips curl into a smile as she looks at you with her beautiful green eyes. You could fall for this woman fast, and hard if you had the chance.

You hear the sound of a bottle shattering as you both look over and see Keeley, who looks surprised for a second but the begins to laugh hysterically.

“I tried to, toss the bottle in the bin” she says through laughs “but I missed, and, hit the side of it instead!!”

You and Rebecca burst out laughing along with Keeley. One bottle down, one more to go.

You guys ride around for what feels like hours until you get back to the building where the benefit was held. Rebecca tries to count her cash but ends up just handing the driver a wad of it as you get out. Keeley says her goodbyes as a friend of hers picks her up and leaves you and Rebecca there alone.

“How are you getting home?” She asks

“I was just gonna walk, my flat isn’t too far from here.”

“Well that’s certainly not happening.” She says.

She calls another rickshaw over and climbs in and you follow her. You give the driver your address as Rebecca texts her driver so she can get picked up.

The ride is short, but the alcohol begins to wear off, along with the warmth that comes with it. Rebecca notices how cold you get and she wraps her arm around you. You quietly chat about nothing in particular on the ride to your flat. The rickshaw pulls up and Rebecca asks to wait until her driver gets here and hands him another wad of cash. You’re surprised at how much cash this woman carry’s, and how she gives it away so effortlessly. You can’t imagine what that’s like given you practically live paycheck to paycheck.

You see headlights pull up behind you as Rebecca’s driver approaches.

“Alright, that’s my ride.” She says looking at you.

You look into her eyes for a moment.

“Thank you.” You say.

“Thank you.” She says back.

She doesn’t move her arm that she’s had around you for the whole ride, neither of you really want to leave. The rickshaw driver turns around and looks at the both of you and you go to get out.

Before your foot hits the ground you stop yourself and turn back into the cart. You look at Rebecca for a second and lean in and kiss her. She’s shocked at first and isn’t quite sure how to respond, but she quickly pulls you into her and kisses you back, hard. Her soft, plump lips on yours, they were stiff at first but now they’ve loosened up as she kisses you back. You grab a little handful of hair behind her head, trying not to completely ruin her up-do and you feel her do the same. Your heartbeat races as your lips continue to interlock, you feel her breathing get heavier. You gently suck on her bottom lip as a moan escapes from her mouth. You feel a wetness between your legs form as she moans into your mouth. You slide the tip of your tongue between her lips and greet hers. Your tongues dance around each other as she puts her hand on your waist and pulls you in closer. You slide one hand up the slit of her dress on the outside of her thigh and gently dig your fingers into her.

The makeout session makes your head feel like it’s spinning, there’s a good part of you that thinks you’ll wake up any second and realize it was a wild dream. The kiss slows as the two of you catch your breath. Your lips part and you look into each other’s eyes. You notice Rebecca gently bite her lower lip as she strokes your cheek with her thumb. You loosen your grip on her thigh and slide your hand down and rest it on her knee. You can’t help but smile as she gazes into your eyes. Rebecca pulls your face in for one more soft kiss. You feel her lips curl into a smile as they meet yours.

You part again and smile at each other. Another rickshaw passes and squeezes its horn and you both get distracted. You look at your driver, whose eyes are wide open and in shock. You and Rebecca giggle at each other and you slide out of the cart. Rebecca follows and leads you to your door.

“Good night, y/n.” She says gazing into your eyes.

“Good night Rebecca.”

She turns to leave and your grab her hand and pull her towards you. Her body spins into you and you’re faces are inches apart.

“One more, I’m greedy.” You say playfully.

“So am I.” She says with a smirk. She puts her hands on your face and pulls you in for another passionate kiss. You suck on her bottom lip once more and she moans into your mouth, your panties are soaked at this point. As you part she gently sucks and pulls at your lip and an involuntary moan escapes from your mouth.

You see a hint of lust in her eyes when she hears you moan. She holds you face in her hand for a moment and studies you. Your eyes meet once more and you feel like you’re floating. Rebecca drops her hands and looks at you.

“Good night.” She says

“Good night.”

She walks to the car and gets in, you open the door to your flat and the car pulls away.

You walk inside and kick your shoes off. You still feel like you’re walking on air. You kissed Rebecca, and she kissed you back. For the first time you don’t see her as your boss, you see her as a beautiful woman you would like to kiss again, and then some.

[kiwixlime]

Always Dirty, Never Clean

C is for Coworkers

You and Sam work at the same museum for different executives, which means you try to one up each other whenever you get the chance. One night, you’re scheduled to work late together and your little arguments bloom into something…else.

Pairing: Sam Drake x Female Reader

Warnings: This is smut, guys. Of course it is. And it’s long. And I’m not even sorry. I am, however, sorry that it might be bad because I was half asleep towards the end and I got too lazy to proofread. So yes. This is the first draft please be gentle lmao.

18+, Minors DNI

The museum is quiet, closed for the day to the public, leaving you and a few other employees to finish your remaining tasks. You’re back in your office, wrapping up your reports for the day when your boss strolls in looking stressed. Being the nosy - yet attentive - employee you are, you watch him, carefully, taking note of the crease between his eyebrows and the way his fingers fly up to massage his temples. You’ve been working for Declan Herron for almost three years now, so you know him extremely well, and you can tell that his current emotional state means more work for you. Not that you mind. After all, you’ve been working for Declan Herron for almost three years. You don’t have much of a life outside the museum.

“Hey, Whiz Kid,” Herron says, and you smile at your boss’s nickname for you. He jokes and says it’s because you’re brilliant, a problem-solver, and secretly a wizard (or so he thinks), and it fits you. You’re hardly a kid, but you appreciate the endearing nickname. It’s better than what you’ve been called in the past - from the condescending Sweetheart to the inappropriate Sexy Mama to the everlasting Sugar Tits. You take Whiz Kid as a compliment and don’t mind holding such a title.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Herron?” You ask in your most pleasant, most professional voice. You already have a hunch on what he plans on asking you, so you do your best to keep a cheery disposition so he doesn’t feel guilty. Again, you know this man through and through. It’s almost painful.

