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comphy-and-cozy · 2 months

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One Night Standards - Anthony Beauvillier

Pairing: Anthony Beauvillier x fem!OC

Summary: Country music sensation and Nashville sweetheart Harper Mitchell just got out of a very public, very messy breakup. She doesn't want a relationship, and, fortunately for her, Anthony Beauvillier won't be around long enough to start one. All of the makings of a perfect arrangement... right?

Word Count: 9K

Author’s Note: My first ever Beau fic!! Written for @offside-the-lines for @wyattjohnston's Summer Fic Exchange! Rox, I had a blast creating this universe for you and hope that you enjoy! S/O to Demi and @smileysvech for the plot help and being ever-helpful sounding boards.

Warnings: Alcohol use/mention, cheating themes, implied smut, friends-with-benefit relationship.

NHL Masterlist

AMERICA’S SWEETHEARTS NO MORE: ‘MICHARDS’ SPLIT!

Sources close to country music star Harper Mitchell confirm that she has split from her boyfriend, Joey Richards of 3 years amid leaked photos of him with another woman. The Daydreamin’ in Denim singer, 27, has declined for comment.

Harper blows a puff of air out of her lips, swiping out of Twitter. Absently, her hand moves to toy with her necklace—the one Joey had bought her to celebrate her song going Platinum. There’s a brief moment as she realizes it’s not there anymore, that she gave it to a friend of a friend so she could get it out of her house.

It’s a simple action, miniscule in the grand scheme of her life or even her day, but it strikes her hard all the same. Within moments, her eyes are lining with tears, the all-too-familiar lump sitting heavy in her throat. She lets a tear fall before exhaling slowly. “God dammit, Joey.”

The sharp ring of her phone jolts her out of her thoughts, her agent’s name flashing across the screen beside a star emoji. When she answers, she’s greeted by a laundry list of upcoming meetings, interviews, and appearances; Harper bites back the urge to ask when she’s going to get a break.

“Don’t forget you have Erin Alvey’s album release party tomorrow night,” Candice is saying. Harper can hear the jingling of her keys as the engine turns over on the other end of the phone. “Dress code is Denim & Diamonds. I sent you a few outfit ideas and a screenshot of the details again.”

“Got it,” Harper hums, mind briefly flitting to the denim corset she has hanging in her closet. She makes a mental note to pull out a few options, even though the thought of going out in public and having to socialize makes her itch. “Will—will he be there?”

Candice pauses, and a soft almost motherly tone takes over. “No, Har. He won’t.”

Harper nods to herself, humming to let Candice know she heard. Candice continues, “There will be some press there, though. Make sure to practice up on your statements, okay? They should be focused on Erin’s album, but you know they’re looking for a reaction out of you.”

“Right,” she replies, the voice inside her head reminding her to give that man nothing.

After reviewing a few more upcoming to do’s, Candice bids her goodbye, and once again, Harper is left alone in silence. She practices her brave face, taking a deep breath before heading to the closet to plan out her outfit; she’ll be damned if she doesn’t show up to the party hotter than ever, with no outward sign of any distress.

———

When Filip Forsberg sent the team group chat an invitation to his wife’s album release party, Anthony had accepted quickly. Initially, he was eager to seize the opportunity to bond with some of his new teammates, but now that it’s the day of, it’s the last thing he wants to do. Still, he forces himself to pull a shirt out of one of his suitcases, tossing it in the dryer to iron out some of the wrinkles after being haphazardly chucked inside following his third trade call in two years.

Another trade, another team, with new teammates, new facilities, new plays. At this point, he’s starting to consider himself an expert in getting traded. On one hand, he’s appreciated the opportunity to explore multiple new cities while he’s young and single. On the other, he’s noticed that he’s growing jaded, hesitant—unwilling, even, to grow attached to anything or anyone on his new team, because if he’s learned anything over the last few years, it’s that all of it is temporary.

Anthony allows himself to mope a little bit, but it’s a text from Dante confirming that he’s going to pick him up in an hour that gives him the motivation to get his head back in the game and hop in the shower. He takes care to get himself ready; maybe, if he puts the effort in, the sting of the trade will dull. Maybe he’ll find a pretty girl to get lost in for a night.

By the time he’s getting into Dante’s car, he’s feeling much more confident and social—the getting-ready gin and tonic he had certainly helped. He’s grateful for Barzy, even states away, for introducing him to Dante a few summers ago; the familiar face has made things a little less lonely since arriving in Nashville.

The party is a few miles outside of the downtown area, giving Dante the chance to provide Anthony with a quick rundown of the dynamics of the team and what to expect. They joke around, make some idle chit chat, laugh about a few stupid memes. When they arrive twenty minutes later, Anthony steps out of the car with a little extra swagger in his step.

Inside, he and Dante quickly find a few of the other Predators in the corner of the room, munching on some hors d’oeuvres. They settle in, chattering about what celebrities they might see at the event. Anthony’s eyes roam, absorbing the elaborate decor, before his eyes land on a familiar face.

“Oh my God, that’s Harper Mitchell,” he whispers. “I’ve had a crush on her for years.”

Ryan raises his eyebrow, then grins at Anthony. “Really? A Frenchman like you?”

“You forget who my friends were in New York. All kinds of country boys over there,” Anthony replies, his mind flashing briefly to the country music Mat would blast in the car on the way to and from the rink. “Barzy’s gonna die when I tell him she was here.”

The group mingles, Filip eventually making his way over to greet his teammates. Anthony does his best to be conversational, staying engaged, but he can’t help but glance across the room in search of long, dark curls and skin-tight jeans. He makes a mental note to text Barzy and tell her how much hotter she looks in person.

Dante elbows Anthony, who is conveniently mid-sip of his drink. “Dude, she’s coming over. Buck up, Romeo.”

Across the room, Harper steels herself, finding comfort in the familiar brown eyes of her longtime friend’s husband, flanked by a posse of who she presumes are teammates. Outside of attending a few games with Erin, she knows next to nothing about hockey, but she’s always been surprised at how good looking Fil’s teammates are.

“Great to see you Fil,” she says, plastering her practiced smile on her face.

“You doing okay?” he whispers into her ear as he leans in for a hug.

The tightness in her throat returns, the heavy lump sitting firmly. Harper swallows thickly, blinking quickly to rid her eyes of the tears that threaten to bubble over. “Yep. All good.”

If Filip sees through the weak lie, he doesn’t say anything, only pulls away and gestures to the group of guys behind him, standing awkwardly as they glance around. “You remember Dante and Ryan.”

“Of course,” she nods, offering each of them a smile. Her eyes connect with Ryan. “Great goal the other night.”

“And this is Beau—Anthony Beauvillier—he’s the new guy.”

“Nice to meet you.” Harper’s eyes lock with two cerulean ones. They’re kind, warm—comforting. “Welcome to Nashville.”

“D’you live in Abberly Foundry?” he blurts it out before he has a chance to stop himself.

Dante sputters out a laugh. “Dude, come on. You can’t just ask her where she lives.”

Anthony blushes, looking at Harper bashfully. “N-no, I’m sorry it came out that way. I mean, I live there too. I think I’ve seen you in the lobby a few times.”

“Hopefully you haven’t seen me after a show; usually those looks are a little rough,” Harper says with a smile.

He doesn’t have the balls to tell her she looks beautiful every time he’s seen her, so he just laughs it off instead. She turns her attention toward Ryan to ask about his kids, relieving Anthony of the pressure of having to carry on the conversation; instead, he takes a breath, a long swig of his drink, and slips himself into chatter with Dante.

Even after she walks away to brush elbows with the other Nashville starlets, blue eyes follow Harper for the rest of the night.

———

She bumps into those same blue eyes in the elevator the next day, and Anthony offers to help carry her groceries to her apartment. Fortunately for his nerves, Harper is trained in small talk, asking him about how he’s liking the city and what he’s explored so far. He feels a little lame that the answer is virtually nothing outside of a handful of restaurants and bars.

Once he’s inside her apartment—a slightly elevated version of his own—Anthony feels like he doesn’t belong there. His eyes dart around, taking in the decor: the little blue bowl by the counter for her keys, the flowers on the coffee table, the framed Sopranos picture next to her fridge.

“Tony’s my dad,” she explains when she notices Anthony amusedly chuckling at it.

“Good dad to have,” he comments, setting the grocery bags in his arms down onto the counter. He stands awkwardly, not sure if he should leave or offer to help.

“Are you a Sopranos fan, too?”

“Of course,” he grins, then puts on his best Italian accent. “What, no fuckin’ ziti?”

Harper’s laugh is loud, and Anthony feels a surge of pride in his chest that he made the Harper Mitchell laugh. “Finally, a man with taste.”

“I have a hard time sleeping after games sometimes,” he explains, helping her to empty her bags, “so I’ve made my way through a lot of shows.”

Her eyes narrow as she begins to put the groceries in their respective homes. The conversation flows naturally to her, comfortable with forcing all kinds of chatter at shows and appearances. “What’s your favorite that you watched recently?”

“The Jinx for sure,” he says. “It’s one of the craziest I’ve ever seen.”

Harper’s jaw drops, and at first, Anthony is afraid he said something wrong. But then her face lights up, and her eyes grow excited. “Oh my god – the hot mic footage!?”

Anthony shakes his head in disbelief, nodding in agreement. “I know. That was a wild way to end it. And to make people wait almost 10 years for another season!?”

“I won’t lie, I’ve been in a huge Bob Durst hyperfixation lately,” she laughs, excited that someone understands her niche interest. “I’ve been listening to the podcast, too.”

Anthony leaves an hour and a half later after a full-blown discussion about Robert Durst and The Jinx, along with her number stored securely in his phone and an open invitation to come over the next time he can’t sleep (“I have a lot of late nights, too,” she’d said). The next day, he sends her a Sopranos meme, not knowing it’s the catalyst that will change the rest of his life.

From there, a flip switches. Just like that, Harper can barely remember what life was like before Anthony arrived—and Anthony can’t fathom a Nashville without Harper. They start spending much of their free time together, which, while limited, is made much more convenient due to the fact that the commute is only a short elevator ride up four floors. The days in between are filled with text messages and voice memos, usually random thoughts sprinkled in with a recap of some movie she’d recommended or silly updates on the road.

Anthony finds himself looking for her name on his phone when he leaves the gym, keeping mental notes of her schedule to know when he should clear his own to make time for her. He brushes off teasing from his teammates, razzing him for being a lovesick fanboy.

From the start, despite both Forsbergs digging on multiple occasions for more information, Harper never could quite put a label on the relationship she and Anthony had. She’d clocked the way his eyes flicked down to the curve of her breast, yet she also was keenly aware of the many opportunities he’d had to make a move and never had. He was cute, but she wasn’t interested in pursuing anything farther—not after Joey. She needed time to heal, to recover, to grow on her own. She’d focus on her career, write an album telling her story. And then she’d find someone.

If she was lucky, maybe Anthony would be waiting there at the end of it all.

———

It’s a few weeks into their newfound routine when Harper declines a request to hang out, informing Anthony that she’s having a girl’s night out at the bars to “celebrate her freedom”.

While disappointed, Anthony is equally eager to have a night to himself to relax. It’s been a whirlwind few weeks adjusting to his new team, new routine, new friends. He gets takeout—Harper’s favorite Italian place just down the block—and, after calling his mom, he fires up the Playstation to lose himself in a game for a while.

A few hours later, he sets down his controller, stretching his legs out with a groan. He glances at the clock on the microwave, his mind briefly flitting to Harper, hoping that she’s drinking and dancing Joey out of her system. It feels a bit strange, he thinks, to be home on a night off and not be with her, but he knows that a night out on the town is therapeutic in a way he could never provide.

Then, his mind starts to wander, thinking back on the times he’s heard people say that catch phrase, The best way to get over someone is to get under somebody else, and he can feel his skin crawl at the thought. His blood simmers low in his stomach, the ugly head of jealousy roaring as he pushes away the images floating into his head.

Of course he’s attracted to Harper—who wouldn’t be? Long, dark hair, her big, brown eyes, a body that’s more fitting for a supermodel than a musical artist; she has it all, and a bubbly, quick wit that would make anyone fall in love with her.

Not that he’s in love with her. Or even has feelings for her. They barely know each other—that would be crazy. Never mind the fact that she’s the only girl he’s really spoken to since he got to Nashville. Hell, he hasn’t even thought about opening the apps to find a girl, even though he’s sure he could pick one up with ease.

He blames it on the season, on the craziness of yet another trade, of prepping for the playoffs. A nagging feeling inside of him knows that’s not entirely it, like part of him is whispering to himself, She’s right there, idiot.

But there's no way a girl like that could ever be interested in him—a measley, dumb jock who hasn’t had a home since New York. Harper Mitchell is far too intelligent, successful, and driven to ever give him a second glance. He doesn’t even have the money factor to give him an edge over who he presumes are his potential competitors.

So, friendly neighbors it is.

He wrestles down the thought as he climbs into bed, though his mind is clouded with thoughts of Harper as he falls asleep.

Anthony blinks awake, taking a few moments to acclimate himself. A quick check confirms he’s in bed and it’s late—only the low light of the moon shines behind the drawn curtains. As consciousness begins to seep back in, he realizes that it’s a disjointed knocking at the door that woke him.

A glance at the clock—2:48am—has a confused grunt emerging from his throat before he’s begrudgingly dragging himself out of bed. Slipping on the pair of sweatpants he’d left in a pile on the floor, Anthony blinks more sleep out of his eyes, navigating his way to the front door.

“Harper?”

“Anthony!” she squeals, launching herself forward. Strong arms are there to catch her, leather skirt and all. “I missed you.”

He stifles a laugh, stumbling back inside his apartment and hoping she didn’t wake any of his neighbors. “Harper, did you just get home?”

It’s only when he pulls away that he notes the large brown paper bag clutched in her hand: McDonald’s. Judging by the large Diet Coke and heavenly scent of fresh fries, along with the glassiness of Harper’s eyes, Anthony deduces in short order that it’s a drunk meal.

“Dave took me to Mickey’s,” she explains.

“Dave?”

“M’Uber driver,” Harper slurs, tugging open the brown bag and fishing out a box of chicken nuggets.

Anthony stifles a chuckle watching her dunk an entire nugget into the honey mustard sauce packet. He also realizes how little he’s clothed—he hadn’t thrown a shirt on in his sleepy march to the door.

Pulled out of his thoughts, Anthony realizes that Harper’s chewing has slowed and that she’s unabashedly staring at his exposed torso. He watches her eyes trail along the lines of his muscle, dipping lower until the view is obscured by the thick hem of his sweatpants.

“You’re hot,” she says, bluntly. Anthony’s laugh quirks up the side of his mouth.

He figures he doesn’t have much to lose, so he says, “So are you.”

Harper flips her hair. “Do you think so?”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

In response, she dunks another nugget into the sauce. “You’re sweet.”

Anthony opens his mouth to reply when Harper’s face contorts. Her eyes widen, and she chucks the nugget out of her hand while darting into the bathroom. The door shuts behind her and he winces when he hears the muffled sound of retching.

After laughing to himself, watching the smallest hope of earning a kiss from Harper Mitchell’s pretty lips drift away, he debates whether he should offer to hold her hair back. Ultimately, he opts to pour a big glass of water, grab the Advil bottle, and find a t-shirt in his dresser drawer.

He knocks softly on the bathroom door, helping her up and leading her back to his bedroom after cleaning her up. Not exactly the way he’d envisioned Harper in his bed, but he supposes beggars can’t be choosers.

It takes a bit of wrangling and no shortage of discomfort on Anthony’s end to get Harper changed into his t-shirt, into bed, and to consume both the Advil and some of the water he poured. By the time he returns from brushing his teeth, she’s out like a light, and Anthony smiles to himself as he slides in next to her.

While it wasn’t what he had in mind initially, Anthony feels her warmth beside him and listens to the steady sound of her breathing. As he drifts off to sleep, he thinks to himself that he doesn’t mind one bit.

———

Harper’s head pounds as soon as she opens her eyes. It takes a moment to register that she has no idea where she is, the bed and walls and curtains all unfamiliar. The space beside her in the bed is warm, but there’s nobody there. Where the fuck is she?

She racks her brain, only snippets of last night flickering into her memory. One thing she does remember are soft, blue eyes and a familiar laugh.

Anthony.

After checking herself to confirm she is, in fact, clothed, Harper sits up, almost forgetting about the splitting headache that’s threatening to ruin her day before it even begins. Massaging her temples, she groans.

“That good, huh?”

The voice startles her, and Harper glances up to see Anthony walking toward her, a steaming mug in his hand that he offers her as he approaches. He opens his palm to reveal two pills, which she accepts gratefully along with the coffee. “Thanks. How… why am I here?”

Anthony laughs. “Oh, you remember nothing, huh?”

“Oh god, what did I do?”

He fills her in on the details, from the mess of honey mustard to wrestling a t-shirt over her head to get her into bed. He does, however, decide to keep her drunken confession of attraction to him to himself. No need to divulge that yet.

“Did we… ?” Her voice is different, hesitant, and Anthony makes a mental note of it. He shakes his head, and the relief on her face nearly makes his heart crack.

Harper laughs uncomfortably, the tension between them suddenly thick with the knowledge that both of them are thinking about the exact same thing: she doesn’t care to admit that the thought has crossed her mind prior to right now. She rubs her face with her hands with a groan. “I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing.”

Anthony waves a hand to brush it off as he says, “It’s nothing. You were… charming.”

Her face contorts into an exaggerated expression of worry. “That sounds horrific. I don’t want to know.”

Harper lugs herself out of bed not long after, once the deep throb inside her skull subsides just slightly—though she’s not confident she’ll make it up the elevator without vomiting. Anthony doesn’t show any sign of discomfort from the social mishap from earlier, offering her an old pair of slides so she doesn’t have to make the trip back to her apartment in her heels. “For your walk of shame.”

She snorts, accepting them gratefully. “Does it count as a walk of shame if we didn’t even sleep together?”

“Well, technically we did sleep together,” Anthony says with a shoulder bump, enjoying the way her cheeks flush when he says it.