“Carrie and Sam are cooking up something, I don’t know what yet, but do you mind staying a little bit later tonight? I know it’s Friday, so if you’ve got plans…” He trails off, looking at you with a guilty expression.

You shake your head quickly, keeping your smile bright and your voice light. “No plans,” you assure him, agreeing to his request. Truthfully, you agreed the second you heard the names “Carrie” and “Sam” leave his lips. You’ll do anything to get ahead of them.

“Thank you, kid,” he says fondly, letting out a deep sigh as his tense body unwinds. He yanks on his tie with a groan and stalks towards a set of glass doors. “I really appreciate it. I promise a raise is in your future!” He calls out as he reaches his ample office. “Honest!”

“I’ll hold you to it!” You laugh, clacking your fingernails against your keyboard to log back into the gallery website. A glance at the clock tells you that you’re in for a long night, but you don’t mind. This is your job. This is what you love to do. And although you, and Declan, and Carrie, and Sam, all work for the same company, there is competition between the pairs of you. And you’d rather watch your personal life go up in flames than let Carrie Tanner and Samuel Drake outshine you.

An hour passes before Mr. Herron clocks out and passes you with an apologetic smile. You watch as he goes, knowing that he’ll be taking a town car back to his loft to pop open a bottle of Amázzoni to drown out the stress of the day. He works almost as hard as you do (let’s be real), but his life is far more exciting; glamorous. You know that after he downs a glass of gin, he’ll be ready to spend his Friday out with his brothers at one of the luxury bars downtown, have a few more drinks, get a few phone numbers from a few pretty girls, only to call you hours later asking that you request the town car again to take him home.

And you’ll do it because what else have you got to do? Besides reach out to curators and secretly spy on your rivals to see what they’ve got planned. It’ll be a typical night for you. But since it’s Friday, you’ll treat yourself to some delicious take-out courtesy of Mr. Herron and his company card. Maybe you’ll even get the chance to indulge and drink a little. You could be totally smashed and still do a better job than anyone here.

Yes, that sounds like a wonderful plan. So you sigh, and you take your hair out of its neatly tied up bun, shaking your head to let your tresses down and massaging your fingers along your scalp. The feeling is borderline orgasmic, a close second to stripping yourself of annoying bras. You like to look nice for work, put together, but it sure is nice to dress down and decompress. Feeling a bit more at ease, you put in your order for the steakhouse next door, mostly because they have the most delicious buttered rolls in the world, and get to work on your research.

You’re in the middle of a heated email exchange with a collector when you hear the elevator ding, alerting you that someone is now on your level. For a moment, you think it could be your food, but you check the tracking on the website and see it’s still being prepared. You frown and decide it’s probably the cleaning staff, ignoring the sounds outside the glass doors and cracking your knuckles to compose the most brutal yet masterful reply to this idiot you’re conversing with.

As you are typing away, the sound of the doors creaking open startles you, and you quickly minimize the window on your computer as if you’re hiding some shameful secret. It’s not porn, but you like to keep your workings to yourself and Mr. Herron lest someone report back to Carrie. Composing yourself, you look over, and your brain thanks you for being quick to react since Samuel Drake comes strutting through your office doors.

He’s anything but subtle as he eyes you up from your tousled hair to your heels that have been discarded under your desk to the fact that you’ve undone a few buttons on your blouse, showing off just enough cleavage to make him drool. His eyes light up with amusement as he smirks at your disorderliness. You fight an eye roll, desperately trying to get your shoes back onto your feet before he can reach you.

“Sam,” you greet him, less than enthused by his sudden appearance. He catches the bored tone in your voice, but it doesn’t prevent him from stopping in front of your desk, annoying smirk still on his lips. It’s almost exasperating how he does not hide the fact that he’s staring at your chest, but you’re used to it. You and Sam have this odd relationship. You both act like you hate each other, mostly because your bosses hate each other, but there is also a lot of unresolved sexual tension there that you both are aware of. “Can I help you with something?”

“You can help me with a lot of things,” he comments, chuckling to himself when you scoff at his arrogance.

You choose to ignore him and open your email back up, typing away your wordy response regarding acquiring artifacts for the museum’s showcase next weekend. He doesn’t seem bothered by your lack of interest at his arrival and strides over to one of the meeting tables, grabbing a chair and dragging it across the room. You quickly get out your response before closing the tabs on your computer altogether, just in time for Sam to slide the chair next to you and plop down.

“Well?” You huff, glancing over at him, irritated by how close he is and how warm that makes you feel. The smell of cigarettes lingers on his clothes, and unfortunately, it’s not something you’re repulsed by, having worked with Sam long enough to get used to it. Now it’s a comfort, kind of. Whenever that smoky scent infiltrates you, you know he’s close by.

“I should have known you’d be here,” he grins, making himself comfortable and flipping through the documents you have scattered across your desk. He hums as he picks up an old photograph, examining it carefully.

Angry, you snatch the photo from his hands and slam it back down onto the desk. “What is that supposed to mean?” You snap, shooing his restless hands away from the rest of your hard work. “You spying on me or something?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, kitten,” Sam replies, spinning his chair to face you. “And I’m just saying,” he shrugs, which annoys you even more. “Oh, come on, you’re Herron’s pet,” he finishes as if it’s obvious to you the way his brain works.

“Excuse me?” You puff, offended by his tone and implications.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Herron,” Sam says with a high-pitched voice, mocking you, gesturing his hands to flip his hair. “Whatever you say, Mr. Herron. I’d be delighted, Mr. Herron.” He pouts his lips and brings his arms together, pushing out his chest. “Tell me you’re not sleeping with him.” Sam rolls his eyes, looking almost…upset?

“I am not sleeping with him,” you defend yourself, and your boss, for that matter.