“And now I’m leaving,” she says with another laugh, pulling open the door. “Goodbye, Anthony.”

———

Following their pseudo one night stand, Harper is grateful for a 2-day road trip that forces an extra few days to let her embarrassment settle. Even after multiple profuse apologies, she still feels mortified, but Anthony doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, he texts her after landing home to confirm their plans for “Nashville Day”, as Harper had dubbed it—a day, she had said, to show him some of the classics of Music City.

After practice, she meets him eagerly to take him to purchase his very first Nashville cowboy hat, which she makes him wear as she treats him to his first ever Nashville hot chicken sandwich (Anthony tries to blink away the tears in his eyes while simultaneously being incredibly impressed at the ease with which Harper puts away once of the spiciest things he’s ever eaten in his life).

Following a quick ice cream detour—Harper doesn’t tell him that she thinks the ice cream will help his burning tongue—the third part of Nashville Day begins: a bar crawl to an assortment of classic Nashville bars, including the bar she’d first started performing at.

“You ever been line dancing?” she asks, guiding him through the crowd on the sidewalk. The city is bustling, per usual, but Anthony doesn’t notice anyone except Harper and her floral wide-leg jeans.

“I’m from Quebec,” he laughs. “What do you think?”

Harper grins. “Great. Come with me.”

Anthony steels himself as he follows her between two wooden doors. It’s dimly lit, with low lighting shining on the worn, wooden floor–from years worth of dancing. Harper smiles.

“Can you do the Cupid Shuffle?”

“Uh… kind of?”

“It’s like that, just with more country music.”

Putting on a brave face, he nods with far more confidence than he feels. Harper finds two barstools—to let him ‘observe’ first before diving in himself. What Harper doesn’t notice, though, is that Anthony spends more time watching her smile and bounce her knee with the beat.

A small crowd gathers and he’s immediately overwhelmed by the synchronized shuffling, stomping, and tapping, but he tries to study the movements carefully. A few songs pass but he’s nowhere near feeling confident enough to go out on his own—in fact, he’d be quite content sitting on the sidelines for the rest of the night, but of course, Harper has other plans.

“Come on, this is my favorite one!” she squeals, seizing Anthony’s hand and dragging him out into the crowd before he has a chance to protest. Harper selects a spot on the edge of the line, positioning him beside her and jumping right into the moves. Anthony moves partially into panic mode, eyes darting around at the patrons around him moving perfectly in sync. His feet cross over themselves, awkward and out of place, and Harper laughs, exaggerating her movements to try and help him out.

“Stomp, stomp, back, back,” she guides him, taking his hand again to turn him when the group shuffles and changes direction.

Anthony’s got two left feet, but he manages to get a decent enough hold on the moves, following the beat—albeit a bit clumsily. Harper admires his commitment, watching the way his brows knit together in concentration.

Eventually, he gets the hang of it… sort of. Still, he’s relieved when Harper exits the dance floor, nursing his bruised ego while they make their way to get another drink.

“You did good out there for your first time,” she says encouragingly.

Anthony scoffs, biting back a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“I’ve seen worse,” she replies with a wink. Her eyes trail over to the mechanical bull on the other side of the room, the crowd around it growing. “You want to scratch another first off your list tonight?”

Blue eyes follow her line of sight, widening when they register what she’s referring to. He’s shaking his head before he can get the words out. “Not a chance.”

“You’re scared,” she says teasingly, sticking her tongue out. “I get it. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

The crowd cheers as she hauls herself up on the saddle. Anthony ignores the pulse below his belt at the image of her legs straddling the bull, but he can’t help the throb watching the way her hips loosen and roll with the movements of the bull. It’s not his fault his brain decided to conjure the image of her doing the exact same thing on top of him.

Fortunately for him, he’s adjusted himself and she doesn’t seem to notice the half-hard erection when she rejoins him after getting knocked off—after an impressive 18 seconds.

“I’m really glad I didn’t try to compete with you,” he says, handing back her drink that she’d left with him for safe keeping. “I’d probably end up on IR and get yelled at by my coaches.”

Harper laughs. “I’ll accept that as an excuse. But after your season is done, you’re getting on that bull.”

“Aye aye,” he says with a salute.

The pair fall silent for a few moments, distracted by the next patron getting flung off the bull in an aggressive 3-second ride.

“Why don’t you have a girl, Anthony?” The question comes from out of nowhere.

“What do you mean?”

She takes another sip. “You’re handsome, you’re successful, you’re an athlete, you’re funny. What girl wouldn’t want you?”

Anthony’s heart starts to pound in his chest, his breathing quickening. Keep it cool, man. He shrugs with a nervous chuckle, faffing some string of “yeah, I just–just not really into that right now, while I’m young, you know?”

Harper observes him for a moment, lost in thought as she swirls the lime in her Corona. Anthony lets the moment sit, returning her gaze with a cool and patient smile, his eyes bonded to hers.

When she speaks, Anthony’s expression falters at first. “The good thing about Joey was that he understood the schedule. So much hopping. Meetings, promos, shows, events. My career isn’t going to be second place to a relationship, so better to date someone who understands that lifestyle.”

Anthony nods, following along. He can practically see the flight path of this conversation, wrestling with the slight increase in his pulse as it plays out in front of him.

“‘Course, maybe that didn’t help, either,” she says with a laugh.

It’s Anthony’s turn to leave a long silence, contemplating her curiously. He weighs the words on his tongue, toying around with them before speaking them out loud. “Sounds like you need a friends-with-benefits.”

Harper considers. Friends with benefits gives the company of a partner, but without the attachment. At least, in theory.

“Everyone knows friends with benefits doesn’t work,” she retorts. “Someone always falls for the other.”

“Not if one of them is leaving Nashville this summer.”

Her eyebrows raise. The offer, no longer subtle, is hanging out in the open on the bar lined with scuff marks and water rings from damp bottles.

“You sure you want to be saying that?” An invisible line in the sand, officially crossed.

A smile graces Anthony’s lips, which he then wets with another swig of his beer. “Most girls only want to date me for the celebrity—to say they’re fucking an NHL player.”

The rest of his sentence doesn’t make it out, but it’s obvious what comes next. But not you.

Because Harper gets it. She’s a celebrity herself, has even more fame and accolades than Anthony, is comfortable with the public eye and everything that comes with having a blue checkmark next to her name. There’s no need to skirt over the clout-chasing and wallet-grabbing insecurities.

Plus, they’re neighbors. Convenient for short notice booty calls—and easy to go to bed alone. The sporadic travel schedules are mutual, as are late nights, early mornings, and quick nights at home. And with Anthony’s future up in the air, it practically guaranteed a clean split at the end of it all.

“Is that all?”

Anthony nudges his empty bottle toward the edge of the bar, leaning in closer toward Harper as he does so. The sweet scent of her perfume invades his senses when he brings his lips closer to her ear before whispering, “I really, really want to fuck you.”

She feels a low pulse in her gut at his words, then downs the rest of her beer. No longer able to deny her burgeoning attraction to him, she shrugs. “Alright. Show me what you got then, Tito.”

Anthony grins at the nickname, sitting back and offering his hand. Harper accepts it, and soon enough, they’re climbing into the backseat of an Uber.

They end up at Harper’s, and Anthony doesn’t demonstrate patience when he kisses her as soon as the door closes. His tongue is practiced, and Harper gets the distinct sense that he’s been waiting for this for a while. His hands card through her hair, holding her close like he can’t bear to part with her.

“If we’re going to do this—” she begins, wrestling his shirt over his head, pausing for a moment to admire the god-like physique underneath his clothes. She’s never seen it sober, and she wants to enjoy it. Her eyes trailed over the deep cut of his muscles, words stuck in her throat as she gapes at the sight in front of her.

Anthony’s lips curl up, amused by the way he appears to have rendered her—the bubbly, famously charismatic Harper Mitchell—speechless. His hands are steady pressed against her sides, hot on her skin. He brings her attention away from his body when he asks cheekily, “Do what?”

“I’m serious, Anthony,” she says, more sternly after she wrenches herself away from his tempting lips. “If we’re going to do—this—that’s all it is. I’m not doing the whole ‘Oops I fell in love with you’ shtick, and I need you to be okay with that. Okay?”

The subtle twitch of his jaw is the only sign of any hesitation; a beat passes, and he nods so smoothly that Harper is almost surprised. He doesn’t give her much time to dwell on it, though, when he presses forward to capture her lips again, leaning her against the wall.

“Whatever you say,” he breathes.

There isn’t much talking from there, save for the sound of lips on skin, soft moans, and the rustle of sheets. Anthony’s body slots against hers, skin hot as he moves slowly, deeply. Harper’s fingers press into the dips of his biceps, pleasure radiating.

When they lie beside each other panting later, Harper turns to face him. The best way to describe the way he’s feeling is shock at how explosive, how other worldly it was to be with her. He’ll come to grips with the fact that he actually slept with the country singer he’s had a crush on for years later.

Anthony feels her eyes on him and he lets his hand rest on her side. Her voice is soft when she asks, “What are you thinking about?”

“How this has got to be in the top five greatest decisions of my life.”

“Only top five?” She nudges his leg teasingly.

“I’ll re-evaluate after next time.”

It doesn’t take long for their already practiced routine to become ritual: during periods they’re both home, one rarely spends an evening alone. Sometimes she’ll bring takeout, sometimes he’ll cook and they’ll watch a hockey game or a movie, and sometimes they go straight into the bedroom—particularly after a few extra days apart.

For once, the ‘friends with benefits’ thing works. Things are easy between them, casual, and the base they’d already established for their relationship makes things smooth. Harper’s having fun, and, for the first time since she saw those videos of Joey, she feels happy.

And Anthony? He doesn’t tell her, but he secretly wonders if their arrangement is actually the best decision he’s ever made.

———

The room is quiet, save for the slowing heavy breathing. Harper’s legs feel like jelly and the space between her thighs tingles with a warm radiance that only Anthony can bring.

“What happened with Joey?”

Harper casts him a sideways glance, sheet rustling with the movement. Moonlight streams in through the half-parted curtains of Anthony’s bedroom. It’s always funny to see the same view that she has from her own apartment, but in an entirely different space. “I don’t want to do pillow talk, Anthony.”

He pauses for a moment, smiling to himself. “Okay,” he says, slipping out from underneath the sheet; Harper’s eyes instinctively move to the generous, shapely curve of his ass. The cool, purple light of the moon illuminates the shape and lines of his back muscles as he leans down to pull on his boxers, then his sweatpants, then his Alo t-shirt. Strolling out of the open bedroom door, Harper hears his feet padding down the hallway rug, followed by the sound of a cabinet, a clink of glass, and finally, the sound of a cup being filled with liquid.

Moments later, Anthony saunters back into the room, climbing back onto the bed. He hands her a stemless glass of wine, then grabs the remote from the bedside table and clicks on the television mounted across the room.

“Now it’s just two friends hanging out.”

Harper can’t help the short, exhaled laugh that slips out despite the impact of the message. She blinks, letting her eyes flick down to the glass. The red wine sloshes inside, its tart scent drifting into her nose. She takes a sip.

“I thought we were happy,” she says after a while. Her voice is quiet, reflective, shaking just the slightest bit. Anthony sits patiently and listens. “We were talking about moving in together.”

The glow from the television lights up the side of Harper’s face, cast down as she tells her story. Anthony watches her, his heart lurching at the expression on her face. But he needs to know. Needs to know what he’s working with, what his barrier to being with her—really being with her—looks like.

“He checked in at night when we were apart, FaceTimes a lot of the time too, so it honestly wasn’t anywhere on my radar; I genuinely had no idea he was sneaking around.. I thought the pictures were photoshopped—just something someone was making up on the internet for drama.” She pauses. “But then I saw the videos.”

Anthony’s mouth falls open. “There were videos?”

“Multiple,” she says, a soft, sad smile on her face as she glances over to him. His heart fractures.

“I’m sorry,” he says dumbly. “That’s awful. What did you do?”

“I’m not sure what it was like in Chicago, but it blew up here. There was no way he didn’t know that I knew. So I packed up his shit, left it on the porch of his house, and that was it. I didn’t give him the chance to explain himself or apologize.”

Shit. “Still… that’s a lot to have to deal with. You need closure.”

“I deserve better than that,” Harper says matter-of-factly. “And anyone who isn’t going to give me that doesn’t deserve my time. No closure necessary.”

Anthony nods, struck with the sheer force of her strong persona. He hesitates, the words sitting in his mouth for a few moments as he debates if he should speak them out. But he can’t miss the opportunity—not when this is the closest he’s come to uncovering the truth. “Is that why you won’t do a relationship?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Not every partner you have is going to be like that, you know,” he offers.

Harper shakes her head, taking a sip of the wine. “I’m not ready to take that risk yet.”

———

It isn’t until the end of April that Harper realizes the enormous space Anthony had carved out for himself in her life. She’s sitting on his mattress, legs crossed with an oversized Islanders sweatshirt on, playing him a portion of a demo she’d recorded earlier that day. His suitcase is out, and he’s in the process of packing for an extended trip to Vancouver—at least, longer than he’d been away since they started spending time together.

“A whole week?” she pouted.

“It’s only five days,” he laughs, folding a hoodie and placing it into the bag. He glances at her, liking the sight of her on his bed and in his clothes. The sleeves of the blue sweatshirt are baggy, rolled over her wrists, and the hem at the bottom swims over her thighs. Then he adds, “You look good in that.”

“I look good in everything,” she says with a cheeky wink.

“You do,” he agrees. “And nothing, too.”

A pulse awakens between Harper’s thighs at the heat in his eyes when he says it, gone with a blink when he returns to the closet to pull out more clothes.

“I don’t know how to be here alone anymore!” she whines.

Anthony snorts before tossing a few pairs of rolled up socks into his bag. “Are you sure it’s not just because you start to get cranky when you go a few days without dick?”

Scoffing, Harper rolls her eyes. “I can get plenty of dick, if I want it. I don’t need you for that.”

If her sharp words hurt him, he doesn’t show it, instead sending a smirk in her direction. He zips up his suitcase, setting it on the floor before turning back to her. Blue eyes lock with hers as he slides a knee onto the mattress, then the other, slinking his way toward her until his legs are straddling hers, his lips mere inches from her own. Harper feels a flutter in her heart that mimics the one between her legs, heat flooding through her at the proximity of his body. “You don’t need me, but you sure do want me.”

Just like that, she’s putty beneath him, melting as soon as his plush lips press against hers. Heat radiates through her system as the kiss intensifies, allowing his tongue to slip into her mouth. Anthony’s fingers lace with hers and pin her hands against the mattress, bracketing her face with his arms.

Abruptly, he pulls away from her, his cheeks flushed. Another smug smile curls up on his face, observing the hitch in her throat and the glassiness of her eyes.

“You sure you can get that somewhere else?”

———

Eliminated in the first round, the Predators’ playoff run isn’t nearly as deep as Anthony hoped it’d be. Not just for the obvious—chasing his dream of winning the Stanley Cup, but because the end of the season means his inevitable departure from Nashville, and, ultimately, Harper.

As disappointing as the loss is, hearing the deafening silence of Predators fans at Bridgestone Arena, he’s grateful for the lack of travel home afterwards. He feels strange packing up his things after the game, seeing the disappointment and frustration running deep in the locker room, not knowing if he’ll be back in this place come October to help them take another run at it.

Harper arrives to his apartment not long after he does, wordlessly joining him in the shower he stepped into. Their bodies blend into one under the warm water, cascading over their joined form as she allows Anthony to work out his conflicting feelings in the comfort of her arms. It’s quiet, sensual; his lips seek out peace by marking up the smooth skin of her neck and collarbones while he presses his hips into hers, following a steady and slow rhythm until they’re both reaching their climax in the steam-filled room.

She stays over that night, a rare but not unheard of occurrence as their relationship has progressed. After another round of silent, sinful therapy, Anthony is plagued by his typical post-game insomnia, heightened by the disappointment of his loss and the uncertainty of his future. He watches Harper sleep, soaking in each breath, the rise and fall of her chest, the glow of her skin underneath the moonlight. Her air-dried hair is wavy, a little bit of frizz, and even in the dark, the sparse freckles on her nose stand out against her tawny skin.

It’s almost 2:30am by the time he realizes he’s been gazing at her for over an hour. He’s a little bit embarrassed, quickly blinking away even though she’s been dead to the world ever since he made her come for the third time that night. It was too easy to trail his eyes over the lines of her face, the fullness of her lips, drowning out the stressors of the outside world with Harper’s beauty.

His eyes grow heavy, lost in thought, amused at himself for literally watching her sleep. He hadn’t even thought about hockey.

Anthony’s eyes widen. He hadn’t thought about hockey on the last night of his season, with no contract in place for his next, after an abysmal performance in what was supposed to be a promising postseason. Instead, he’s being a lovesick puppy staring at a girl who isn’t his.

And all at once, it hits him. He’s in love with Harper.

And he’s leaving Nashville. Doesn’t know if he’ll be back. And he promised her he wouldn’t catch feelings. Practically guaranteed it.

His heart thuds in his chest as the realization sets in. Despite his fear and uncertainty about the enormous wrench it just put into his… well, life, he’s suddenly wondering how long he’d lived with this feeling for Harper and didn’t know it. He’s never been so aware of the beating of his heart in his chest, memorizing the feel of it.

Harper stirs beside him, as if her subconscious has finally realized he’s been staring at her for way too long. He turns his head and closes his eyes, feigning sleep, unsure if she’s awake or just shifting. Sleep closes in on him, not claiming him completely before he feels a gentle press of lips against his sleeping cheek.

———

In the morning, his scent is the first thing that Harper registers, head resting heavily on Anthony’s bicep. His leg is pressed against hers, and a subtle adjustment of her hips confirms that neither of them bothered to put clothes on last night. He’s warm, solid against her body, and the steadiness of his deep breathing is calming.

She wonders how late he stayed awake. He’d thoroughly exhausted her—the space between her legs aches deliciously when she stretches—and the thought flits through her mind that last night was probably one of the last times she’d be with him for awhile. Maybe ever.

So she savors it. Instead of leaving the way she always has, the way she knows she should, she snuggles into his warmth, soaking it in one last time.