“Right, so he has a young, hot assistant for what?” Sam asks you, thinking he’s got you right where he wants you. But you know Declan Herron. You know there is nothing between the two of you but respect.

“This might come as a shock to you, Samuel, but I’m very good at my job,” you say, holding your head high and refreshing the link for your food delivery. Still in the process of being prepared.

“I bet you are,” Sam grunts and reaches down, unzipping a bag you didn’t even notice he had on him. He pulls out his laptop and settles in next to you. You gather he’s been assigned to work late, too. That’s why he’s here. He hates working alone.

“Oh, please,” you sneer, deciding to go ahead and open some reports you abandoned when Sam arrived. If he’s going to work, you should, too. His words still bother you, though. So you challenge him. “You think I don’t know the reason Carrie hired you?” You say without looking at him, too focused on filling out a fundraiser request.

“I’m smart and irresistible,” he answers quickly and with a shrug.

“Whatever,” you sigh in aggravation.

Sam hums, and against your better judgment, you glance over at him. He’s staring at you with an unreadable face. “I’m not dumb. Carrie hits on me all the time,” he tells you, but he doesn’t sound offended. He sounds proud.

“And have you slept with her?” You ask even though you’re not sure you want to know the answer to this question.

“Only once,” he smirks, and you shove his arm, making a noise of disgust.

“You’re gross,” you laugh, shaking your head.

You both fall into a comfortable silence, working side-by-side on your individual projects. Sam doesn’t bug you about your work, so you leave him alone as well. Really the feud isn’t between you two, only Declan and Carrie. You both enjoy history and education, and that’s why you got into this line of work. You’re competitive, yes, but if he’s not going to bother you, you’ll hold off on making a move. For now.

Your food finally gets delivered as you and Sam find yourselves in the middle of researching 17th-century pirates (not part of your job, just a hobby), and much to your chagrin, you end up sharing your meals with him. It’s fine. You ordered enough for a small party, and you know that Sam hasn’t made any dinner plans save for the junk food in the vending machines. Plus, the conversation is actually nice between you, it flows well, and there are no awkward pauses or hesitations. You easily jump from one topic to the next, which isn’t uncommon for you. You are alike in many ways.

But Sam is still stuck on you and your boss. For some reason, it’s driving him up the wall that you haven’t hooked up with the older man who supervises you. “So you really never took a ride on the Herron express?” He asks one more time, hoping to pry some dirty little secret out of you. But your answer remains the same.

“No!” You shout, holding back laughter.

“Then why do you walk around here in these tight little skirts and well-fitted blouses that show off everything.” He stares at you, unable to focus on anything else but your chest and your thighs and the way your black pencil skirt clings to your hips. His tongue trails over his bottom lip, and you fight the urge to smile like an idiot.

“I look nice,” you say, sitting up straight, fixing your posture. All it does, though, is make Sam groan.

“You look like you’re ready to--”

“Don’t,” you warn, pointing a finger at him. “Do not finish that sentence.”

He throws his hands up in defense, smiling a little at your flushed cheeks. “Okay,” he declares, but you can tell that he’s not done with this subject. Not yet.

But you continue to eat and chat about anything and everything. Sam tells you about his history, his brother, and treasure hunting. And it’s so bizarre you almost don’t believe him. But Sam has always seemed like a genuine guy, and he’s never had a reason to lie to you, so you accept his far-out stories with interest. In return, you talk about your education and growing up, how you surpassed expectations and were often referred to as a child genius, though you weren’t authenticated and you don’t necessarily agree with the label. You do admit that you were gifted from a young age, but that’s about it.

Sam likes hearing these things about you. It gives him a deeper look into who you are as a person, not just “Herron’s pet” as he lovingly referred to you as before. You still make quips at each other, but it can easily be passed off as flirting. And this is definitely not how you saw your night playing out.

“You know, even I can admit that Herron is an attractive guy,” Sam states, once again bringing up the tired subject. You seriously wonder what his fascination is with you and Declan.

“Well then, why don’t you sleep with him?” You chuckle, tossing a french fry his way. He smirks and catches it as it hits his chest, eagerly popping it into his mouth.

“I just can’t believe that he’s never fucked you,” he admits, blushing a little. “I-I mean,” he stutters, and it’s enjoyable to see him flustered for once.

“Sam…” You say, stopping his troubled mind. “I had a boyfriend my entire first year here.” This is news to him, to anyone, really, as you always keep your personal life just that. Personal. But if it’ll make Sam shut up…

“Shit, really?” He asks in surprise, slowly wrapping his head around the fact that you had a whole-ass relationship that no one knew about.

“Yeah,” you nod, biting your lip as you poke at the lettuce leaves of your leftover salad.

“And?” Sam presses carefully.

“He broke up with me,” you shrug. “He couldn't stand nights like this.”

“Like what?” Sam quizzes. He’s really invested in you for some reason.

“This,” you answer, waving around you. Your heart lurches as you glance around the dark office. The only light comes from your desk lamp and the computers you and Sam have on. This is the life you chose.

“Working late with a hot guy,” Sam concludes, making you laugh. He smiles at his accomplishment.

“No, you idiot. Working late on a Friday night instead of going out, having date night, whatever.” You scoff and get back to work, brushing away thoughts of your past failed relationships. Fuck, maybe you should screw Declan.

Sam is quiet for a second, pondering his next moves before he says, “you just need someone who can keep up with your lifestyle...”

“Oh, like Mr. Herron?” You ask, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“What? No!” Sam grimaces, scrunching his face up in disdain.

You let out a giggle, slapping your hand down on Sam’s thigh, not missing the way he tenses at your touch. “But you said…”

“Stop twisting my words around, you precocious little bitch,” he warns you, his eyes darkened with something familiar, flicking his gaze from your hand on him to your cute little smirk.

“What are you gonna do about it?” You ask innocently, fluttering your eyelashes, toying with your tongue behind your teeth.