When Anthony wakes, Harper is practically wrapped around him, nuzzled underneath his chin. His heart hammers in his chest as his revelation from the night before sinks in.

He’s in love with Harper Mitchell. And she’s naked in his bed.

Anthony’s mind rolls, wondering if he should tell her. And if he should, what should he say—and when? He’s running out of time, his time in Nashville slipping away faster than he’s ready to accept.

By the time Harper wakes, he’s made the executive decision to wait. Not yet.

She stays for a plate of scrambled eggs and one more round against the counter when a comforting hug gets quickly heated. Anthony stares at the door long after she leaves, words echoing in his head in a hopeless jumble.

It isn’t until the next day when he’s packing up his bedroom and finds a small, Harper-sized sock that he makes the split decision. He sends a quick text letting her know he’s on his way, and her expression is concerned when she answers the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Can I come in?”

She steps aside to let him in the door, following him anxiously into the kitchen where he turns to face her. “I’ve been thinking.”

Her arms cross and an amused expression floats over her face. “Oh yeah?”

“Reflecting,” he corrects. “On my time in Nashville, now that it’s…”

The words trail off, but Harper knows what’s next. Over.

“It’s been short, but I realized I dreaded the end of the season not because of getting eliminated, but because it meant I’d be leaving you.”

The words hang heavy between them. He sighs and speaks again. “You asked me why I don’t have a girl, and the truth is that I didn’t know what I wanted until I woke up with you in my bed.”

Another beat passes and he waits for the message to hit. Then he confesses, “You’re what I want, Harper.”

“Anthony,” she says, like a warning. He can hear the way her voice trembles, and he can feel the lift in his heart. “Don’t do this.”

He ignores her, ignores the way her body stiffens. If he can just get through to her, she’ll see. He’s sure of it.

“You said it yourself—you deserve better than how Joey treated you. You know that I can and will treat you better. Exactly how you deserve.”

“You can’t say that.”

“Why not?” he challenges. “I know you feel the same.”

Harper exhales harshly, her hands on her hips. For a second, Anthony is scared of her and the fire in her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” she finally says. Joey flashes through her mind, glimpses of the video of him kissing another girl, of the way it felt like the world had stopped when she saw it. The lump in her throat is heavy, and she shoves away any flitter of hope that burns quietly in her chest. She can’t—cannot—allow that to happen again.

“Does it matter how I feel?”

Harper’s eyes shoot up to Anthony’s, the usual cerulean swimming with a deeper cornflower shade. She can’t place the emotion behind it. Concern? Hurt? Something else?

“I care how you feel,” she says, “but no matter how you feel, it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want that. I can’t do it right now.”

“That’s a crock of shit, and you know it. We’ve basically been dating this entire time.”

Harper shakes her head. “Your definition of dating must be very different from mine.”

“Sleepovers, movie nights, coffee dates, constant texting,” he lists, counting them off on his fingers. “That doesn’t sound like dating to you?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair? What’s not fair is you not even giving me a chance when you know I’m right!”

“You knew that’s all this was!” Harper exclaims, her heartbeat racing. “You agreed to that before any of this started, Anthony.”

Anthony bristles, his jaw clenching. His breath quickens and anger bubbles in the pit of his stomach—he can hear the resistance in her voice. Why won’t she admit she feels the same? He knows she does.

But if she isn’t going to, or doesn’t want to, then there’s no use in trying. And he can’t keep falling harder for her—not if she isn’t going to reciprocate.

“Then maybe we should quit while we’re ahead.”

Something flashes in Harper’s eyes, so fast he barely catches it before it’s gone and replaced by cold. Her back stiffens and she draws herself up taller. “Maybe we should.”

The silence in the room is heavy and uncomfortable. Anthony and Harper stare at each other, unspoken words swirling in the air between them. There’s so much left to say, so many things left unsaid, but Anthony’s head is too clouded with defeat and frustration.

So, he shrugs, bids an uncomfortable goodbye, and takes his leave of her apartment. Harper stands in silence, wondering how, after all the care she took to protect herself after Joey, she feels the same ache in her heart as the day he’d left.

———

The next day, Harper has a songwriting session with Zoey, who, fortunately for her, comes prepared with three half-written songs. They’re easier, take a little less brain power, and she’s grateful for a friend who came prepared. Waking up was easy, but remembering her and Anthony’s fight had been tough.

Those three songs turn into a warmup, and three hours later, Harper emerges from a songwriting haze, almost half an album deep. There’s work to do, but she’s pleased with what they came up with, her mind already swimming with other ideas that she’s sure she’ll be recording half-completed voice memos with for the rest of the night.

She stays to chat with Zoey for a little while, catching up on the latest in each other’s lives and making plans for coffee soon. Harper packs up her things, murmuring a goodbye with her head swimming.

“Who is he?”

Trannie’s voice comes from behind her, and Harper pauses, her keys jingling in her hand. She turns. “Who is who?”

“The guy in those songs.”

“What are you talking about? Zo, it was Joey,” she says.

“Not all of it. There’s someone else in there.”

Anthony’s eyes float through her mind, and although she can lie to Zoey, she can’t lie to herself.

Harper flies home, rushing up the elevator and pounding on Anthony’s door. She stands impatiently, heart thumping in her chest, listening for the familiar sound of his feet on the tiled floor of the kitchen.

The sound doesn’t come, though, and Harper waits by the door until a building manager comes by and informs her that the resident of unit 1293 turned in his keys earlier that day. Vaguely aware of offering a short ‘thank you’, Harper returns to her own apartment in shock.

Anthony is gone.

And she’s only just realized that she’s in love with him.

Twenty four hours later, she’s on a plane. Her heart beats in her throat as she watches it touchdown. Bienvenue a Montreal flashes on the screen outside the jet bridge. Harper finds the address she bribed Filip for in her phone, pulling up her Lyft app.

Once she’s in the vehicle, she blows out a breath and loses herself in thought. The Montreal skyline comes into view outside the window, and she’s instantly surrounded by everything Anthony. The trees, the buildings, the streets—she wonders how many of them he’s seen, been to. She thinks about going to those places with him.

When the red Nissan pulls up to the house, Harper thanks her driver and steps out. Her hands shake, but she pushes through, clutching the handle of her small duffle bag until she’s knocking at the door.

Anthony’s face is nothing but shock when he opens the door. “Harper?”

“Anthony,” she says, breathless. She’s frozen in place, staring at him, like she forgot what she came there for. His eyes, she notices, are the same shade of cool, cornflowery blue as that day he’d left. It makes her heart ache.

“What are you doing here?” His words pull her out of her thoughts and she briefly wonders how long she’d been staring at him in silence.

“I couldn’t—I couldn’t let you leave like that. After everything we—I just couldn’t.”

He sighs, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. “You made it clear how you feel, Harper. You didn’t need to come all this way to say it again.”

“No, Anthony,” she says, watching his expression shift when she says it. “I was wrong. I was scared. I am scared.”

“Of what?”

Harper shifts on her feet, the lump in her throat tightening. Anthony’s gaze is firm and unwavering. “Of getting hurt again. Of Joey happening all over again. Of you leaving.”

It clicks for him, then, the worry in her eyes. “I’m not Joey, Harper. I think you know that. I can’t promise that everything will be perfect always, but I’m willing to give it my best shot because I think you’re worth it.”

“What if you decide I’m not worth it anymore?”

Anthony takes her hand in his, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “Harper, you are kind, funny, smart, talented, and beautiful. Anyone who doesn't see that isn’t worth your time anymore. Myself included.”

She doesn’t reply. It’s almost overwhelming, the things he says to her; she sees kind things about her written in articles and posted online, but it sounds entirely different coming from his mouth. He continues, “That’s what I was trying to tell you the other day. You are worth it. And I’d like to prove it to you, if you let me.”

Their eyes meet, bodies unconsciously floating together. Anthony stays quiet, gauging her face for a reaction. The fear is still there, looming over her in a silent and constant threat, but blue eyes pierce through the veil and she focuses hard on them to push the rest away.

Then, she smiles. “Kiss me, you idiot.”

#anthony beauvillier fic #anthony beauvillier x oc #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine

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leaflessfae · 6 months

Text

The Harper brain worms are taking over

Pairing: M!Harper x F!pc

Content. MDNI. Noncon, kidnapping, jealous Harper, a sprinkle of yandere Harper, p in v, unprotected, sedated pc who's half-conscious, some hallucinations (I wanted to write more hypnotic stuff but that would've made this way longer so I'm holding back. For now.), tentacles but only for a liddol, fingering, (pc's cum) tasting, and hopefully that's it.

A/N. Snickering to myself as I write and lie 'Harper is a good doctor' kdkxksk

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"It's looking..." There's a sharp intake of air, then a click of a tongue before Harper is finally turning to you, what you assume to be your documents in his hands, "pretty bad."

A grave silence prevails over every corner of the room that seems to only tighten and suffocate you in its white walls. Harper stays silent for a few seconds, only running his eyes over your bewildered, yet concerned, countenance. "Wh... what's looking bad, doctor?" Eventually, you inquire, a brow raising skeptically, "I'm feeling okay?"

He breathes out, turning to set the documents on his desk and taking a moment to force his features to soften, to demolish every attempt of a smile coming out before he turns to you again, a frown drawing his brows together slightly. "Have you been taking any medications without my supervision lately?"

You have. "No, I haven't."

"Well, your tests say you have. You wouldn't lie to your doctor now, would you?" He shakes his head, "because that would be pretty disappointing."

His tone makes you visibly reel back in your seat, a grimace fighting its way to your face. "It's just painkillers." You lie through your teeth, keeping your head held high and alert. You've never taken a liking to the doctor standing before you; always has he given you unpleasant vibes that screamed at you to bolt out of his confined room of an office. You've trusted your guts at that time and changed your doctor, only to notice that something is very wrong with the way your body feels lately. Doctor Harper, very unfortunately, was actually good at his job (or so he appears), and so you reluctantly made your way back to him, only to remember why you changed doctors in the first place.

"Don't underestimate medicine, sweetheart. What have you been taking?"

You've fallen silent once again. All plans of actually fixing whatever the hell was up with your body thrown out the window; you just wanted to get out of here. And so you lie again. "Maybe the tests are wrong. I'm feeling totally fine, and I haven't been taking anything."

"You haven't been attending your weekly checkups." His hands are already dressing up in medical gloves, eyes aren't even on you as he scolds.

"I'm just busy."

"Busy changing doctors?" A final snap announces the gloves are in place as he glances up at you, gaze fixing you in place.

Your lips thin into a line, hands gripping the edge of the bed you're sat on. Harper sighs before you can retort back, shaking his head. "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed. Look at where you've gotten yourself." He shrugs his hand at you, gesturing to your body, "Now we gotta fix you up, don't we? You wouldn't have gotten into this in the first place were you to listen to me."

"I-I'm late for my shift, actually. Let's discuss this later?" You scramble to get off the bed once he starts approaching. "Next week–"

"No, you don't know how dire your situation is. We have to take action immediately."

You don't even think as you bolt for the door upon noticing a syringe filled and ready in his hand, your hands gripping the handle and harshly tugging. The door rattles in protest and refuses to budge, so you tug it again in case you didn't force it enough the first time, but it only meets your efforts with macabre immutability. When the hell did he lock–

"Trust me, darling, I'm not very happy about doing this either." You would've believed him if it weren't for his breath picking up, a foul grin stretching his lips. "I would've been able to detoxify your body with you conscious, but your test results are extremely alarming. I'm going to have to sedate you for this."

"No. I'm good!" With the door being completely out of the escaping picture, you resort to using what you always use in the streets. You swing your fist at his face once he's close enough, placing a great amount of strength in it; half of it induced by fear, and it works. Harper doesn't seem to expect your sudden attack as he stumbles back, clutching a hand to his bleeding nose. It buys you enough time to run to the windows, not caring if the jump would break your fucking legs.

But a surprisingly strong hand yanks you back by your shirt, sending you tumbling back and hitting his desk in the process. Harper lunges at you before you can lunge at him and wrestles you to the floor, seizing your wrists in a firm grip and sitting over your body, rendering you immobile. He was stronger than he looked, and it terrified you to think what he might also be in hidden sight.

"Stay put. You wouldn't want to hurt yourself further now, would you?" Harper's grin only widens as you struggle and writhe underneath him, blood smeared across his face and dripping on your skin. "I'm only trying to help you out."

"I would rather fucking die!" You spit, fiery eyes glaring and legs kicking– trying to kick.

Harper clicks his tongue several times in disappointment as if you were a child who needs to be disciplined. "Such foul words. You shouldn't say that to a doctor. It wounds them." He produces the syringe again, punctures your skin before you can scream in terror in hopes for someone to come running for your aid. "Shh...sh...I've got you." He's got his hand glued to your lower jaw to drown out every screech for help you could utter until your eyes grow impossibly heavy, body falling limp beneath him.

When you awaken, it's not at the hospital.

None of the bleak white walls and glaring lights greet you when you flutter your eyes open, head feeling heavy as ever as you struggle to make sense of what could've possibly happened. It's dim in the room, the only light being the street lamps filtering in through the window. It's– wait. Street lamps.

You would've jolted up in the realization that it's nighttime were your body functioning, but all you can feel is– nothing. You can't feel your legs. You can't feel your arms, your hands, your fingers. Panic settles in your veins, your heart palpitating faster with each passing second. You're quick to feel lightheaded with anxiety, heart drumming loudly in your ears. Where the fuck were you–

"You can't move, doll. Don't bother." A soft voice that could only belong to Harper rings out from beside you. Terror-stricken yet unable to move, your eyes flit to your side, and there he is. A gentle smile adorns his rather gentle features as he lays beside you. "Don't worry, it's going to wear off eventually. You're safe with me."

You're anything but safe with him. Your eyes can only follow his hand as he moves to toy with a strand of your hair, idly twirling it around his fingers before bringing it to his face, breathing in deeply then kissing it. He sits up, twisting around to grab a glass of water and a pill from the nightstand. "This will make you feel better."

You press your lips together at once, jaw clenching and refusing to open your mouth as he presses the pill to your lips. He frowns, pushes it further until it clashes against your teeth. "Yeah?" He says, before forcing your jaw open with a hand clenching the sides of your face. "Should I really teach you a lesson to listen to your doctor?" He forces the pill into your mouth before hurriedly holding the glass to his lips. Soon are his lips on yours, passing the water through his mouth and tipping your head in a way that would force you to swallow.

"There we go." He pulls away then immediately yanks at your skirt, pulling it all the way down your legs. Your panties are pushed to the side and, despite how dry you are, your pussy welcomes his finger. He only glides it along your folds, but you feel yourself getting weirdly wet way too quickly.

"Did you really think you could fool me?" He huffs, out of breath already even though he's barely touched you, a manic grin spreading his lips. He isn't even trying to hide it the way he usually does at your appointments. No. There's no need. Not when he has you all for himself, all docile and vulnerable for all his fantasies and wicked intentions. "Did you think I wouldn't notice when my favorite patient starts frequenting other doctors? You're so cute. So dumb."

Then he pushes his finger into you, and he moans at the sight, at the sensation of your warm cunt, and at how your pussy makes those adorable squelching sounds when he starts fucking his finger into you. An exhilarated laugh leaves him when you start making small whimpery noises, which only leads him to push another finger into you.

Whatever he made you swallow was taking a toll on your mind. Harper was starting to look blurry, hazy, and even a bit disoriented. You blink rapidly, trying to clear your vision but only starting to see something taking shape around him. "Mmh.." You blabber as if to alert him, but he only chuckles in that frightening tone of his.

"What's that, darling? I can't understand you."

"Mnngh..." another trial that only proves your tongue to be too heavy to form actual words. Harper suddenly fingers you faster, forcing moans out of you, and then you feel it. Slimy and wet and sticky, sliding across your legs and all the way to your thighs, slipping under your shirt and caressing your tummy. Your breath shakes, both from Harper's assault and fear. Blobs, thick and thin, taking multiple shapes and sizes, vaguely resembling tentacles, surround you.

You feel them getting closer to where Harper is coaxing fluids out of you. You feel them circle your nipples and latch onto them. You feel them snake around your thighs and spread them further, or that might be you gaining some control in the sense that you can slightly move your body, just not upon your conscious command.

With a strained voice, you whimper, both scared and on the very edge of climaxing. You don't know if you want to push him away - if you had the strength - or to hold onto him in fear of the tentacles. "H-Ha..pa.."

"That's my name."

Then you're gushing around his fingers, pussy squeezing them so delightedly and covering them in your sweet sweet slick. "Oh yes– fuck, fuck yes. Squeeze my fingers like that!" Harper might be hyperventilating with the way he pants, his usual self-control nowhere to be found as he hastens to pull his hard cock out of his pants, his hand wrapping around it and pumping in time with the clenching of your walls.

"Sweet doll." He withdraws his fingers at last, laughing as he presses them together only to spread them apart, watching your slick form sticky threads between them. He brings his fingers close to his mouth, lolling out his tongue and moaning loudly as he twirls it around them before sucking them completely into his mouth.

He takes his time tasting you, savoring every drop with a moan, not bothering to hide how hard he's getting and how his flushed tip leaks precum on your thigh. Meanwhile, you're fighting the urge to cry, to wail as something else plays with your slit. Slimy and thin and you feel it fluttering around your twitching hole. Harper doesn't react to it, as if it's not even there, but you can very clearly feel it. It must be there!

"Mm, so..." Harper says, finally letting his fingers out and giving them a last lick, "so sweet. Here. Taste yourself." His fingers dip into your cunt so suddenly it makes you jolt a bit, and he gathers your cum and slick before it's pushed into your mouth. "See? You taste good."

He doesn't stop there. Toys with your tongue like it's his right, feeling the warm muscle beneath his fingertips, not taking his fingers out until he's sure you've cleaned them of your cum, and covered them instead with your saliva. Harper is entranced as he watches you as if he's the one under the influence; his eyes are half-lidded as they drink you in, and his lips are slightly open, face so flushed and tinted deep red.

His hands grip your hips and he drags you closer to him, his cock nudges at your entrance and suddenly the tentacles that were invading your vision disappear. You gasp, blinking up at the ceiling then at him in confusion, and he smiles so wide when he sees your gaze on him, his ears flushing redder than they already were.

"I'm gonna make you feel good," whispers as he holds your panties to the side and slides in, feeding his cock into your tight slippery hole, his jaw falling slack and eyes rolling back, throat rumbling with a long "fuuuuck..."

He pulls you up, cradling your body against his as he bottoms out. "So– shit, so much better than I imagined."

Harper is up in a second, lifting you with him by his hands that dig into the plush of your ass. "I've always wanted to try this," he whispers before you're lifted until only his tip is snug inside you, then brought down until he's fully enveloped again, cock hitting so deep in your cunt. "Fuck– ah, h-hold onto m– right, you can't." He laughs out of breath, then you're slammed against a wall, weight distributed between him and the cold wall against your back.

He lets one hand move up to shrug your arms around his neck, telling you to be good and try to keep them there. "You can do that, no? Some of that strength must be back by now." He whispers in your ear before he's drilling into you, moaning loudly directly in your ears, even drowning out your own moans with his. "You– have no idea how much I waited for this."

He kisses you, tongue first, licking into your open mouth and groaning with wild abundance. Harper never falters in his thrusts and never makes you feel as if you're about to fall, his grip firm and stronger than you thought him to be. He bites your lower lip as he pulls away then smiles at you. "Do you know how hard it was to hold back? To stop at a few invasive touches but never go far enough to satisfy?"

He angles his hips, hitting spots you didn't know would send you squealing. "To see your cute little ass trot into my office, to sit so fucking prettily, and to talk my ear off about worthless scums trying to get a piece of you when all I can think about is how pretty you'd be split on my dick?"

He slithers his hands from your ass and to the back of your thighs, holding you by them and spreading you open, his gaze falling down to where his cock disappears again and again, getting sucked so hungrily by your greedy cunt. "F-fucking hell. Look at you taking me so well! I knew you could take it."

But then his tone changes, and his thrusts turn harsher, rougher without the usual care he carries. "But then you go off and think you can avoid me by seeing another doctor." He hisses, eyes blown with infatuation yet frustration, "It's okay. Hah, it's okay. You'll always come back to me. I'll make sure of it."

It's only then that you notice. That your eyes focus a bit and zero in on the stains on his shirt. Some of them are brown and dry, but the fresher ones– the fresher ones are tinted crimson, spread about chaotically as if something was squirted messily and splattered his shirt. Harper notices your gaze and laughs, loud and breathless.

"I did it for you. " He stutters and plunges deep within you, pressing into your body as close as possible while his seed splutters your insides, pumping you full of his cum as you moan and follow very close behind, clenching around him and milking him of every drop he's worth. Harper holds you against the wall for a while, until both of you almost catch your breaths.

Your eyes barely stay open as your head lays on his shoulder, more exhausted than you originally were. This time, you notice a small card on the nightstand. Your heart suddenly picks up again when you focus on it, recognizing the bloodied ID as the doctor's you frequented a few times, confirming your suspicions.

Harper seems to know that you're looking directly at it, and he smiles. "I told you I'll make sure of it."

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A/N. Once my writing skills evolve and I can write mind break (and be satisfied with it) it's over for yall

#i wanted to add more but that wouldve made this so longnngg #the agony #also incouldnt decide whether he lets you go or not #if he does then he would definitely gaslight you that nothing has ever happened and youre imagining things #before deeming you unhealthy and that as your doctor his duty is to take care of you #fucking takes you to the asylum #or or #he would keep you and break your mind bit by bit until youre nothing but a blabbering mess who cant function on their own #uwu #degrees of lewdity #dol #harper the doctor #dol harper #cw noncon #tw noncon #dol pc

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iinsertblognamee · 1 year

Text

big sister's

summary ― what happens when your overprotective big sister finds out you're dating and not just that, you're dating the team captain. well shit.

pairing ― sam kerr x arnold!reader

warning/s ― angst, swearing

You let out a puff, as you sat down on the bench next to Katrina. Leaning over to stretch your legs, feeling the tension slowly break away. Training has been hard, Tony ensured we were performing to our absolute best.

Charlotte joined, asking Katrina about Harper. You tried to listen in to the conversation but your attention was quickly stolen before you could contribute anything important. Caitlin was in deep conversation with Sam. You could see Sam’s leg muscles flex as she attempted to stretch her injured calf. You embarrassingly roam your eyes all over her body as she pushes her hips deeper.

A shove stole your attention away - a knowing smirk on Katrina’s lips. Her eyebrows wiggling, Charlotte joined in.

“What’s going on over there little miss?” the older woman teases, giving you another shove.

“Shut up” you puff out, shaking your head as you stood up and turned your back to Sam. That would stop you from stealing any more glances. Grabbing your water bottle, taking a large sip so you could dodge the questions you knew both girls were bursting to ask. You could feel Charlotte wrapping her arm around your neck, bringing her head close to yours - giggles already leaving her lips.

“I don’t know if Mac would approve of this arrangement” The comment gets Katrina to let out a laughing snort; now gaining the attention of Ellie. “What’s happening over here?”

All three of you start to talk over each other, your “Nothing!” the loudest - causing Katrina and Charlotte to burst into giggles once again.

Thankfully before either of them could say anything else, Tony walked in - gaining the attention of everyone in the changing rooms.

“Alright ladies, good job out there today! Make sure to get changed and ready for lunch. We’ll be waiting for you in the cafeteria”. A clap of his hands gets everyone moving again. Katrina, Charlotte and Ellie walk out together, as you start to pack your bag up.

Soon enough you were one of the last to start to leave the room. Your attention fixated on tying your hair up in a bun that you don’t realise arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back into the changing room. Spinning you around, you’re met with brown eyes and a small grin. You let her guide you to a corner of the room, her grin growing bigger.

“I miss you” she confesses, as she pulls you closer to her. Your lips practically touching. You feel her give your hips a slight squeeze, a small shiver running down your spine.

“I’ve been here the whole time” you bite back, a smile playing on your lips as she rolls her eyes at you. Shaking her head, “You know that’s not what I mean”. You almost miss it with how small she sounded, so intimate.

You did know what she meant. Over the past couple of weeks, the two of you hadn’t been able to have a moment to yourselves. Between world cup preparations, and brutal training sessions mixed, with group hangouts, your time with the women in front of you had been limited.

“I know, I miss you too” The confession brings a smile back on Sam’s face, one of her hands moving from your hip to cup your face. Her thumb grazing your lip, her eyes piercing yours - watching your every reaction. The sharp breath you take, only makes her smile wider.

You ultimately stop the chasing game, smashing your lips onto hers, your hands gripping her hips and pushing her body closer to yours. Somehow she manages to deepen the kiss, her hand now cupping the back of your neck to keep you on her lips.

The kiss was your first taste of her in weeks and if you weren’t so desperate you would have blushed at the noises leaving your lips. Sam only seems to take that on with pride, her second hand now gripping your ass. You gasp into her mouth, her taking the opportunity to trace your lower lips with her tongue before she lips it into your mouth.

You had known your girlfriend long before you transferred to Chelsea from West Ham United almost two years ago. While you both had been on the national team together, you had met her back when your big sister and Sam had been teammates back in 2014.

Although there had always been some sort of attraction between the two of you - it wasn’t until you had gotten injured just under a year ago did the pair of you decide to really go for it.

You vividly remember coming into contact with an opposing team member, pain and suddenly you were on the floor. You were walked off the field, Sam trying to follow but ultimately had to finish the game. The final whistle couldn’t have come any faster, Sam rushing towards the medical room to find you still being checked over for any signs of concession they may have missed.

Three stitches later - which Sam had held your hand for - you were given the all-clear to head home. Sam took it upon herself to take you home, checking every few minutes to make sure you weren’t going to collapse on her on the car ride home. It wasn’t until you found yourself covered in blankets (in fresh clothes with help from Sam, because god forbid you somehow hurt yourself getting changed) on your couch, water and food ready for you that she finally started to relax. She made sure to stay close enough to you in case you needed her for anything, her eyes never leaving your face.

You can’t remember if it was before Sam had asked you if you needed anything else or after she offered to stay the night but your lips were on hers. And as they say, it only got better from there.

The two of you broke away from your quick make-out, a giggle leaving your lips as you shake your head. The two of you acting like horny teenagers.

“We should probably head to lunch before people start to notice we aren’t there” Your suggestion creates a groan from your partner, the frown appearing on her face reminds you of your nieces when they get told it's bedtime. Shaking your head, before bringing your lips back to hers for one last peck.

The sound of shoes squeaking against the floor breaks the atmosphere the two of you had created, the two of you breaking apart to find Alanna frickin Kennedy standing there, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. You feel your heart seize up, and it takes you a few seconds to remember how to breathe.

“Holy shit” was enough to leave her lips for you to break out of your shock. Your legs moving fast enough to grab her by the arms - somehow stopping the woman from running back to your sister.

“What the fu-” “-You can’t tell Mac” You cut her off, pleading as she closes her mouth. Looking over your shoulder to Sam before back at you. You can see the confusion on her face.

“Wh-what is - how did this happen?” You couldn’t find yourself saying anything, your mouth gaping but nothing coming out. “Lana-” Sam starts but immediately stops when the defender shoots her head up to look back at her.

“Mackenzie is going to kill you Kerr” The words made your blood run cold. You knew she was right.

Mackenzie Arnold, your big sister. You loved her, but you knew she had a protective streak when it came to you. She had managed to scare off every single person you had attempted to date, and as much as you love her - you wouldn’t let Sam be one of them.

Before you could even begin to beg Alanna to keep her mouth shut, you feel everything around you stopping once again.

“What the hell is going on here?” The sound of your sister’s voice is enough to make you drop your hands from Alanna and spin your body so you were facing her. You swear everyone in the room can hear your heart beating - but you can’t bring yourself to say anything.

Sam goes to say something but Alanna cuts her off “Just grabbing these two - Y/N was talking game plays when I walked in”

Your gaze shoots right back to the blonde next to you, a forced smile on her face but you swear you could kiss her right now. You swear you hear Sam let out a breath as well.

“Well hurry up - I got a plate ready for you Y/N” It’s enough to get you moving away, breaking away from the small crowd that was now in the changing room and following your sister out - not daring to take a glance back at Sam.

You make your way to the cafeteria with Mac, taking a seat next to Caitlin as your sister sat on the other side. A plate is ready for you as promised. You can’t help but note it takes an extra five minutes for Alanna to join you guys at the table, but don’t allow yourself to question it as your sister keeps her arm around you.

The bus eventually comes to pick everyone up, Alanna taking the window seat as you move in next to her. Almost immediately your head is on her shoulder, your eyes struggling to stay open. You miss the way Sam checks you over from her seat, the slight frown as she watches you pass out almost instantly.

You flinch in your sleep, Alanna’s hand coming to cup your cheek and push your head further into her neck - her soothing graze calming you enough for the twitching to stop almost instantly. Sam watched the whole thing, the frown only deepening.

She understood why you wanted to keep the two of you under wraps, she knew how protective Mackenzie was over you - and honestly, she couldn’t blame her. She knew you were just worried about upsetting your sister, but it killed her to have to watch Alanna look after you when she was sitting just three seats down.

A slight nudge wakes you up, your sister smiling down at you as you rub your eyes.

“Wakey wakey sleeping beauty” she grins, you sliding your head back into Lana’s neck and letting out a tired groan. It takes you a few more moments before you slowly start to get up - your body wasn’t obviously ready for it as your knees buckle, Mac grabs you instantly to steady you. “Woah there! Take it easy Y/N”

You feel Lana’s hand hold onto your waist, as she moves you out of the seat and towards your sister - who still had her hand holding your arm. You let the pair slowly guide you out of the bus, your eyes still half closed.

You don’t know how you managed to end up in your room, but the feeling of someone placing you in your bed and putting your blanket over you was enough for you to let sleep take over you once again.

The next time you wake up, it’s by kisses being littered all over your face. A grin appears on your lips as you slowly open your eyes to come face-to-face with Sam.

“Hey baby” she practically whispers, her finger tracing your face, slowly down around your lips, before bringing her face closer to plant a kiss right where her fingers were.

“Hi,” you whisper back, closing your eyes once more and letting out a content sigh. “I like this” you add, you feel Sam vibrate with a laugh, her hand now moving down to your arm.

“I like this too - could lay next to you forever” her voice just a little bit louder this time.

“Hm. that sounds nice”

The door slamming open doesn’t give you two enough time to break apart before your sister comes cruising in - carrying what you can only assume was dinner.

The silence is immediate. Until your sister speaks.

“What the fuck is happening here?” her yelling brings attention to your teammates, Alanna and Caitlin appearing in your room - both their faces frozen at the sight.

“Mac-” you try to start, she shuts you up as she raises her hand. Her gaze pointed directly at your girlfriend now sitting up next to you.

“Huh, what the fuck is this Kerr. Cause it looks like you're trying to fuck my little sister” Sam looks between the two sisters, trying to figure out the best way to calm the situation down. Your sister doesn’t appreciate the silence. “Which wouldn’t be right, because I know you swore you would stay the fuck away from her”

Your gaze breaks from your sister to Sam.

“What?” you know everyone in the room hears the way your voice cracks but you don’t care. You look and wait for Sam to deny it, but the way her eyes refuse to look at you answers your question.

Suddenly you can’t be in the room - you can’t have everyone looking at you. You manage to jump out of bed, but not without your foot getting caught in the sheets. You lose your balance, slamming your hip right into the bedside table. Sam and Mac both jump into action to help you but you flinch away from both their hands.

“Don’t” you manage you spill out, the tears streaming down your face, as you manage to slip through everyone and out into the hallway. The stinging from the bump was blatantly there. You hear your sister's voice but manage to turn the corner before you can make out what she’s saying.

You quickly knock on the first door around the corner, a few seconds later Katrina opens the door with Harper on her hip. Her smile drops when she notices the tears streaming down your face and your hand holding your sore hip. Within an instant, you're inside her room - the door closing behind you.

She guides you to her bed, harper noticing that you were sad as she threw her arms up to be grabbed by you. You let Harper distract you, as Katrina grabs you a glass of water from the bathroom.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asks, handing over the glass - you take a sip before placing the glass down. Something in the way she looked at you just made you spill everything.

You tell her how you started dating Sam after years of having a massive crush on her. How you felt like you couldn’t tell your sister because you were scared you were going to lose Sam if you did. How it didn’t matter because Mac found out anyway and you lost Sam anyway. While in the heat of your breakdown, you let it slip that you always felt that Sam couldn’t love you the way you loved her - and now it was proven. The way she couldn’t even begin to defend herself when your sister spilled that she had told Mac she wouldn’t go for you.

Katrina let you cry out to her, her hand never leaving your back as she soothed you down. She didn’t once stop you or try to cut in and for that you were grateful. Letting everything off your chest to someone, you suddenly felt so much lighter.

Once you feel like you’ve said everything you could, you turn your attention back to Katrina, she gives you a small smile as she tucked some hair behind your ear.

“Can I say what I think?” she asks, all you can do is give her a small nod.

“I think you don’t give yourself or the girls enough credit. Look I know you felt like you had to keep it from Mac because she wouldn’t approve or whatever but I know your sister and I know you. She would do anything for you Y/N. And if that meant being okay with you and Sam she would - because she loves you so so much. And I don’t know what conversation happened between Sam and Mac before but anyone with eyes can see just how much Sam loves you. I'm honestly surprised it took Mac this long to finally see that something was happening between the two of you. Sam looks at you like you hung the sun and the stars, and I promise you that whatever was said in that conversation before has nothing on what Sam feels for you now. Was it shit that this is how it all came out? Yes! But those two girls love you with all their hearts and would do anything to see a smile on your face”.

The tears had managed to start again as she spoke to you, her other hand now rubbing your knee too. “You really think so?” you mumble out, your gaze looking anywhere but at her face.

“I know so. And another thing! You don’t realise just how much those two would do for you. You don’t need to be worrying about losing either of them. And if they did walk away well it's their loss and I promise you the rest of us girls wouldn’t take it lightly.”

You let out a small laugh at the last part - a smile on Katrina’s face as she wipes away the final streaks left for the tears before. She takes Harper out of your lap, who had somehow fallen asleep during your breakdown.

“Now you know you’re always welcome here but I think you need to go talk to your two girls before they both break down this door looking for you”.

You say your thank yous, as you give her one last hug before making your way back to your room. The door is still open but when you walk in you notice that your bed has been made as well as the clothes you had left on the floor are now cleaned up. Sam is sitting on the chair by the small table in the corner of the room. Her lip in between her teeth - a nervous habit.

“Hey,” she croaks out, standing up to wrap her arms around you before stopping herself and bringing them back next to her side.

“Hi,” you mumble back. The silence feels weird between the two of you.

You both go to say something before pausing for the other to continue.

“No, you go,” you both say, causing a small laugh to leave both your lips.

This was going to be okay.

“I love you Y/N. I need you to know that. God, I love you so much it hurts. And I’ve loved you for a long time - longer than I probably should have but I do and I'm not going to apologise for that. Yes, your sister and I had a stupid conversation years ago that I regret but I promise you it wasn’t how I meant it. I just know that when I first saw you all those years ago I knew you were it for me and that was before I knew you were Mac’s younger sister. I’ve loved you since 2014 when you came to training and kicked my ass. I still loved you when I saw you jump in Mac’s arms and thought you two were together and I think I loved you even more when I realised you two were sisters and I still had a chance with you. Your sister had made our whole team promise we wouldn’t try anything on you and I stupidly agreed because I couldn’t understand why you would ever want someone like me. But here we are, and I’m so sorry but I’m not sorry for loving you and I will never feel sorry for that because you’re it for me, Y/N Arnold. You're my game-saving goal, you’re my everything and I will forever be in love with you.”

You don’t know when exactly you both started crying, but the moment she stopped talking you were in her arms - your lips smashed against each other. “God I love you so so much” she mumbles onto your lips as she continues to kiss you.