His stare drops to your mouth, and he moans inwardly. His resolve is crumbling fast. You’re a tease, you’ve always been a tease. He knows this, and he loves it. And as you shift in your chair, uncrossing your legs causing your skirt to slip up higher, he gives in to the urge to reach out and touch you.

You let him, biting your lip as his hand slides gingerly up your thigh. With his other hand, he slams his laptop shut before rolling his chair closer to you. Your eyes remain fixed on his, challenging him to go further, to give you more. He’s impressed, you can tell by the way he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, heaving his chest as he lets out a heavy breath.

“Do you have any idea the power you hold?” Sam asks you, his voice hoarse and raspy. “Jesus, kitten,” he mumbles.

You lick your lips, tasting the remnants of the fruity lip gloss you applied hours ago, and steadily position yourself at the rim of your chair. Sam watches, his eyes dropping down to your lips, fighting the animalistic instinct inside him that says to grab you and claim your lips with his.

“I have some idea,” you reply with a coy smile. In seconds, you slide from your chair to your knees, leaving Sam’s brain to short-circuit as you settle in front of him. His jaw drops slightly, unable to fully process your current position. Sure, you’ve had your flirty banter before laced with innuendos, but this is different. This is you on your knees, and holy fuck, you’re reaching for the button on his jeans, and he’s definitely frozen at how bold you are with your advances.

“I was not expecting this,” Sam breathes out a little shakily, gnawing on the broken skin of his lip as your talented fingers pop open the button to his jeans. He watches with intent as you tug at his zipper, a million thoughts crossing his mind, tangling with one another until they’re a knotted mess.

You blink up at him, eyes wide, brimming with innocence, and fuck if that doesn’t make him harder. “I thought this is what you wanted, Sam?” You ask him in a voice so sweet you’re making his teeth ache. “You’re telling me you never imagined this?” Your voice rises in a question as you slowly pull down his zipper, teasing his growing bulge with the tips of your fingers. “You like me on my knees,” you continue, sliding your hand up to his abdomen, feeling the taut skin, and dragging back down, plunging through the waistband of his boxers. He shudders as your hand wraps around his aching cock. He lifts his hips to give you more space, helping you work his pants down and pulling him free.

“You have no fucking idea,” Sam sighs, his eyelids fluttering closed as your warm hand caresses him. His entire body ignites with passion, heating up with each grasp and stroke of your soft hand.

“You want your cock in my mouth?” You hum and swipe your tongue over his flushed, leaking tip. You can feel him harden in your hold, and it spurs you on, gathering his precum on your tongue, mixing it with your saliva before taking him in your mouth.

“Oh, shit, oh fuck,” he groans, shooting one hand to grab you by the hair and using the other to bite on to keep himself quiet.

“You’ve dreamt about this,“ you tell him when you pull your mouth off him. His eyes snap open, and he nods, giving in to your words. You have him. He’ll do anything at this point. “I know you have. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“Kitten,” he gasps when you slide him back into your mouth, swirling your velvety tongue around his shaft. You moan at the pet name, feeling that familiar warmth pool in the pit of your stomach. “Fuck me, you’re so fucking hot,” he pants, forcing his hips up, bucking into your wet mouth. You huff around his throbbing dick but keep sucking him, taking him deep into your throat. Your hands cup his balls, taunting him and earning an erotic sound you’ve never heard come from anyone before.

A groan escapes your throat, and you slip Sam out of your mouth, licking your lips. You keep your hand around him, pumping his cock at a constant, pleasurable pace that has him squirming. “Tell me, Sam,” you start, forcing him to look at you. “In your fantasies, where did you cum? On my face? In my mouth? Or maybe…” You pause, slipping your hand off of him to unbutton your top the rest of the way. You slide it open to reveal your bra, navy and lacy and flawless against your skin. You peer up at him, wide eyes, lip trapped between your teeth.

“Fuck, I love your tits,” he groans and reaches out to touch you, but you swat his hand away.

“I know,” you smirk, sitting back on your heels. “Is that what you want, Sam? Do you want to cum on them?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” he gasps, reaching down to touch himself. You watch hungrily as he jerks himself off, eager to finish on you.

“Hmm, we’ll see,” you chirp and stand up, letting your shirt fall from your body to the floor.

“How attached to this skirt are you?” Sam asks as he stands up, shimmying out of his pants the rest of the way, his clothing pooling with yours on the floor.

You look down at the black skirt and shrug. “I have about a dozen others,” you say.

At this, Sam grins and leans down to kiss you soft, but intense, slipping his tongue between your lips. He tastes delicious, and his tongue rolls against yours in a way that has you gripping for his chest. His hands graze over the round of your ass, squeezing through your tight skirt that he loves. He greedily feels you up, slipping your skirt up higher and higher until it tightens around you. He smirks and tugs it harshly until a ripping sound can be heard. Smiling at his success, he lifts you up and places you on your desk, ignoring the mess of papers and food containers.

Sam lowers himself over you, kissing your lips hotly, then your neck, nipping sharply at the delicate flesh, tugging the skin between his teeth, leaving a small yet trashy purple blemish. He kisses down between your breasts, memorizing your taste and the way your burning hot skin feels. His brain tells him to slow down, savor the moment he’s been waiting for. But he’s impatient, and you’re sprawled out beneath him, breathing heavy and looking fuckable, and he can’t stand it. He brings his hands up to grab your breasts, thanking his lucky stars that you’re wearing one of those front clasp bras. His eager fingers unhook the clasp at record speed, letting the lacy fabric fall open so your perfect tits spill out in front of him.

“God damn,” he mutters, looking up at you with pure desire. “This is way better than any dream,” he laughs.

Before you can respond, Sam dips his head down, kissing your naked skin and making you moan. His hot tongue darts past his lips, flicking over your nipple and teasing the other underneath his thumb. You groan lightly, arching up into his sensual touch, and you can feel his growl in response against you. He removes his mouth, blowing warm air against your pert nipple, and quickly moves to the other while your fingers knot in his hair.