“I love you so much Sammy, you have no idea. And I'm sorry that I hide you from Mac, I just didn’t want to lose you”

“I know baby. I know. I don’t blame you”

“Bu-but” her hands were combing through your hair, relaxing you - like she knew it did “I’m going to talk to her, and tell her that she’s just going to have to get over it cause I’m not losing you. Not over this”

“You’ll never lose me Y/N. Ever” And sealed it with a kiss.

The two of you ended up in your bed, moments sealed between the two.

It wasn’t until a couple of hours had passed, Sam traced your face with her finger - the bedsheets covering both your bodies, smiles and secret glances shared between the two of you.

“I should probably talk to Mac” you whisper into the atmosphere, her tilting her head to catch a better look at you.

“Do you want me to come with you?” as much as you wanted to say yes, you knew you needed to talk to your sister alone.

“That’s okay - but thank you” you murmur back, pressing one last kiss on your girlfriend's lips, before slipping out from under the sheets and grabbing the first couple of items you could find on the floor and putting them on before making your way towards the door.

“I love you” Sam calls out, as you open the door.

“I love you more” You blow her a kiss, as you close the door and take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. Making your way down the hallway felt a lot more daunting than you were hoping. You knew in your head that your sister would love you no matter what, but you still couldn’t help but feel nervous.

You loved Sam, but you love your sister too and you don’t know what you would do without either of them.

You knock quietly on the door, taking a deep breath as the door swings open. Your big sister was rubbing her face, but you knew she hadn’t slept at all. The second she notices it’s you, she straightens up - her hand dropping.

“Mac..” you start, and you already feel the tears coming. It’s enough for your sister as she pulls you into a hug and brings you inside her room. She guides you to her bed, her embrace never leaving you. It was hard for you, the two of you rarely got into fights - even as kids.

You wait for her to say something, too scared to say the wrong thing; as much as you love your sister so was stubborn and you knew this.

“Macca, please” you almost choke out, moving your body so you were now facing her, her hands now resting on your legs.

“How long has this been going on?” Great. Straight to the point. You know there’s no point lying but you suddenly feel guilty telling her the truth.

“Since I had to get the stitches last year” Had it really been that long? Had you really kept this from your sister for that long? She lets out a sharp breath at the confirmation but doesn’t add anything. Your heart breaking.

“Please don’t hate me” The tears had officially started, and Mac’s head shoots up at your ask, her mouth falling open.

“I could never hate you” she chokes out, ripping her arms around you and pulling you into her embrace. Her hand patting your hair down. “I love you too much to even think about ha- that” You grabbed onto her harder as you heard her voice crack as she responded to you.

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you, embracing one another.

“I had always figured something had happened” she mumbled into your hair, before pulling you off her to watch your reaction.

“Wh-What do you mean?”

She let out a small sigh, as she looked up at the ceiling. “Sam called me up just after they had given you the stitches, told me everything that happened and how she was going to take you back home and watch over you. She sounded so worried and I could hear you in the background calling out for her. I tried not to think too much about it because I knew she would look after you, if not for me but for herself”.

You couldn’t help but feel your heart speed just a little faster at this new piece of information.

“She did”

“I know. I never doubted that Y/N. She cares about you. She always has and I know that - but all of this is scary Y/N. You’re my little sister and I just wanted to be able to protect you as much as I could. And I’m sorry that my protectiveness made you feel like you couldn’t tell me about you and Kerr”

You let a smile slip at the sound of your girlfriend’s last name. It was a trait your sister would do to anyone who would try to date you - one of her ways of trying to intimidate them.

“I know Macca, and I love you for being so protective of me - I know I’ll have you in my corner looking out for me but-”

“-But you love Sam, I know. And I know how much she loves you. I think I’ve known for a while, but I guess I just didn’t want to believe it”. She pulls you into another hug, kissing the top of your head. You let her embrace you as you let out a deep breath. You already felt a billion times better knowing Mac was okay with you.

“Are you mad at Sam?” you hear the sigh before you feel her shake her head.

“No, I’m not”

The seconds her words made sense in your brain, you somehow managed to pull her even closer to you, squealing as you thanked her over and over again. It wasn’t for a couple more seconds before you pulled away - a small grin appeared on your face. Your sister already knew this meant trouble.

“So you’re okay with…” you trail off, waiting for her to finish your sentence. She gives you a look as your smile breaks even wider, before nodding her head.

“Yes, I’m okay with you two” You let out a giggle as you grabbed her face and planted a kiss on her forehead - making sure to make an outrageous kissy noise with it. “I love you. I love you. I love you” you repeat over and over again as you keep kissing her head.

“Yes, Yes! I know! Now go back to your girlfriend before she comes here and I have to deal with watching you two do god knows what”

That’s all you needed to hear as you broke away from your sister and made your way back to your room - where you knew your girlfriend waited for you.

And you couldn’t wait.

#sam kerr x reader #sam kerr imagines #sam kerr imagine #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine

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pursuitseternal · 9 months

Text

“Lapping:” post-battle lust runs hot for Astarion and Cordehlia in “Our Blood is Thicker”

Moodboard fanart by @marimosalad , my love

Link to the full nsfw art here

Astarion x Cordehlia (f!oc) | E | 4.3K of post-battle lust and licking

Summary: the fight was over, quick and hot, but not as hot as Cordehlia’s blood burns. A private room (mysteriously) secured at the Last Light Inn, the lovers take every advantage of the opportunity, but not without a little more conniving from their mysterious guest.

CW: Oral sex, hints of submission, devilish deals, bad puns from Gale, Very Intimate Missionary™️, with that hint of angst that runs through their lust

Previous chapter | Ao3 link | Fic masterlist

Chapter 9: Lapping…

🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️

The Last Light Inn, there was no name more fitting for this place. Surrounded by shadows and curses, not to mention it seemed to be barely holding on by a thread. “More like On-Its-Last-Legs Inn…” Gale had joked under his breath as everyone wandered back down the stairs. Everyone one heaved, blood running hot after the latest ambush.

And the vampire was not tickled by the humor.

Astarion spun around, unamused and taunting as he smirked back at the wizard. “Really?” he jibed. “That’s your wizardly wit contribution after all that just happened?”

Gale shrugged. “A little humor, even spattered in blood, isn’t distasteful.”

“You play with words about as well as you cook,” the vampire grimaced, grabbing his arm around Cordehlia’s armored waist. “Not that I mind a little post-battle, covered-in-blood type of celebration.” He threw a little sidelong glance at their intrepid leader in his hold.

She smiled into his face, the briefest of loving grins, before looking over her shoulder at the rest. “Camp will be well deserved, to be sure. Perhaps the Inn has some remaining supplies.”

“Some ale?” Wyll chimed in, hopeful. “I doubt anything as good as Baldurian, but I’d settle for anything that doesn’t taste like piss at this point.”

Cordehli burst into giggles, that steadying hold around her body cooling the bloodlust that had threatened to surge inside her moments ago. “Such language from the Blade of Frontiers,” she taunted in between her laughter. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up for my merry band.”

The Inn was a sea of organized chaos, Jaheira’s exacting voice pierced through the clatter of weapons and the boisterous conversations. Enemies defeated, Harpers already cleaning the blood and disposing of the bodies, it seemed that the shock of the attack of one of their own set everyone on edge. Making each one seek a little respite to celebrate the victory. Their safety from the curse and the preservation of their mission to end Ketheric Thorm, his poison, and the threat of the Absolute.

The scent of roasted meat and alcohol began to fill the Inn, fortunately covering the stink of blood.

And as the party began to sidle up to the bar, their eyes coveting the tankards of drink and sparse platters of food. Jaheira slinked over, waving the group forward with a sweep of her arm. “For saving our very existence, you all have more than earned it.”

Cordehlia smiled, nodding her head in gratitude, her body still and steady where she remained in Astarion’s slight embrace.

“You, Not-So-True-Soul, you have an extra reward. That messenger you sent ahead, he has secured you the room you requested. Your meal awaits you,” her sharp eyes scanned the masculine arms still around her waist. “I was told to send enough for two…”

Her rogue’s hand brushed possessively over the curve of her hip, making the metal of her armor clatter slightly.

“The rest of your party is welcome to the grounds in the arc of our light, once they finish celebrating to themselves, I’m sure.”

Cordehlia cleared her throat. “While the accommodations are most welcome, I sent no such messenger,” she replied, that commanding tone still in her voice.

“Tall, tan,” Jaheira grinned, “most persuasive. He left just before the battle broke out. If he wasn’t from you…” her face tweaked suspiciously, “perhaps you have a clandestine advocate.”

“Tall, tan, persuasive? Certainly no demon in disguise,” Astarion grinned that slanted smirk at his own humor. And if it weren’t for the plate metal on her arm or covering his belly, she would have rammed him with her elbow for the joke.

More like a devil in disguise. What was Raphael’s game…. But Cordehlia’s wondering ceased as Jaheira gestured sharply towards the hall.

“Up two flights of stairs, you’ll find the room I’m sure,” she gave a little leer as she began to turn away. “Nothing has a nose quite like two lovers looking for a quiet place for an evening.”

Cordehlia’s heart leapt right into her throat. It was… almost too much. Too much insinuations too much to have to wait. Her blood pounded, her body on fire from fighting, even if the fight was small and over quickly. Of course, Astarion’s touch on her body, even through the leather and metal of her armor, it was enough to both ground her and stir her. They made their way up the stairs, almost ceremoniously at first, with sure and steady footsteps, even as his fingers, always so dexterous, slipped their way into the top of her armor at her waist. He found purchase above her belt, the soft, thin layer of leather beneath like a second skin, barely hiding the fervent way he dug into her skin. They way the tips of his fingers fought their own battle, pressing towards that bone of her hip, reaching further and further towards the pool of her desire.

He caught her eye at the top of the first landing, his eyes wide, dilated dark as he began to pull her faster. She couldn’t look away, barely noticing where the stains of their battle still remained across the floorboards they crossed. The second set of stairs, he practically yanked her up their creaking wooden boards.

Even as lithe as she was, Cordehlia couldn’t match his vampiric agility, stumbling into him somewhere in the middle. And Astarion took every advantage. He pulled her into his arms, his mouth already wet, salivating with his never-ending hunger. And not just for her blood. Armor and all, he lifted her in his arms, her mouth trapped by the working of his lips and the nipping bite of his fangs. Dragging her up the remaining few stairs, he gave that gut-dropping giggle, pushing her against the closest wall. Their armor clashed and cracked as he pressed against her. Everything was hard and sharp… the metal on their bodies and the fangs on her lips.

And Cordehlia gave a matching laugh of exhilaration, catching his lower lip in her own teeth and biting down. His blood coated her tongue, rich and tingling and coppery. The groan from his throat only fed into her own insatiable need, the driving beat of her lust. Her arm reached, hand fumbling for the doorknob beside her. Astarion smiled into the grip of her kiss. “So eager… how delicious,” he purred into the hot damp of her mouth.

His hand strayed from her hips to open the door, the warm light of the room embracing them as they stumbled inside. The scent of food, the fire in the grate. They didn’t even break to find the bed, Cordehlia merely backing until her legs butted against the edge of a mattress. Ever dexterous, he already had half her buckles and braces unlatched, the metal of her armor falling with thuds and clangs at their feet.

She hurried to do the same. Breath heavy, air whistling in their blood-coated mouths. Finally, their bodies shed the metal, the last little plate clattering from Astarion’s thigh, Cordehlia’s own nimble hands loosening the last buckles as she knelt at his feet. The Pale Elf’s eyes were closed, his head back as her hands ran up the thin leather of his breeches beneath. Her mouth trailed kisses over its soft stretched fabric until she hovered right over where it bulged to near bursting.

But she laughed, settled back on her heels. Hands tracing back down the hard muscles in his legs.

Astarion hummed, taunting and teasing as he began to look down at her. “You, my darling, certainly know how to delay grati…”

His whole body went rigid, his fangs baring and mouth hissing in surprise. “What do you want, devil?” he growled toward the crackling fire, and Cordehlia scrambled to turn around. To face the unseen voyeur behind her.

Certainly, tucked into the shadows, reclined in a modest chair, Raphael sat, smirking in that fair form of his. “Oh, do not stop on my account, I beg you. It would be the greatest sin to prevent two such beautiful, powerful beings such as you from chasing after the most natural of pursuits…”

Choosing to ignore the insinuation, she spoke clearly. “I assume you are here to call in your bargain, Raphael,” Cordehlia rose to her feet, that heat of her desire cooling to iron. She needed no armor to stiffen her form or shield her in false confidence.

She could have been naked, and just as fearsome.

“Calling in a bargain is what drunkards at gambling tables do, little warrior,” Raphael pressed the tips of his fingers together, raising them to rest against his chin. Cunning and careful. “I take as much pride in crafting mutually beneficial deals as you must in finding yourself covered in blood and well…” the devil’s dark eyes skated to the rasping male beside her, “…other fluids, to be sure.”

Astarion’s body braced against her back, she didn’t even need to turn to feel his lips raise, threatened by the insinuation about what was his. “Careful,” he kept his voice ice-cold, “or you might find your own body short some of your own fluids.”

“Be equally careful, for my blood burns hotter than Wyvern Whiskey,” Raphael taunted back, “besides, how could I translate those inscrutable scars on your back if I’m dead?”

Astarion relented, reluctantly snapping his jaws shut, eyes still diligently scanning for any next move.

Cordehlia crossed her arms, intimidating and covering the way her nipples already strained for attention from the man beside her. “Say what you want, and speak quickly,” she hissed. Terrifying and burning. “I’m not sure how long I can tolerate you standing between me and my desires. Unless you wish to see my lust turn back to bloodlust once more. My vampire is not the only one who can drain you of your blood.”

Astarion shivered, and not from fear. “Now, now,” he hummed, still suspicious and defensive, wrapping his arms posessively around her stiffened form, “let’s hear what he has to offer you, my darling, hold your talons in for a moment, little raven…”

She arched back into his embrace, grinning like a fool at her new pet name… his raven… no longer the dreadful Corvus…

“Wise indeed,” Raphael smirked wider, his eyes scanning over every place their bodies met, “especially as I have the offer that might be exchanged for the knowledge of those curious scars you surely grip as he fucks you, my lady.” He grinned as he stood, a wriggle of his body to adjust his tight fitting clothes… and breeches… assuming a confident and relaxed posture. “You will soon encounter a creature most foul once you undoubtedly reach, and leave, Moonrise Towers. You will find him haunting the domains of Shar. Do not underestimate him, and dispatch him quickly.”

“That’s it?” Cordehlia gave a cold cackle. “Kill a monster? No army, no death-defying mission, no curse to call down upon generations?”

“You will not defy death if you aren’t careful. He is an Orthon, my greatest foe, covered in more blood than you,” his thin lips drew wide at that, at the way she twitched in reaction. “Kill him, and you will know all about that Infernal fragment on your lover’s smooth, ivory skin.”

He crossed the distance, catching Cordehlia’s hand from her crossed arms, drawing in a deep inhalation of her palm before placing a gentlemanly kiss on the top of her hand.

“Until your victory, my lady…” he bid, all cordially, even as his eyes drank in the sight of them. Until he vanished in a swirl of smoke and brimstone.

Vanished just at the right time, as Astarion already had pulled a small dagger from his boot, almost ready to send it flying through the wisps of lingering demonic smoke.

“My, my…” Cordehlia ran a finger over the little blade from over her shoulder. “Coming to my defense so quickly,” she purred as she traced her touch down the blunt flat face. “Not that I don’t love to see you as the jealous lover still.”

“I wouldn’t have killed him… not quite yet…” He let the blade drop, forsaking the cold steel for her warm flesh instead. Astarion’s touch launched over her front to creep under the fabric of her tunic. “As for my… jealousy… it's nice to hear somethings must never change. And you… So fearsome and defiant, my love,” he rasped in her ear, the tip of his tongue tickling over its curve. “We are so close now, I can taste it…”

“I think that’s just your hunger for where we left off,” she chided back with a single laugh. Turning in his arms, she let his hands shimmy her shirt free.

“Which was where, exactly?” he toyed with her. “I think I recall your mouth so close to somewhere largely important.”

“Hmm,” she pulled his own shirt from the band of his breeches. “Is that what you wish your little raven to do?”

Those crimson eyes scanned to the waiting bed beside them. “I think I wish to finally fuck you in a proper bed, and,” he whispered against her mouth, feeling the warmth of her breathe sighing into his cool lips, “for you to fuck me too…”

“You always know just what honey-sweet, romantic words to say…” she murmured in reply. Her fingers flew to pull the laces from his breeches, easing them just enough to slide her hand into the stretched leather to take him in her grip. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable first, my defiant, protective, possessive rogue…”

His face quirked, twisting with teeth, eyes bright with desire. “Not sure, I kind of enjoyed the sight of your kneeling at my feet, darling,” he taunted in that provocative, silken voice.

Cordehlia sniffed, amused. Aroused. Gripping tighter as she stroked his erection, she peeled off leather breeches to reveal more of that pale skin and etched muscles. Slowly, her touch danced over his legs, that fabric shuffled lower and lower, her body following suit until she caressed him, rubbing her hand up and down his length, wetting her lips as she smiled up at him. On her knees.

“Mmm,” he hummed, stepping from the pile of their clothes, laughing as he shifted even closer to where she knelt, his cock unable to hide the jolt that made it twitch as it brushed against her face. “A sight fit for a king,” he moaned, one hand reaching to claw his fingers into that mess of burnished red hair. “Though you would be no one’s vassal, my love.”

And that, that earned him a wide mouth smile, the running of a tongue along the entire length of his cock, a hand gripped tightly around its girth. “Even so,” she hummed, another dripping lick of his cock, “I would still aim to please you, Astarion…” She stood, hand still stroking him, letting the slick of her split spread under her touch. “Now, I think we have waited for that bed for long enough.”

He pulled her tight, trapping her in the iron hold of his arms. Settling her on the bed beside him, Astarion lounged back into the parse pile of pillows. He could have cared that the fabric was coarse, the smell a bit musty, the mattress a bit lumpy. But the moment she slid that smooth, warm flesh to cover him, all his biting critiques and criticisms vanished.