Unforgiving and eager, he kisses down your body, sucking softly at the skin around your navel, pulling the blood to the surface for another hickey. God, how old is he? Fuck it, you don't care. You and Sam have been a long time coming, and if he wants to mark you up, so be it. His hands trace up your skirt, effortlessly finding the hem of your panties and pulling them down. He raises his eyebrows as the matching navy lace falls to the floor.

“You have no idea how badly I want to make you cum,” he smirks as he bends down. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you.”

“Sam,” you beg, reaching for his hand that rests against your desk. “Please,” you whimper.

“So you’ve dreamt of this, too?” He teases, using his free hand to slide in between your thighs. You willingly part your legs to give him space, and he licks his lips at the sight of you soaked for him. “You like my head between your thighs?” He whispers against your flesh, pressing light kisses to your sensitive areas until he reaches your dripping center. “I bet you’ve imagined this exact scenario,” he whispers, “draped over your desk, my tongue deep inside your pussy, you writhing and begging for more? It’s okay, kitten, I’ve imagined it, too.”

“Oh, fuck, Sam,” you mewl when you feel his tongue slip into you. You squeeze his hand harder, throwing your head back against your desk. An array of colors flash behind your eyelids, deep pinks and reds, the shades of lust, as Sam’s skillful tongue glides erotically against your slit. He’s right, you’ve dreamt of this, hard not to when he looks like that.

But he’s right about something else, too. This is so much better than any dream. Sam’s here, in front of you, touching you, eating you out like no one ever has. So his mouth is good for something other than talking shit.

You groan as his tongue plunges past your folds. Oh, he's talented, sucking your clit into his mouth slowly before pressing a finger into you. Your breath hitches and you melt at his touch, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’re letting Sam Drake go down on you in your office. But by the sounds he makes as he fucks you with his tongue, you know he’s just as turned on, if not more.

“Oh, fuck that feels so good,” you moan, squirming when he squeezes a second finger into your hole. You give him praise because he fucking deserves it because no one else has ever made you feel this way before. You heard rumors about Sam, and you are happy to say those rumors are true. You consider yourself lucky enough to experience his skilled tongue, grabbing his head with your free hand.

Sam pumps his fingers inside you, stretching and curling and coaxing until your breath gets choppy. His tongue laps your juices with desperation before circling your sensitive clit again. He chuckles into you as your thighs tighten around his head in warning. He responds to your neediness by digging his fingers into your bruising skin and holding you harshly against him and his relentless tongue.

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” you gasp, and his dick swells at your constant moan of his name. He loves making you feel good, loves the encouragement. He could stay in this position forever if you let him. And you would, but you desperately need to have him inside of you. Finally.

So he stops his ministrations before you cum, having other plans for that. He claims your lips again, searing and needy, mumbling into your mouth. “I fucking love the way you taste,” he tells you, making your face flame up.

“Fuck me, Sam,” you plead, opening your eyes and pouting up at him. His filthy mind glances to your pink lips, slick with your own arousal.

“I’ve always wanted to hear you say that,” he admits, kissing your mouth once more. “Say it again,” he demands, slapping your thigh.

“Fuck me, Sam, please,” you whine.

He guides his throbbing cock to your entrance, rubbing himself between your folds. You wiggle beneath him, letting out desperate cries. Your eyes are unblinking just begging him to fuck you already. And, well, he can’t deny you. Not when he's wanted you since the moment you started working here. He gives you no warning before thrusting himself into your went cunt, moaning at the contact he's been craving.

“Baby, you feel so good,” he pants, aggressively slamming into you and knocking the air from your lungs. He uses his hands to grab your thighs, yanking you hard towards him and sending his dick deeper. You gasp at the pleasure and push back against him for more.

He happily obliges, using your body however he needs and you love it. You love Sam being in control. You love the way he clutches your face and forces you to look at him. You love the way his hands possessively grope at your sides, your arms, gripping your wrists tight so all you can do is lay there and take what he gives you. Above all, you love his sounds that escape as he fucks you.

“Harder,” you breathe, tightening your legs around his waist. Up until now, you forgot that you’re wearing heels, only realizing it when Sam makes a comment about them digging into his back. You try to apologize, but he silences you with his tongue, mumbling that he likes it. His confession does all sorts of things to you. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Sam laughs and picks up the speed of his hips, pounding into your needy little pussy, hard and fast, the way you asked. His hand skims up your neck, to your face, thumb pressing into your mouth. You gasp against him, dragging him in closer with your legs. He takes the signal and moves faster, slamming into you, making your body bounce against the desk. Your eyes roll back, and he groans, gripping your hip tightly, drawing you against him, going as deep as he can.

“I always knew you were a filthy fucking slut,” he purrs, digging his thumb into the flesh of your lips. “Begging me to fuck you, such a dirty girl.” You nod your head, breathless, barely able to keep your eyes open with Sam’s furious thrusts. “You like that?” He asks, taunting you with slow circles of his dick, easing back on his movements so you whimper for him. “Yeah, you do, kitten, your pretty pussy takes my cock so well.”

“I need it,” you breathe, “I need you to fuck m-me, Sam.” Your words come out garbled and hushed. “H-harder, make me feel it. Oh, fuck.”

He nods and collapses on top of you, his sweaty body gliding against yours. He bites down on your neck, making you cry out, and reaches up to tangle his fingers in your hair. His hips snap into you harshly, his thick cock stretching you. You claw your hands down his back. Every part of you is on fire from the roots of your hair where he tugs to the flesh wounds on your neck to the unforgiving thrusts of his perfect cock.

Your back is sore from slamming against the desk, and the various pens and stationary jamming into you as Sam quite literally fucks you into oblivion. But the pain is nice. “I’m gonna cum,” you warn him with a groan.

He loves to hear those words come from your pretty mouth. You sound so fucking good, fucked right, and barely hanging on. He’s thought about your sounds more than he’ll ever admit. And hearing you unravel because of him strokes his ego in a way nothing has before.