He could have been lounging in a palace, his body alive, cushioned on the plushest of beds for all he knew as her mouth trailed little sucks and nips of her teeth over every ridge and rise of his chest. His cock strained, waiting for that now centuries-old, familiar warmth of her lips and tongue to wrap tightly around it.

That hair, lustrous like light and red like fire, he needed to hold it, to weave his touch in it to feel every little jerk of her head as she sucked him and lapped him. Her voice hummed, little mewls with every kiss she traced down the v-shaped muscles of his hips.

Cordehlia glanced up, her silver eyes bright with lust, her lips licked over and over again as she gave him that heavy-lidded gaze. Then, that pink tongue teased just the weeping slit of his cock.

“Gods,” he groaned, head thrown back, face lit in extacy. As her tongue repeated the motion, harder and laughing, his body bucked beneath her. “My little raven, more tongue than talons… how divine…”

He could feel her smile against his thigh, her tongue swirling around the soft, supple skin of his balls, her hands pressed inside the rocklike muscles of his thighs, spreading him wider. He felt it then, just after she gave another taunting laugh.

The hard edge of her teeth dragging around his balls, just enough to make him gasp and squirm.

“Easy, darling,” he gripping into her hair, lifting her head to reveal her conceited, smirking grin.

“But I am going easy,” she pouted, wrapping her fingers around his cock to stroke it harder, faster. “Just remember that your darling has bite too…”

Her tongue returned to that hypnotic rhythm, up and down his shaft, catching his cock with every little unbidden twitch it made as she pleasured him.

It was… glorious. And it only grew better, Cordehlia raised up, crawling towards him. Hands grasped on the headboard, her folds drenching his cock as she settled on it. Rock hard, it pressed into his own belly, warmed by the heat of her arousal and the molten slick that seeped from her cunt.

Astarion hummed his approval, eyeing the way her fiery hair cascaded loose from her braids. “You may have been the one on your knees, my sweetest, but you deserve all the worship you can tolerate. My love,” he purred, hands holding her hips, bracing there to caress the clenching of her muscles as she dragged her folds over his length. He groaned as she bucked faster, careful not to let that shaft pierce into her, not yet. “A man could get lost in his need for you, my darling Cordehlia…”

“Not just lost in your need to drink from my neck and fuck me between my thighs?” she hummed, tossing her hair, finally reaching a hand between their drenched bodies to guide him inside

“Never,” he groaned, satisfied in the wet warmth he craved. Hungering for it equal to her potent, addictive living blood. “You’re more than a lover to warm my bed and a neck on which to feed…”

His words barely left his mouth before her lips silenced them, sucking them from his tongue with her own ardor.

“With you, I feel… alive again. I feel… real,” he panted into her kiss, her own hunger nearly suffocating, painful if he didn’t truly need the oxygen to survive.

“You are real,” she hissed her reply. Her hand tearing his fingers from her hip, pressing them into that dripping crest of her folds. Their fingertips catching her clit, brushing where they joined. “This is real.” She writhed as he circled that spot, her voice thick like honey even as she grinded and rode his cock. The friction so instense, so fast and heated, for an instant she forgot just how cold his flesh was. How undead.

That strong digit, dexterous and skilled, pleasured her perfectly with each rise and fall of her body. Orgasm clawed through her, waves of warmth tore her apart as she bucked at random, her arms giving out until she collapsed on his chest. The chill of his skin making her breath catch loudly. Astarion’s giggle was soft in her ear, his body coiling its remaining strength, rolling her quickly and carefully onto her back.

And she was grateful for the caress of a bed once more as well. The way it cradled her, sucked her in as he bore all his weight on top of her frame. She clung to him, arms around his shoulders, thighs wrapping about that narrow waist of his, etched definitions of his muscles hard against her supple curves. Trapping her, caging her, imprisoned by the wiry strength of his arms, pinned by the crushing weight of his hips and the merciless press of his thighs.

Spreading her wider, cock at the ready to spear into that awaiting molten slick. “I want to watch you come undone, my love,” he growled, braced on his arms, letting all his weight rest on that dripping curve of her mound. One hand slinked its way down her belly, the haphazard rises and falls of her breath as she shuddered from her need making him salivate. A growl, his fangs grit and bared, he guided his cock over her seam, her juices coating him in that warmth he needed like he once needed air to live. Her body squirmed as he toyed it over her clit, so hard it almost pressed back against his erection. She mewled with need, silver eyes wide and glued to watch the magic he conjured with his cock.

“Fuck, Astarion,” she panted, straining against his weight to try and catch his cock inside. “I need you,” she groaned, much to his wicked delight. “Cease this flirtation and do it. Don’t you know how badly I’ve burned for you all day…”

“I know,” he growled, finally sliding inside her trembling walls, “I just like to hear it, my love.” He began his familiar gait of thrust, slowly at first, to make her shiver and buck and writhe for more. And all the while, those crimson eyes drank in her every reaction, every bite of her lower lip, every time she forced her fluttering eyes to return his stare. “Always headlong, aren’t you, my darling? Like an unbroken filly, galloping at breakneck for what you want, damn the consequences…” he began that inevitable climb, fucking faster, each intoxicating swivel of his hips making her gasp. “Strong willed and fearless.”

“Cease this comparing me to a horse,” she hissed, raising her head, hands gripping into the bulging of his biceps.

“Why? You’re an even more pleasing mount, darling,” he giggled, her silver eyes rolling at the humor and the pleasure he stoked inside her. “Perhaps that is an idea for our next round, darling. I’m too enraptured watching your face turn beet red with pleasure to bend you over and take you from behind…”

She shuddered, her body shaking visibly, eyes rolling back at the image he summoned. “Please, yes…”

“Enjoy for now,” he emphasized each word with a dive of his cock completely within, silkenly gliding through that hot slick. “I know… I am…”

“Gods,” she groaned, head flailing from side to side, breath after breath as she wriggled beneath him. Driven closer and higher and hotter as she began to clench around his cock. Ecstasy began dawning on her face, those lines forming as her mouth gaped open and panted, her eyes forcing themselves to remain half-open, just to watch him drinking in this sight beneath him in. Her shoulders rose and slammed against the mattress, her hands clawed hard to his arms as she shattered. Pure bliss. Obsession. Trembling satisfaction as she screamed over and over again with each wave of climax.

Her thighs bucked hard against him, and suddenly his own climax pulled him under. Surprising him. He hitched with stilted thrusts, arms shaking in her grip as he came. Grunt after deep-throated grunt, he pulsed harder than ever before, consumed by the sight of her, of her pleasure and submission, the way her lips turned coyly as she was equally memorized by the sight of his bliss. But he didn’t allow himself down. Not just yet. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips, dry from all his panting, against her wet and eager mouth.

Slow. Languorous. She kissed him back, savoring the taste of his tongue, the play of his lips. He gave a few more thrusts, the mix of their cum just drenching their bodies and the bed. He would feel sorry for the Harpers who would have to change these sheets if he cared for anything as much as he cared for her.

But no, there was nothing else in all these realms but the red-haired warrior who clung to him as if he would save her life, a rock in the stream that almost drowned her.

For that was just what he was to her. He knew.

At last, he lowered into the bed, their kiss unbreaking even as he laid in the coarse sheets. “So, about Raphael and his bargain…” Astarion murmured between the wet plucking of their kisses.

“Tomorrow, to Moonrise Towers and the devil’s old enemy to slay beyond,” Cordehlia whispered back, raising herself to rest her head in the valley of his chest, splayed on the cold and hard planes she knew so well. Her hair cascading like a tumble of fire over the chilled, pale skin of his torso.

Astarion pouted a bit, his long fingers straying through those mussy locks of hers. “No bathing in the blood of our foes? No dancing on Raphael’s enemy’s grave? I was hoping for something a little more bloodthirsty sounding… a little more romantic when it comes to finally getting these scars deciphered….” He kissed the top of her forehead, his breath drawing in the scent of her sweat and her hair.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, reckless desire blooming on her cheeks. “A little more effort from your tongue, and you might just hear all sorts of things from mine, my love…”

His chuckle resounded beneath the ear that pressed into his ribs. For that moment, she stilled. Listening.

The sound of his laugh… the rush of air in his lungs as he kept inhaling her scent… a little growl of his stomach from his unending hunger…

But as her own skin cooled, her heat drawn from her body by his cold flesh… she grieved one sound that no longer met her ear. His beating heart.

231 notes · View notes

miryum · 20 days

Text

"The Crime Scene"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy’s relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

Y/n stood by an apartment door that was blocked off by police tape, scrolling through her pictures. She and Jason had officially been dating for three weeks, and in her opinion, it was going great. Two nights ago they had another date which consisted of going to the State Fair. Y/n had insisted that they get the famous cookies (“They’re a staple of the fair, Jaybird! It wouldn’t be the State Fair without diabetes!”), ride the giant slide (“Darling, I’m an adult male with a full-time job. As much as I wanna make you happy, I’m not riding- oh my god, oh my god … Okay, can we go again?”), and go on the skyride. The day had ended with a camera roll full of Jason and Y/n pictures, Y/n’s favourite being Jason going through the children’s faux farm where kids had to collect small packages and do chores akin to farming. They followed a dirt path and collected plastic apples, packets of corn, and swaths of real sheep wool. At the end, they cashed it all in for an ice cream sandwich. Luckily, Y/n had been able to snag a picture of Jason in a tiny apron and holding a wicker basket. His mouth was downturned, but he waited patiently in line for his promised ice cream sandwich.

“Hey. Sorry I'm late,” Cass said and Y/n looked up. “The coffee guy was…”

Y/n choked on her spit. “Assaulting your head? What is going on up there?” She referenced Cass’ hairstyle. Instead of her loose pixie-cut, Cass’ hair was ironed straight in a tight bob.

“Is it bad?” Cass grimaced.

“Before I answer that question,” Y/n said, “do you currently have a knife on you?”

“Yes, several.”

“Then I love it.” Y/n gave her a thumbs up. “It really... I mean, it’s hair. You look like Edna from The Incredibles. I'm sorry, don't stab me.” She shielded her face with her arms.

“My girlfriend, Harper, is going through beauty school. This week they’re doing hairstyles,” Cass explained. “She’s practising on me.”

“You’re still with Harper?!” Y/n giggled. “Geez, I love her! Uh, don’t take this the wrong way, but… is she passing?”

“Honestly, I don't know.”

“Well, let's get into this murder.” Y/n rubbed her hands together gleefully. “I'm hoping it's a dope one.” She flung open the door and ducked under the police tape. When she saw the apartment, she froze and her eyes widened in appreciation. “Mamma Mia. That's a bloody pizza pie.” She was referring to the scene before her, the floor smeared with blood in long lines, evidence markers covering every other metre, and the photographer was just finishing up.

“Detectives,” a detective named Al Kelly greeted them. “The Roomba was running when we got here. It smeared blood across the entire apartment.”

Cass smirked and turned to Y/n. “Is this dope enough for you?”

“It's a bloody robot, Cain.” Y/n grinned. “It's clearly a good start, but it's gonna take more than that to be certified as totally dope. Who's the victim?”

“Name is Steven Carlyle,” Kelly said.

Y/n hummed and shook her head. “Kind of a boring name. Not super dope.”

“He was a psychologist,” Kelly continued.

“Okay, a sharp turn away from dopeness, but who found the body?”

“His boss called the cops when he didn't show up to work, so he was found by Officer Fields.”

“Officer Fields?” Y/n whined. “You are seriously undoping this. Do you have anything else for me? Al?”

“The apartment was locked from the inside?” Kelly offered, wondering what Y/n wanted to hear.

“Mysterious. Dope,” Y/n nodded along.

“The alarm system was still armed.”

“Dope, dope, dope, dope. So hard to solve.” Y/n’s mouth dropped open appreciatively.

Cass asked, “any surveillance cameras?”

“Oh, yeah. Tons of them, but we checked them. No one was seen going in or out. Whoever did this was a ghost.” Al handed Cass a case file and she started flitting through it.

“Yes!” Y/n exclaimed. “A ghost! I officially declare this case ‘dope!’” She turned towards the apartment. “I love the first walkthrough of a crime scene. It's kind of like arriving at summer camp, except the lake is full of blood and your bunk mate is dead.” She paused before ambling through the room. “I think I may be bad at metaphors.”

Cass held up an interview transcript. “So after Carlyle comes home from work, the only person who even approaches his doorway is a delivery guy?”

“Yeah, but he never enters the apartment.”

Y/n gasped and pointed to an evidence marker. “Hey, Cass. Check it out. Triple digies!” The evidence marker displayed one-hundred and eighteen. “There's so much evidence, we hit triple digies!”

“Cool,” Cass commented.

“Very cool indeed,” Y/n agreed. “But you know what's not cool? Carlyle ordered his dinner from House of Lettuce. There's no way this guy knew he was gonna die! No one would want lettuce as their last meal. For example, my last meal... is gonna be any candy I get my hands on,” she shoved her hands in her pockets and extracted a pack of M&Ms.

“You just keep those in your pocket?” Cass pushed back a smile.

“We face death every day,” Y/n pointed out. “I gotta be prepared to go out on my own terms.”

“I can't even think about eating,” Cass gagged. “It smells like Tim’s armpits after he’s refused to go home for four days and is running on coffee.”

“When have you smelled Tim’s armpits…” Y/n trailed off.

A heavy set man with a thick moustache saddled up to them and said, “that's the heat wave. It speeds up the body decomp. I guess you could say this mystery is straight outta decomp......ton.”

“No.” Y/n rejected the attempted pun. “Who are you?”

“Angel Rojas. I'm running CSI and forensics.” The man took a sip of his coffee.

“If the heat is causing the smell, why don't we just turn on the air conditioning?” Y/n asked.

Rojas shook his head immediately. “That kind of air flow is gonna kick up all kinds of dust particles. That AC stays off, which means the odour in here? Only gonna get worse.” He dug a small clip out of his pocket and shoved it on his nose. “Pro tip: plug your noses. Had this bad boy custom-made to fit these sweet nosters.”

“Are you trying to abbreviate ‘nostrils’?” Y/n stared at Rojas, completely bamboozled.

“In CSI, we don't try. We do, son.”

“Son? I mean, transgender people are great, but that’s not how I identify, thank you very much.” She shot Rojas a pair of finger guns before saying, “well, it's been sort of okay meeting you. We're gonna turn our backs and ignore you now.” She and Cass loyally turned their backs.

“Hey, Y/n/n,” Cass smirked. “You know what it's time for?”

“I sure do! Y/n and Cass’ first impressions!”

Cass pointed to blood patterns on the wall. “Cast-off pattern on the far wall suggests upward knife slices. Y/n?”

Y/n knelt down next to Carlyle’s body. “Wounds on the vic's back means he didn't see the killer coming. Oof. Cass, my dearest?”

Cass shook her head and continued, “laptop, wallet, keys all in plain sight. No sign of forced entry. Doesn't connote a robbery. L/n?”

“But it does connote that our killer was waiting for Carlyle in the apartment.” She hesitated and asked, “did I just use the word ‘connote’ correctly?”

“You did.”

Y/n grinned. “Great. I’m just super smart. Please text Tim and tell him to suck it and that I am amazing and he should love me. Also, tell Jason that I’m the smarter one in the relationship and that even though he reads all the time, I am superior.”

“I’m not doing that.”

A voice frantically cried from the hallway, “I'm his mother! Let me in!”

Y/n grimaced and her jaw tensed. “Rock-paper-scissors for who has to talk to the vic's mom.”

“Deal.” The pair slammed their fists into their open palms and Y/n glared at Cass as the former held up paper and Cass showed two fingers to indicate scissors.

“It's a game of chance. How the hell do you always win?” Y/n groaned loudly.

“You always pick paper,” Cass said.

“That is not true,” Y/n scoffed. “Here, go again.” Y/n flattened her palm as paper and Cass held up scissors. “One more time. Alright, one more time. One more time. One more time. One more time.” Y/n kept holding up paper and Cass easily beat her every time with scissors. “Alright, one more time. One more time. God, this reverse psychology is a bust!” Y/n sighed and stepped outside to the hallway. “Ma'am?” she found Carlyle’s mother and smiled softly. “I'm Detective L/n. This is Detective Cain. I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“Please tell me whatever you can. Nobody will tell me anything,” Carlyle’s mother, Amy, begged.

“I really wish that I could, but we're just starting our investigation,” Y/n explained. “Now, is there anyone you can think of that would want to hurt your son?”

“No! Everybody loved Stevie. I don't know why this happened! Please, you have to find who did this.”

“We're doing everything we can,” Y/n reassured her.

“Promise me,” Amy pleaded slowly, staring helplessly at Y/n, “you'll find who did this.”

Cass stepped in and frowned, “ma'am, we can't promise-”

“Promise me!” Amy placed a hand on Y/n’s forearm and tears started forming in her eyes. “Stevie was my whole world. I'm a single mom… or, was a single mom.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

Y/n took a breath and nodded. “I promise you.”

Cass falsely grinned at Amy, who was thanking Y/n profusely, and shoved Y/n back into the rotting apartment. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

“Um, exsqueeze me?” Y/n crossed her arms, offended.

“Did you really just full-on promise a victim's family member we would solve a crime? You broke the number one rule of dealing with a victim's family member. What were you thinking?”

Y/n shrugged and muttered, “I don't know. She reminded me of my mom, okay? A single mother crying in the hallway? Those are some of my frequent childhood memories.”

Cass sighed and rubbed her temples, speaking more softly, “dude, you never make a promise, because if we don't solve this, you've given her false hope, and that is way worse.”

“Normally, I would totally agree with you, but we're going to solve this case. We have so much evidence. We hit triple digies! We'll interview his friends, neighbours, and coworkers. Come on. We got this!”

“Alright, fine. But you have to deal with her if we can’t solve it.”

“Okay.”

“My goodness.” Y/n placed a hand over her heart and raised her brows in Cass’ direction. “Did Mother Gothel finally let you out of the tower?”

Cass’s hair had been lengthened significantly by hair extensions that fell down to her waist. “What?” Cass squinted at her.