He slides in deeper, hitting that spot over and over again. You mark him with your nails, scratching so hard drops of blood begin to leak from the lacerations. He smirks, his own orgasm building. “Are you gonna cum for me? Cum all over my cock, show me how good I make you feel, I wanna see it.”

His fingers unravel from your hair, tracing down your body, making you shiver until he reaches your clit. Your eyes meet as he massages slowly to get you off. The tiny smile that plays at the corner of his lips does something to you, and your body collapses.

You moan Sam’s name loudly as you cum. You're unsure if you’re actually alone, or if the cleaning staff has arrived. And you don’t care. Sam Drake is buried deep inside of you, and it’s magnificent.

“Where do you want it?” He asks, pulling you out of your trance with his hips stuttering. He’s close, and you lazily reach up to bring him in for a kiss. “Answer me, you pretty little cumslut. Where do you want it?” He growls.

“In my mouth,” you answer breathlessly.

He nods and pulls out of you, letting you slump to the floor, worn and tired, with your mouth hanging open. Sam jerks himself quickly, opening your mouth wider with his thumb before lightly tapping your cheek with his hand. Your tongue slips out of your mouth in time to catch his hot spurts of cum, a few strings hitting your cheek, lips, and, unfortunately, your hair.

“Holy fuck,” he groans as he finishes, running his fingers through the mess on your face. “You look so good like this,” he compliments, and you nod, swallowing what landed in your mouth. “I wish I had a picture,” he murmurs as he shoves the rest of his cum past your lips. You happily accept, sucking his fingers clean.

He watches in awe, still lazily tracing his fingers against your face. He’s taking as many mental pictures as he can. What a fucking sight you are.

When you finally catch your breath and stand on weak legs, Sam helps you. You reach up, feeling your face and hair and frown. “Sam, you fuckface, you got it in my hair!”

He laughs and reaches over to tug on your ruined locks. “I’m so sorry,” he smiles, biting his lip. “But that was really fucking hot.”

“Dick,” you sigh and then look down at your clothes. “You ripped my skirt,” you say.

“I’ll buy you another one,” he smirks, proud of his work.

You shake your head, waving him off. “No, I don’t care about that,” you admit.

“Then what’s the problem?” He looks confused.

“How am I going to leave the museum like this?”

Masterlist

[rustic-oak-mori]

Does Anna have a favorite position? I feel like she would like missionary so she can watch her lover's face as she rails them~

The Huntress’ Favourite Positions

(also hi im back <3)

(fic is GN and while no anatomical terms have been used, this was written with an AFAB reader in mind)

This post is NSFW. Minors DNI.

First of all, bitch you right. Missionary is a beloved position for her. She gets to drink in every tell-tale sign of pleasure on your face, flushed cheeks and glossy eyes...that’s heaven to her. But also she gets to indulge in your nails carving up her back as everything gets just a little too much. And to her it’s adorable how your legs wrap around her hips on instinct while she ruts you until you see stars.

But she also loves watching her strap glide into you, feasting her eyes on your slick drip down its length onto the sheets below. So one of her favourite positions is you lying on your back, hips in the air, and her pounding away resting on her knees, letting her hit that much deeper. With a pillow supporting your back, of course - she isn’t a savage. Unless you want her to be.

She’s a sucker for the sheer carnality of ramming into you from behind with your face buried in the sheets. The only caveat there is she can’t see your blissful fucked-out expression. Solution? Add a mirror. Boom. Anna has always prided herself on being a problem solver.

Ravaging you with her hands or mouth against a tree (or a wall, I guess) is another fave. Anna will happily sling your legs over her broad shoulders, making you rely on her strength to keep you from collapsing, and delve into her favourite meal. There’s something about rendering you so...helpless in her hold that tickles a predatory instinct within.

Above all, though, she will always adore nestling her face between your warm thighs in bed in the morning. You’re both barely awake, Anna’s hungry for something a little sweeter than breakfast, and you’re eager to oblige. Your hands gently running through her buzz cut as her tongue works magic instantly soothes her, hips sleepily bucking into her mouth. And when she opens her eyes after getting lost in her own little paradise, she’s greeted with her lover flustered and whimpering, cheeks red from being smushed against the pillows during the night, hair tousled from sleep. Perfectly imperfect.

[finniestoncrane]

So I have mobility issues due to an accident that left me with nerve damage and over the years my legs have been getting worse. Sometimes I get into this feeling of helplessness. Could you maybe do a scenario of Dano!Riddler comforting a long term partner in a similar position?

Dano!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 1.1k urgh ok i'm sorry about that situation with the accident, i don't have personal experience with nerve damage issues but i am watching someone close to me coping with something similar and every day is a new learning curve. i apologise if anything i write doesn't suit your exact situation or comes across as too positive or negative but i hope i did your request justice 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞cw for nsfw stuff: tiny little injury on poor eddie with some blood

"Patience. It's a virtue."

While Eddie’s words had long been a source of comfort to you, in the time you had known each other, been together, you had become aware that there were times when he could be abrupt. Speak without thinking. Offer solutions when all you wanted was to vent. He tried to stop it, listened to you when you told him what you wanted from him, but he was a problem solver. Puzzles, issues, they were problems to be solved. And quite often, your mood was the perceived problem, and Eddie’s words were his solution.

“Ok, I will patiently wait for you to explain yourself to me before I throw something hard at you.”

“That’s the spirit!” He beamed at you, pleased that you were feeling energetic enough to even pretend that you were willing to push past the low mood to exert yourself physically.

“Eddie.”

His smile faded, worried he had upset you, knowing he probably did. Guilt throbbed in your chest and in your stomach. He was just trying to help.

“Can I sit by you?” The earnest way in which he requested permission to get into the bed with you tugged at your heart, and you patted the space beside you, welcoming him in with a half-smile, unable to stop yourself. He scooted into the bed with you, enclosing you in one of his warm, generous hugs, chin resting on your shoulder as he pressed his body as close to yours as he could. For all that others might be put off by it, Eddie’s desperate need for closeness and physical touch was something that kept you feeling useful. You sank into him, feeling the heat, his soft body against yours, breathing close to your ear, fingers stroking the skin they lay closest to.