“It was a Tangled burn,” Y/n explained. “Jason and I had a Disney marathon last weekend.”

“Cool, but no. Harper’s learning how to weave in hair extensions. Anyway, I talked to the neighbours. Our vic had a party three nights before the murder. I talked to everyone on the guest list. They all have alibis, so I got nothing. How did your interviews go?”

Y/n sucked in a harsh breath. “Not great. I talked to his coworkers, friends, and family. No one had a motive. Everyone loved him. The dumb jerk. RIP,” she added quickly, waving a hand around in a bad rendition of crossing herself.

“Did you promise any of them that you'd find the killer?” Cass asked, glaring at Y/n.

Y/n stared at Cass for a tense moment before admitting, “yes, his aunt. She also reminded me of my mom. Her name was Y/m/n!”

“Y/n!” Cass reprimanded.

“Look, it's gonna be fine. This apartment is full of forensic evidence! There is no way that CSI hasn't found something. I have never been more confident in my entire-” she threw open the door and groaned as the smell immediately blasted her. “I can taste the smell. Ugh. You shouldn't be able to taste smells.”

“That's the heat cookin' the blood rot right out of the floorboards.” Rojas sauntered up to them. “Set scent to simmer. Serve over rice.”

Cass gazed uncomfortably at him before saying, “just so you know, Rojas, we're not responding positively to you as a person. Maybe just give us an update on the labs.”

“Copy that. The victim was stabbed 30 times. Coroner puts the time of death between six p.m. and seven-thirty p.m. Sunday night.”

“Okay, and how many DNA matches did you find?” Y/n asked.

“None.”

“What about hair?”

“None.”

“Fingerprints?”

“None,” Rojas repeated. “I have no matches of anything on any criminal databases whatsoever.”

Cass turned to Y/n. “Still feeling good about your promise, L/n?”

“Still feeling good about that haircut, Cousin It? I’m sorry, I’m a little frustrated right now but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I love you, Cass.” Y/n took a breath after her quick speech and said, “Rojas, how did you guys not find anything? You had fifteen people in here.”

“First of all, you sound so ignorant right now. I had fourteen guys here.” He scoffed. ”Like I'd ever get approval for fifteen guys. That's insane. Second of all, don't worry, we found something good. We tested the blood. This blood splatter belongs to the victim, this to a second individual, and that to a third.”

“Oh, hells, yes. We might have some perp blood in here. This is huge! Cass, we’re gonna solve this case!” She high-fived Cass and a couple mornings later, she stood outside the apartment, and greeted her friend, “ah, good morning, Prince Harry.” Cass’ hair was a brilliant, stark red.

“You seem particularly chipper this morning,” Cass remarked.

”Indeed I am,” Y/n agreed. “Because I finally tracked down the guy who delivered our vic his final meal and, in so doing, maybe saw the other two guys who bled all over this apartment.”

“We don't know there were three people in the apartment,” Cass reminded her friend.

“Delivery guy,” a cop introduced Y/n and Cass to a young, thin man dressed in a work uniform.

“Hello, sir,” Y/n smiled kindly and shook the delivery boy’s hand. ”We'd like to ask you a couple of questions.”

The delivery boy, who must’ve been no older than twenty-five, looked around at all the uniforms and equipment there. He nervously admitted, “okay, look, I ate a couple fries out of the bag, but everybody does that.”

Y/n shook her head, fingers tucked in belt loops. “That's not why you're here.”

“Oh, shit,” Max, the delivery boy, looked petrified. “Is this about weed?” he asked quietly, like it was a secret.

Y/n’s brows shot up and asked, “should it be?”

“No?”

“You delivered food to the guy in this apartment at six-forty p.m. on Sunday,” Cass cut in. “And within the hour, he was murdered.”

“What? How? That's horrible!” Max cried.

“Did you see anything suspicious?”

“No,” Max said. “But I didn't go inside. The guy came to the door. I just gave him the food.”

“And did you see or hear anyone else in the apartment?” Y/n crossed her arms.

“No, just that one guy. He ordered, uh, three beetroot zucchini wraps,” Max stuttered.

Y/n grimaced dramatically. “Three disgusting wraps. Three disgusting bloodstains. I knew it. There were three people in there.”

Cass stepped forward. “Would you be willing to go inside and let us know if anything looks different to you?”

“Yeah. Sure, that's fine. I don't care,” Max agreed as Y/n began to open the apartment door. Max stepped in and took one look around before screaming out, “why would you show this to me? Oh, I'm too high to see this.” He gagged and his eyes fell on the fishbowl which had bloodstains on the glass. “There's blood on the fish! On the fish!”

Y/n turned to Cass and said quietly, “I always forget how weirdly numb to horrific things we are. Do you think it affects the relationships we build with others?”

“Oh, for sure,” Cass agreed, nodding stoically as Max continued wailing.

“Oh.”

Cass placed a hand on Max’s back, who was currently bent over, retching up air. “You must have seen something. You delivered the food at six-forty, and sometime before seven-thirty, Carlyle was stabbed to death.”

“Stop saying ‘stabbed!’” Max pleaded. “What I saw here forever changed me. My heart is still pounding!”

“Wait. Carlyle was wearing a smartwatch, right?” Y/n asked, whirling around to the evidence marker that stood by Carlyle’s phone. “Those things track your heart rate. If we look at his phone, we can see the exact moment his heart stopped beating. Here we go.” She opened the phone. “Activities app. And... boom! His heart rate dropped to zero at exactly six-oh-three.”

Cass’ brows furrowed and she muttered, “the food wasn't even ordered until six-sixteen, which means…”

Both detectives exclaimed, “the killer ordered the food!”

Max, who was sitting in fetal position, yelled out, “oh, god. Did I talk to a murderer?!”

“Y/n,” Cass ignored Max. “This guy saw the perp. We have to get him in front of a sketch artist.”

“Oh, yeah. I'm feeling it now, Cass.” She bounced up on the balls of her feet. “At this time tomorrow, we're gonna know exactly what our killer looks like!”

“We have no idea what our killer looks like,” Cass said the following day, bags under eyes.

“Well, that's not totally true.” Y/n shuffled through sketch renderings. “We now know that the killer might look like Sebastian Stan, Winona Ryder, or Bilbo Baggins.”

“The delivery guy kept starting over. Apparently, he's always high.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry, man. Our big break turned into nothing.”

A voice sounded from the end of the hallway. “Detectives,” Captain Wayne strode up to them, cap under his arm.

“Ah! Captain,” Y/n plastered a grin on her face. “Did you come down here to take a look at the two best detectives you've ever worked with in action?”

“The two best detectives I've ever worked with are Prince and Pennyworth,” Wayne said immediately.

“Oh.” Y/n nodded once and stared at Wayne. “You never mentioned them before.”

“They were excellent,” Wayne replied. “I'm here because Major Crimes wants the case. I was hoping to tell them you have some leads. I overheard you mention a Bill Bo-Baggins. Should we bring him in?”

Y/n stifled a chuckle. “Well, as much as I would love to meet him, he is not a suspect.”

“Okay, so who is?”

Y/n swallowed and said, “at this time? No one. But... we are currently investigating no leads.” She drew her lips in and waited for the disappointment.

“So you have nothing,” Wayne restated.

Cass glared at Y/n. “Not nothing. L/n made a new best friend. The vic's mom. She promised her she'd solve the case.”

Wayne pursed his lips. “That's a rookie mistake.”

Y/n held up her hands defensively. “Okay. Fine. Maybe I'm not Pierce and Pennyweather.”

“Prince and Pennyworth,” Wayne corrected. “And they would've remembered your name after one mention.”

“Because we're memorable, and they're not.” Y/n held up a hand to Cass for a high-five. “Turned it around.” Cass shook her head and Y/n dropped her hand, continuing, “alright, look, Captain. Cain and I are gonna solve this case. The answer is in this room.” She gestured around to the bloody apartment. “We just have to focus and let the room speak to us.” She shouted out to the open house, “isn't that right, room?”

��When you talk to the room,” Wayne deadpanned, “I lose even more confidence in you.”

“Why?” Y/n shrugged then turned to beg her Capitan, “can you please just buy us some more time? Sir, I feel like we've earned this.”

Wayne sighed heavily and conceded, “work fast.”

Y/n shot him a thumbs up and beamed. “Got it.” She turned back to the apartment and rubbed her hands together. She said to Cass, “okay. Let's look at the scene like we're seeing it for the first time with fresh eyes.” She jumped to the floor, next to where Carlyle’s body used to lay. “Vic was face down.”

Cass stood in the kitchen, analysing the blood on the wall. “Cast-off splatter suggests upward knife slices.”

“No signs of forced entry. Laptop, wallet, keys were all there,” Y/n said, staring at the desk where all the items lay.

“Doesn't connote a robbery,” Cass finished.

“Wait a minute. Have we said this already?” Y/n looked around. “Are we having the exact same conversation?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.” Y/n’s jaw twitched. “Moving on. Windows and doors locked from the inside. Nobody in or out.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Think, think, think... oh!” She snapped her fingers and her head whipped upward to focus on the ceiling. “The upstairs neighbour and his best friend drilled through the ceiling, murdered Carlyle, bled all over the apartment, then climbed back up and sealed the hole behind them!”

Rojas spoke up from behind them. “Negative, we would have found construction debris and microscopic paint fibres. The only thing that needs patching... is that theory.”

Y/n waved him away. “Okay. New idea. We're gonna get inside the mind of the killer. We eat the veggie wraps!” She opened the days old food container and unwrapped the veggie wraps. A shiver ran up her spine as she took in the disgusting looking food. “Here we go,” she hesitantly took a bite of the wrap and immediately gagged. “Oh, this sick bastard,” she groaned. “Oh, man. This is one twisted motherfucker. Oh, the beets are raw. This guy is demented, Cass!” She harshly swallowed down the food before throwing away the rest of the veggie wrap, glaring at it. “How can someone stomach that…?”

A week later, Y/n stood in the middle of the room and held her arms out wide.“Okay. All we have to do is figure out what kind of person can walk by cameras without being seen. Someone camouflaged as a wall.” She glanced around, squinting at the walls, as if she could find the person.

“Unlikely,” Cass said.

“Harry Potter and his invisibility cloak,” Y/n said proudly.

Cass pointed out, “Not a real person.”

“Well, uh, how do you know, Cain? Have you searched all of Britain for a magical castle? I didn’t think so.”

A couple days later, Y/n sat on the kitchen counter, legs crossed and wearing a tank top and pyjama shorts. She suddenly gasped loudly and waved her hands around. “My god, Cain, come here. Look at the blood spatter. Do you see what I see?”

Cass walked over from the bedroom and wondered, “Uh, blood?”

“I think I just made a connection,” Y/n said. “The number three is everywhere. Three people. Three types of blood. And guess what the tax was on the veggie wraps? Three dollars and nineteen cents, but if you ignore the nineteen, then it's three!” she cried out.

Cass shook her head. “Okay. You've officially lost your mind.”

Y/n jumped off the counter and hissed, “what? Who told you that? Was it room?”

“No. It's the fact that you think the room has a voice and also you're working in your PJs!”

“To beat the heat, Cass!” Y/n shouted. “To beat the heat! If we can't turn on the AC, this isn’t crazy, it's just smart.”

Cass took a deep breath and said quietly, “Y/n, I gave the case to Major Crimes.”

“What?” Y/n’s lips parted in disbelief. “Cass, y-you can't do that. I promised Amy.”

“Yeah, and now you can't let it go,” Cass argued. She opened the apartment door and a group of men in uniforms and windbreakers entered. “The scene's yours, guys. I'm sorry, Y/n/n,” she said softly. “It's over.”

Y/n scoffed and marched out. “Okay, fine! I'll leave. Come on, room!” she called out to the apartment.

“You left your pants,” Cass said loudly.

“I don't care!” Y/n shouted back.

Cass slid into the briefing room, noticing Y/n who was crouched on the floor. “Hey, Y/n?”

Y/n popped up and gasped. “Ah! Hello, Cassandra, my coworker and dearest friend.”

Cass shoved her hands into her pockets. “Look, I know you're mad at me, but I only gave away that case to help you. You were acting like a lunatic.”

Y/n placed a bottle of ketchup on one of the tables. “Don't even worry about it. You were totally right. I was in too deep, and honestly, I feel so free not having to work that case anymore, so thank you.” She didn’t know what to do, so she gave Cass an awkward little bow.

Cass smiled, relieved. “Cool, you're welcome. Uh, what's up with all the ketchup?”

“It's, um… for my hot dog.” Y/n nodded slowly. She began to push Cass out of the room. “Anyways, this has been a great chat, but I better get back to my hot dog.”

Cass frowned and pushed past her and froze at the sight of Stephanie who was laying on the floor, covered in ketchup. “Oh, wow.” Cass said slowly, eyes wide.

“There's nothing crazy about this, sister,” Y/n said. “It's the crime scene!” She pointed to the differently arranged tables in the briefing room. “There’s the stove, the kitchen island, blood,” she splattered some more ketchup on a table. “And of course, the body,” she flourished towards Steph.

“Hi, Cass!” Steph waved at her friend. “I'm the body.”

“You gave away my case, but guess what?” She let out a ‘boo-yah’ and held up two fingers. “I spent two months in that apartment. I can recreate it in my sleep.”

“Have you slept?” Cass crossed her arms.

“No,” Y/n said.

Dick walked into the room and looked around, shocked at the mess. “What the hell is going on here?!”

“Y/n’s gone insane because she promised the victim's mom she'd solve her son's murder,” Cass explained.

Dick placed his hands on his hips, disappointed. “Seriously? You never promise a victim's relative anything.” He took a breath and commanded, “clean it up and get out. You've lost your mind,” he decided.

“That's not true!” Y/n retorted. “I'm solving this.”

“Hey, sweetheart?” Jason placed a comforting hand on Y/n’s back. He had gotten a concerning text from Cass that had persuaded Jason to stop by Y/n’s apartment during his lunch break. He had originally knocked on the door, but when she didn’t answer, he had used the key she gave him for emergencies.

Y/n jumped at the contact and whirled around, eyes bloodshot and the bags under her eyes were darker than ever. “Jason? When did you get here?” Before her sat the blueprints of Carlyle’s apartment.

Jason’s eyes widened at her appearance before his expression softened sadly. “Oh, darling, how much sleep have you gotten?”

“Uh… when was Monday?”

“Four days ago,” Jason answered gently. “Come on,” he gently helped her out of her chair and led her to the bedroom. “Can we get some rest?” Y/n nodded reluctantly and allowed him to tuck her into bed. “I’m just gonna stay here to make sure you get sleep well,” Jason whispered.

“Okay…” Y/n soon fell asleep, a small smile tugging on Jason’s lips. He returned to Y/n’s living room and sat down on the couch, turning the TV on, making sure the volume was low so as to not disturb her.

However, an hour or so later, Jason heard some rustling from Y/n’s room. Worried, he crept to Y/n’s room and peered in. When he saw what his girlfriend was doing, he sighed heavily. “Y/n, my darling, please go to sleep.”

Y/n was using the blueprints as a blanket, reading over them intently, eyes blurry and exhausted. “Never,” she muttered. Jason took the blueprints away from her before typing a text message on his phone.

That afternoon, Cass stopped by Y/n’s apartment. She was greeted by Jason who led her inside and motioned to the bathroom. Y/n was sitting in the tub, cuddled in a blanket, and muttering to herself. Cass sighed and knelt down next to the bathtub. “L/n,” she said. “So, I can see how much this case means to you. I was thinking that maybe I could help you solve it.”

Y/n glanced up and the blanket fell off her shoulders. Jason came up behind her and rewrapped the blanket around her. “Really?” she asked. “But I thought Major Crimes just labelled it a cold case.”

“They did,” Cass confirmed. “But clearly, you’re not gonna let it go. And hey, if they’re out of the way, then we can take all the credit ourselves.” She smirked loosely and Y/n beamed.

The detective leapt out of the bath and wrapped her arms around her friend. “Thank you, Cass!”

The following afternoon, Y/n and Cass arrived at Carlyle’s apartment. “That's weird,” Cass hummed. “The police tape's already gone.”

“Oh, yeah, Major Crimes released the scene yesterday.” The pair walked into the apartment as Y/n said, “but I'm sure they haven't had time to clean up the evidence…” she trailed off, looking at the perfectly spotless rooms.

“Oh, shit, they emptied the place out.” Cass said. “Nothing left in here. I can't believe this is how it ends.”

“Yeah. Is it weird that I miss the smell?” Y/n’s lips turned up in a reminiscing smile. “Wait a minute, do you hear that?” Her head tilted to the side as she tried to figure out if the soft humming noise was coming from the apartment, or if she really was crazy and it was all in her head. “I've spent six hundred hours in this room, and I have never heard that sound.”

“It's because the air conditioning's never been turned on. It's coming from that vent,” Cass pointed to a large vent in the wall.

Y/n immediately took out a swiss army knife and unscrewed the bolts. She faithfully got down on her hands and knees and crawled into the huge vent. “I don't see anything,” she called back to Cass. “Wait, there's a bend. Oh, my god.” She came across a pack of plastic water bottles and some empty chip bags. “There's food and water in here!”

Half an hour later, Cass and Y/n stood in the precinct, Cass’ laptop propped open in front of them. Cass said, “we never saw the killer leave this apartment because he never left. But he couldn't have survived in there for months. That's insane.”

“He wasn't back there for months,” Y/n explained. “He just waited for the body to be discovered and then snuck out sometime after that.”

“But this place was crawling with cops.”

“Which is exactly what he wanted,” Y/n scratched at her nose. “He snuck out dressed like a cop.”

“Even if he had a uniform, somebody would've recognized him,” Cass said, thinking logically. In order for them to figure this case out, there couldn’t be any holes in the story.

“Not if his face was covered.”

“By a Hazmat suit!” Cass’ mouth fell open. “The CSI guys! Rojas said he had fourteen techs, but didn't you count fifteen?”