“I’m sorry if I don’t always say the right thing. You’ve seen my streams, I can ramble on and on, no one stops me. It’s an echo chamber in there.”

“Yes, I’m familiar.”

Given that your body was struggling with any physical exertion, you had been inside a lot more, almost every evening spent sitting, sometimes in pain, sometimes not, listening to Eddie preach about his big plans. It was admirable, he was admirable. Inspiring. Better off not having to worry about you, or carry you on his back as he tried to change the world. The thought sent you further into the spiral, obviously showing on your face as Eddie grew more concerned, big eyes sparkling as they stared at you from behind his smudged lenses.

“I just want to help you. I know it’s difficult, and I know I can’t truly understand. But I have seen my fair share of the worst the world has to offer, and I just…I want to give you…I want to tell you what helped me. Maybe that way my suffering will have been worth it.”

You were facing away from him, lying on your side, his arms wrapped around you. Warming to his unique brand of ‘help’ you wanted to let him continue speaking, but a question had been circling your brain since he first mentioned patience, and if you didn’t let it out, you’d worry about it forever, letting it gnaw away at what little happiness you could muster.

“You feel the need to be patient with me?”

Edward’s body tensed up, his fingers instinctively pressing into you, clinging to you in case you decided to get up and leave.

“No! Never! I w-would…never…well…maybe, but not like-”

“You’re digging a hole Edward, and it’s horrible enough that I might decide not to help you out of it.”

Straining to hold back tears at the idea that he woke up every morning, trying to renew his love for you, deciding whether your decreasing moods, your new daily struggles, his seemingly continuous inability to help you, was worth it, you pressed your eyes tightly together as he continued. Before he spoke, he took a deep breath, calming himself, trying not to make it any worse for himself or for you. Up until now, you had thought it might be projection, that your own thoughts and worries were manifesting as an anxiety that Eddie might feel the same.

“I feel as though I do have to be patient with you, but patient for the future.”

“For whatever problems are going to keep cropping up?”

“Those don’t factor into my patience. Each day might bring a new challenge, but it also means that I get to extend our time together. I’ve had to learn to be patient with myself, with my plans, with Gotham even. I’ve had to wait, for the right time, for the right ideas, for the right people. For money, for a job, for the opportunity. And for me to be confident enough, to have the right ideals, to pursue my morals. I’ve had to be very patient.”

It was interesting to hear him talk about his work, earnestly discussing it with honesty, not trying to hide it from you in this moment as he usually did. He thought he was shielding you from it, protecting you. But somewhere in his mind, finally breaking through his need to help you, he must have known that trying to tiptoe around you as though you were too delicate for his truths would only serve to make you more concerned that he was worried and stressed about you, about your abilities, about the accident, about how it affected you. And instead, he was, for the first time in a long time, treating you like you were the same you from before. He really did listen to you. Taking his hand in yours, you brought it to your lips to kiss it, absent-mindedly holding it there as he finished his thoughts.

“And you might have to learn to be patient with yourself. You can’t expect things to be the same, or to get better quickly, or at all. And if I’d thought for a moment that we’d be the same people forever, well that would have been boring!”

Eddie loved his rants. You tried to stifle your giggle as he finished his little sermon to you.

“So, to summarise!”

Too much, you were laughing now, and he was holding you close.

“What, something funny?”

“No, no! Please, finish what you were saying.”

“I have to be patient with you, but only because my biggest desire is to spend eternity with you. And that can’t just happen overnight. So I have to wait. And every day, regardless of the difficulties, means I’m one step closer to achieving that goal.”

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

Aot full series

{"What Time is It" 1903, by Charles Van Den Eycken 1859-1923 }

Love is war

Synopsis: An enemies to lovers slow burn with each chapter being a time skip that shows how your relationship develops with Erwin from knowing him as a cadet to the person he is today.

{ ongoing }

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter VI

Chapter V

The other man

Synopsis : A modren world drama romance that tells the story of Armin being in painful love with Eren's s/o and how he deals with his hidden feelings of longing for you. Contains: toxi friendships & dark topics, minors dni.

{ on a break }

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

ٓ

Alternative scenarios

{do not effect canon}

1. Blasphemy : Eren finds out just how deep Armin's infatuation with you goes and confronts him about it.

ٓ

2. Now or never : One thing leads to another and you end up breaking it off with Eren, and so Armin takes his chances with you

The most unlikely candidat

Synopsis : You and Porco have been seeing each other for some time now, and just when things start getting serious you find out about the gaggle of children that are his cousins and how he desperately attempted to hide them from you.

{ on a break }

Chapter I

Chapter II

Alternative scenarios

Evil mathcmakers : where you're invited by your childhood friend to come over to watch...your friend's husband's cousins?? But one thing leads to another and Gabi & Falco try to set you up with Porco.

Kiddo gang

Synopsis: the daily cartoony shinanigans of you, your husband Reiner and 4 middle schoolers who are somehow related to him. The chapters don't follow a chronical order, they're more like random snippets of different scenarios.

{ongoing}

ٓ

Chapter 🔆 : Mornings aren't for kids

Chapter 🦕 : Babysitting without the sitting

Chapter 🧸 : the bus is for losers

Chapter 🚗 : no this isn't the batmobile

Chapter ⛄ : do not give them a second carrot

Chapter 🕹️ : maybe try not being a boomer

Chapter 🏝️ : either i go or the sun does

Chapter 🎊 : a proposal gone wrong

Chapter 🦆 : that's not a duck?

Chapter 🩰 : the fight for the dress of honour

Chapter 🦠 : stop sneezing on me!

Chapter 🍀 : problem solvers in training

Chapter ⭐ : the most good boy ever

Chapter ✈️ : the window seat is MINE!

Chapter 🎮 : GoGirlsGames dot com

ٓ

World building

Modern world jobs

First meeting

Extended family

[masonscig]

divine

pairing | nate x ramona

word count | 1.1k

warnings | smut. minors dni.

author’s note | i think nate should be able to get a little sloppy in the heat of the moment. as a treat. (here’s my prompt fill for day 2 of hot in wayhaven: half naked)

•─────────────────•

Each time feels like the first time with her.

It’s been so long since he’s even spared a thought about the last time he’s felt this way.

And he doesn’t know how to express to her that she’s lit a fire in him that he didn’t think he was capable of sparking anymore in the first place.

He’s always at a loss for words with her, so he uses his hands instead.

She’s barely managed to tug her shirt off, the fabric bunched around her neck on one side, the other side still in place.

Her shorts are rolled to her thighs, the thin film of sweat on her skin catching the denim.

Neither of them make any move to tug off the rest of her clothes.

Nate’s abandons his shirt on the floor, the thin white tee underneath it clinging to his chest, his shoulders, his back –

She’s scrambling to her knees to tug on the chain of her ceiling fan because it’s sweltering in her apartment bedroom, and she’s more of a problem solver than he is but… his view is too perfect that he doesn’t let the opportunity pass.

He licks a firm stripe and she buckles, immediately arching into his mouth, sighing when she hears the clink of his rings as they plop and roll across the hardwood floor.

When she turns to look back at him, that’s when he knows he’s doing a good job.

He’s knuckles deep in the woman he loves and they’re barely naked and the air conditioner’s broken and the room’s a swampy mess but he doesn’t care.

Nothing matters more to him in that moment than to make Ramona come on his hand.

“Oh, fuck, Nate –” she’s curling her fingers into the sheet until her knuckles are white, and her hips are rolling on the off beat of each pump of his hand.

He suckles lightly on the back of her thigh, bordering on the inner part, and it raises goosebumps across her skin despite the sticky heat.

“Now, please,” she manages, grabbing at him through the space between her thighs. “I need you.”

That makes him smile, because he’s still not sure if she needs anyone – but of course, he’ll slot himself in wherever she asks, especially if it’s inside of her.

“Someone’s a bit demanding today,” he murmurs, nipping the swell of her ass, before raising himself until he’s on his knees and she's pressing back against him so eagerly.

He lives in that moment for as long as he can – soaking in the way his thumbs nearly touch at the smallest point of her hips, the way her stomach tightens with each desperate grind of her hips against his shaft, the way her ringlets cling to her neck, the way she’s practically melting in his hands – 

She snaps her arm back and grabs wildly at Nate’s hand, raking her fingers across the back of his hand, his fingers, trying to latch onto something. “Nate –”

The struggled syllable forced past her lips sends him into a tailspin – everything from the pitch of her whine to the elongated, breathy “a” withers the last remnants of his restraint.

(Truthfully, he’d abandoned most of his restraint with his golden bands.)

He edges into her, fingers clasping tighter around her waist the slower he inches in.

After the countless religious, theological, and philosophical works he’s devoured, Nate’s decided that no one human’s account of heaven comes close to the feeling of Ramona around him.

His struggles of whether he’s good or evil, whether or not he has a soul and it’s worth saving, whether he’s a bastard of nature and his existence is blasphemous – they evaporate the moment she whines for more of him.

He doesn’t care if it’s blasphemous. He’ll shout it from the rooftops – Good fucking God. It’s never been this good, and he’s never felt this alive.

She arches against his hands as he sinks deeper into her, her other hand desperately trying to get her curls away from her face.

“Jesus Christ, Nate –”

If he’s Jesus Christ, she’s an angel on Earth.

The first pump of his hips is slow, concentrated, and she finally gives up on her hair, choosing instead to turn her face into the pillow.

As he’s bottoming out, the skin of his hips meeting the plump flesh of her ass, she groans and urges him to move with an encouraging grind.

He does, pulling back and pressing into her again and again.

Sweat rolls down her arched back and towards the hem of her bunched up shirt. He leans forward to tug on the chain connected to her fan, the old blades doing nearly nothing to quell the heat.

Instead of leaning back to his previous position, he bends over even more, delicately tugging a few damp ringlets away from her face.

“What do you want, my love?” Nate murmurs into her ear, his hips grinding torturously slow.

“Harder,” she manages, pushing herself onto her elbows so she can kiss him.

The kiss is soft, but urgent, her breaths between each one egging him on further.

He’s picking up speed now, and she’s whining her praises with each stroke.

“You’re so good, Nate – fuck, you feel so good –”

He straightens upright, keeping his pace, taking Ramona with him.

Her shirt’s half off, the fabric sticking to her skin, so he pulls it off of, flinging it to the corner of the room.

Lightly pushing her back down, he follows her movement, kissing the damp skin between her shoulderblades with a gentleness that’s starkly different than the way he’s driving into her.

“You’re perfect – so perfect –”

The affirmations roll off of him like the sweat pooling at his lower back.

He never has liked the word perfect. He did, however, like the way her lips formed around “p” and “f” sounds.

“I’m gonna come,” she pants, her fingers digging into the sheets again.

“Good. Let me see you, Ramona,” he says, and she obliges, twisting her torso till she had a good view of him.

Her eyes flutter closed when she hits her peak, clearly involuntarily, but regardless, it’s endearing to him.

She gulps at the air when she comes down from it, already spent from the combination of the heat and Nate wearing her out.

“I can get you off… just let me catch my breath,” she breathes, wiping sweat from her forehead.

“No need. I’m fine,” he smiles, pulling out of her gently, making sure to grab a hold of her so she doesn’t collapse against the bed.

“Alright, well at least spoon me afterwards, goober,” she grins, patting the mattress.

He slots behind her with a low chuckle, sliding his arms around her slick waist, tugging her closer.

“I usually hate cuddling during the summer but you’re so doggone irresistible, Natey.”

He laughs again, nuzzling his nose into her neck. “So are you, my love.”