“I did count fifteen!” Y/n exclaimed loudly. “My maths was right! Suck it, Mrs. Wilson! She was my Algebra two teacher. She was actually very sweet. She believed in me.” Cass shot her a look and Y/n remembered, “oh. Yeah. Here's the security footage. Play the tape.” Cass pressed play and Y/n narrated along to the video, “okay, so there's us arriving. Alright…. Wait. Go back.” She pointed to the one guy on the screen. “Look at this guy. All the other techs are wearing their little booties, but he's not. Follow that guy.”

“Where's the footage from the grocery across the street?” Cass muttered to herself, pulling up the camera logs.

“We have that?” Y/n asked, astonished. “That is so crazy. We’re under surveillance at all times. I'm sure it's fine and it won't backfire and ruin society.” She shook her head, ridding herself of the thoughts. “Zoom in on his face. Hm… that man isn’t CSI. But he is about to say… CS-bye.” She grinned at her pun and announced, “okay, Cass. You know what it's time for!”

The friends high-fived each other and said, “Cass and Y/n’s final impressions!”

“The dude’s a hit man. He snuck into the apartment during the party several nights earlier, hid in the vent for three days, then emerged and murdered Carlyle. Y/n?”

Y/n took over and added, “he then spilled bags of blood that he stole from a blood bank all over the floor and turned on the victim's Roomba to make the crime scene as messy as possible. Cass?”

“The messy scene meant there'd be extra crime techs, allowing the perp to sneak out in a Hazmat suit, which records show he bought online. Two weeks before the crime was committed. My only question, who was behind all this?”

Two days later, a man by the name of Warren Lawford (“Really? That’s the most ironic name ever!”) sat in the interrogation room and said, “I was hired by a depressed grocer.”

“Wow.” Y/n muttered. “Dopeness taking a late hit here, but we still got you! See you at the sentencing, peace, and we're out!” She held up a peace sign before she and Cass swept out of the room, looking smug.

Amy waited for them outside, face contorting into relief when Cass explained that Lawford was pleading guilty. “Oh, thank god. But why did he kill Stevie? Was he doing something bad?”

“Not at all,” Y/n reassured her. “Steve dropped one of his clients that was too emotionally attached to him and the client went kinda crazy and issued a hit on him.”

“Well, is anybody going after him?”

“If they're not, then I will. I promise you,” Y/n said softly.

Amy’s eyes filled with tears and she spread her arms open. “Come here,” she sniffed, wrapping Y/n in a big hug, electing a squeak from the detective.

“Why are you promising her?” Cass mouthed to Y/n from out of Amy’s line of sight.

“I can't help myself!” Y/n whispered harshly.

“Goodbye, detectives,” Amy grinned before exiting the precinct.

“Take care,” Y/n called after the woman.

“I gotta say,” Cass huffed a chuckle. “We would not have solved that case if you hadn't gotten involved emotionally.”

“Think we'd be better cops if we did that all the time?” Y/n asked.

“Absolutely not, never again.”

“Yeah, it was a total nightmare.”

#title of your sex tape #jason todd x reader #jason todd #dc x reader #dcu #b99 #b99/dcu #slow burn

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therookieimagines · 18 days

Text

Not that he cares..or he does..- Tim Bradford x fem!reader 3/?

Summary: You’ve been living with Tim for a few months now, and after some intense staring contests Tim’s finally ready to admit how he feels, but what happens whenever things take a spicy turn?

Warnings: SMUT AT THE ENNNND, Tim calling you a whore and slut

It had been a good month or two, you were healing great and ready to get back into policing, but with slight changes, you felt like with the feelings that were arising towards Tim after living with him for some time would get in the way of your work, so, you were transferring TOs to Harper until you could become a detective. It wasn’t that you were doing anything inappropriate with each other, you both just, shared a bed, and a room..and a closet..you were basically dating without the dating. Tim had gone back to work about three weeks ago, diving head first right into cases, but not without calling you every hour on the hour, he couldn’t help it, you had been shot, maybe it had healed now but what if something happens? Again? He had to make sure you were safe.

Tim groaned at his desk holding the phone to his ear listening for the third time as he heard your voicemail “this is y/n! Leave a message, unless your Bradford or Nolan, then just text me” he was growing irritated with every passing second. “Harper! I’m leaving to go run a personal errand, I’ll be back in twenty” he said sternly before his desk phone started to ring loudly “hello? Y/n?” He answered quickly, hunched over his desk waiting for your reply “Tim? Why are you calling me like something happened are you okay?” You asked softly, he could hear the sound of dishes clanking faintly in the background “why didn’t you answer? I thought something might’ve happened you know whenever I’m calling from work it’s a-“ you cut him off with a giggle “it’s a check-in, I know, but I was doing dishes and didn’t realize my phone was on the bed, I’m sorry, I’m okay though I swear” you reassured as you finished drying the last plate, trying to stifle your groans in pain as you reached above you to put one of Tim’s thermos’s away “hey hey, what was that? That doesn’t sound okay to me” he asked starting to bite his nails “ya know what no I’m coming home” he decided before you were quick to cut him off “Tim Bradford. Stay on your shift, criminals need you out there to ruin their fun, just like you ruin mine” you teased “I’m cleaning the apartment for us, that way we’re not dealing with any messes tonight” you explained feeling terrible Bradford had to come home and clean up after you the last couple of weeks because of your injury, he never actually minded it though, taking care of you was just like his job as a cop, he knew he was doing good, especially if it meant making sure you were happy and safe. “F-fine but..I’ll be home at 7pm sharp, got it?” You heard his voice say, you could tell he was still uneasy but you knew he’d be quickly distracted with the first call he got.

Tim was truthful on his word, the door unlocked at exactly 7pm, not a second later either, you watched as he immediately dropped his things by the door walking over to you “how’re you? Those noises you made earlier did not sound like stretching you sounded hurt, did you fall or run into something?” He asked worried, placing his hands on your shoulders examining your body “Tim, I’m fine, reaching above my head is still painful but..it’ll be alright, these things heal” you smiled patting his shoulder before sitting down “so, how’d your date go that Lucy set you up on?” You asked curiously, you knew Lucy had her own little scheme going on, you could tell the second she started asking about how you and Tim were handling living with each other. “What?- o-oh I didn’t know..you..knew..” he admitted sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly “she was..nice..definitely not my type though, she wouldn’t stop instagramming her food, like honestly why can’t people just enjoy a meal?” He ranted, you just watched him smiling as he continued on and on as he poured himself a drink “hey why aren’t..you..answering..” Tim trailed off noticing you watching him in awe “why are you watching me, you creep” he teased sitting down in the recliner not far from where you were on the couch.

“Seriously!” He groaned dropping his head “quit staring at me! It’s creepy and weird!” Tim continued setting his drink down walking over eyeing you suspiciously, you couldn’t hide your smile, you knew he wasn’t being serious, but the fact he was trying to be was adorable to you, he was doing his cop tatics on you like he would on a call, his hands firmly holding his regular belt, his glare stern and his eyes slowly clouding to a shade darker. “Ms. L/n, do I need to issue you a ticket for staring an officer of the law down?” He asked squinting his eyes “try it, I’ll take that ticket to court, officer Bradford” you smirked, the giddy smile never leaving your face once though, Tim stayed strong though, fighting every muscle in his body not to smile or laugh. “Unless..you explain yourself on why you’re staring at me?” He offered crossing his arms, all of his known intimidation tactics “you don’t scare me, Bradford!” You laughed leaning back on the couch, only for him to take a step closer “that’s officer Bradford to you” he corrected in a stern tone “oh my gooood! Fine! I was staring because it’s calming to see someone so…brutal and scary become so laid back and relaxed” you explained, Tim scoffed playfully “when have I ever been brutal!?” He asked sitting back down, this time next to you, on the floor “uhm, my first call? They shot at us and whenever you apprehended them I saw you, that body tackle was pretty brutal” you remarked “I did what I was trained in the academy to do!” He defended, you just laughed smiling as he just shook his head at you. “I just mean that..i don’t know” you sighed letting your head fall back “you’re just..comforting to watch” you shrugged looking towards him again, this time he was the one staring, taking in everything that was you.

You both kept taking turns for at least ten minutes before finally Tim broke the silence “alright it’s killing me” he huffed leaning up onto his knee placing a hand on your cheek “over the last year and a half..y/n I’ve loved you more and more everyday” he admitted, you watched him closely nodding your head before he pressed his lips firmly against yours, you weren’t sure if you should kiss him back or pull away, he was still technically your TO. You chose to kiss back though, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he slowly made his way from the floor to the couch next to you “I never realized it until the night you made the backup call..I knew you were different from my other rookies but..not like this” he whispered pulling away from your lips, much to his minds dismay. “Don’t worry, Tim..I..I love you too, even if..you’re a rude asshole sometimes..and I wanna hit you..with a baton..-“ “hey! Where did all of this brutality come from!?” He yelped leaning away from you smiling “I’m just saying! I love you despite all the times you get on my nerves” you laughed leaning closer to him attempting to peck his lips, but he just kept leaning farther and farther back until he fell onto his back on the armrest, you kept moving though, eventually hovering over his body, your hair tickling his nose lightly. “Careful, rookie.” He warned, almost like you were going into dangerous territory, you were confused up until you realized just where your hand was, right above his growing erection, resting at the waistline of his jeans. “Shit sorry” you cursed moving it to hold his hand, you were now riddled with insecurities and embarrassment, why’d you put your hand there? What if he didn’t want things this fast? Were you a whore for moving this fast with him?

Tim could see the nervousness in your eyes, he kissed you once again, squeezing your hand gently before placing it back where it was only this time a few inches lower, you could feel a knot immediately form in your stomach as you felt how big his ‘package’ really was, I mean the police slacks were good to show things off but they could only do so much, so this was a lot bigger than expectations. “You’re alright, no need to apologize” he whispered running his hands through your hair pulling your head closer to his as he pressed his lips closer to yours, using his other hand to pull you basically onto his lap, only your hips were placed on his thighs. “Look at me, are you alright with this?..” he asked raising an eyebrow “we don’t have to, you know that, l/n, I’ll never force you into anything” he reassured, you knew every word he said was the truth, anytime a call was too much for you, he’d always make sure you were okay, never forcing you to do anything you were uncomfortable with (evictions were the worst for you growing up bouncing from house to house). You never answered him though, your mind starting to race again “I-i want to..” you whispered but your brain kept going back to the same topic, the moment he sees your scar he won’t be into you as much. Tim could almost read your face like a book, you wanted to but you were conflicted with something, he studied you, trying to figure out the cause without forcing you to speak, that’s whenever he spotted one of your hands fidgeting with your shirt, pulling and twisting, rolling the fabric between your fingers as you struggled to find the words.

You didn’t need to though, Tim effortlessly lifted you carrying you towards your bedroom before gently laying you on the bed, not wanting to hurt you anymore than you had already been hurt in your life. He pulled off your shirt running his eyes up and down your torso before his eyes landed on the distinct scar on your abdomen, he slowly lowered his head resting his chin on your hip bone “this is what’s bothering you?” He asked, at first you thought he was upset, you were probably being silly right? You shouldn’t be this stuck on a stupid scar. “Hey, I’ve got em too, from my time being deployed..my time serving as an officer..in our line of work those are like our little marks of how long we’ve been working as officers” he explained, your eyes were glued to him, watching as he sighed standing up, pulling his shirt and jeans off of his body “I’ve got them, it’s alright” he whispered slowly crawling onto the bed kissing your stomach all the way up to your lips “I’ve always thought you were beautiful..” he whispered against your lips, his words and kisses slowly became more aggressive, his hands running through your hair as you grinded your pussy against his thigh. “Fucking hell” he grunted gripping a fist full of his comforter, he so badly wanted to fuck you into the bed, show you just how badly he’s wanted to fuck you since the night he gave you a ride home from your friends party. You and your friend were sober but you weren’t dressed like it, he was completely shocked at the time, that someone as modest as you during your shifts would dress in such short shorts and such a tight t-shirt, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, perfectly masking it as annoyance, he was very much hiding that fact he wanted to tell you exactly how he felt right then and there, how much he loved you and wanted you.

You took notice to Tim’s face, he was concentrated on something heavy, something that was turning his knuckles white from the sheets, as you grinded your hips yet another time that’s whenever you felt it, he was harder than he had been that whole night. “Fuck me, Bradford.” You said sternly, using a fistful of his hair to pull him down to eye level “I want you, to fuck me however you want, just, with a condom please” you asked/demanded, you could see something in his eyes flicker, almost like he had been conflicted and then made up his mind. He quickly leaned away from you, ripping your sweatpants open down the thigh, giving him perfect access to press his fingers against your clit playing with it roughly watching as your back arched, all because of him. It was fueling Tim with something he never felt before, watching you do that all over his fingers made him feel powerful and more of a man than ever “oh just wait, baby, you think this is good, just wait” he whispered biting his lip smirking, he slowly lowered his body until he was eye level with your pussy, your thighs twitching with anticipation as he blew lightly over your lace thong. “You were these just for fun..or did you have a plan to seduce an officer tonight?” He asked slowly pulling them off, he had to keep them safe, just incase he wanted to see you in them again, you bit your lip anxiously, not wanting to answer his question in fear of answering wrong and not getting the pleasure you so desperately needed.

Tim growled furrowing his eyebrows landing a harsh slap to your inner thigh, resulting in a light squeal out of you in response “answer me whenever I’m speaking to you.” He growled resting your legs on his shoulder using barely any strength to tug you to the end of the bed, his lips barely ghosting over your bare pussy. “N-no I just h-hadn’t gotten around to laundry y-yet” you whimpered, squealing whenever you felt his warm tongue leave a strip across your clit, he wasn’t finished though, using the tip of his tongue to trace figure eights around your clit. Right as you approached your climax, Tim pulled his mouth away, you whined desperately trying to pull his face back down between your legs, but he quickly grabbed your hands pinning them to the side “ah ah.” He tsked, grabbing handcuffs from his side table using them to keep your hands restrained to the side of you to the bed frame “okay how long has that clasp been there?” You asked never really noticing how quickly the bed you’ve been sleeping on for the past months turned into a sex chamber “did it whenever I first moved in, didn’t mention it to you whenever you moved in because I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable” he explained casually as he placed a condom over himself lining his cock up before pushing into you quickly, it only took a few moments before he bottomed out inside of you, you couldn’t help but let out a moan as you felt his tip brush against your cervix.

Tim groaned loudly, you felt so much tighter than he thought, he couldn’t stop his hips from moving though, desperate to chase the one high, fuck the one person he’s been dying to for the last year “fuck just like that, god damnit your pussy feels great” he growled, lifting your legs over his shoulders giving himself a new angle to fuck you at. You couldn’t process everything happening, you didn’t even know Tim could be this sex experienced, you always marked him off as more of a vanilla dude, but here he was, throat around your neck gently as he slammed his cock into you so hard you knew there’d be bruising tomorrow. “Fuck! Tim please! I’m gonna cum” you begged, his grip on your throat tightened as he halted his thrusts “what the hell did you just call me, rookie?” He growled, ghosting his lips over yours “I-I’m sorry, sir” you whimpered, trying to move your hips in any way that would get you some sort of release, but Tim just held your hips down, using your pussy to his own advantage “I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long, fuck it’s better than I’d hoped it would be, holy shit” he panted, you whimpered loudly, desperately pulling your shirt off, screaming out Tim’s name as he latched his lips around one of your nipples, his teeth nibbling and biting as you squirmed under him.

You could barely think straight anymore, you hadn’t ever made yourself feel this much pleasure, no toy, hand, or man ever had you like this before, and Tim made it look so easy, like it was nothing to have you basically mush in his hands. Tim’s grip on the sheets were tightening, he had abandoned holding your neck long ago, not wanting to cause you any bruising above the waist or seriously hurt you, he could feel himself about to cum but he had to hold on, he needed to know how good it feels for you to squeeze around his cock. He could tell you weren’t going to last long either, your moans and whimpers were growing a lot more high pitched and frequent and you were basically dripping onto the bed you were so wet “come on, show me how much you want it, work for it, rookie” he teased, flipping you both over watching as you desperately rode his cock, your nails scraping down his chest as he bucked his hips up to meet yours pulling away. You gasped as his fingers started attacked your clit again, this time the knot in your stomach was too tight, immediately bursting, Tim moaned loudly throwing his head back as he felt you tighten around him, your pussy throbbing desperate to get every last drop from his cock as he came deep inside of you, the condom busting rather quickly. Both of your hips didn’t stop though, Tim’s just got rougher “god damnit your pussy feels so amazing, fuck” he cursed, you felt as he quickly got hard again inside of you, this time you felt every twitch and thrust, you were highly sensitive now and Tim was hungrier now for your second climax. He showed no mercy as he repeatedly pulled out only to push right back into you bottoming out, flipping you onto your stomach so he could lift your hips into the air, fucking you deeper, you swear you could feel his cock poking the inside of your stomach he was so deep, but he just kept going, wrapping his hand around your neck to pull your bare back against him, his lips ghosting over your ear “cum for me, rookie, wanna see that tight pussy squeeze my cock, like the desperate rookie you are” he spat, it just made you hotter, the way he talked down to you always did something to you, the way he had little regard over your feelings sometimes but then would turn around and care so much about you if anything happened.

“Fuck you like that, slut? Like whenever your commanding officer calls you out for the little desperate slut that you are?” He continued pushing your face back down into the pillows, you moaned loudly trying to push your hips back into his, but he continued to fuck you at his pace, only whenever he felt your body tense did he pull out replacing his cock with his mouth, licking up any cum that dare leaked past his lips, your legs twitched trying to close to get his mouth away from your clit but he just held your legs open, continuing to lick any part of your thighs and pussy clean. “Now, I think I deserve some payment for my amazing services” he panted leaning up glancing to his still hard cock back to you “I just wanted to see how good my girl tasted” he whispered, you whimpered sealing your fate as you dropped to your knees taking his cock into your mouth, you already knew you wouldn’t be able to handle the entire thing, so you took it slow, swallowing around him as he slowly bucked his hips into your mouth. It lasted about two minutes before Tim scoffed “may I show you how it’s done, slut?” He asked, you looked up at him through your lashes, nodding, never taking his cock out of your mouth, he grunted grabbing your hair and his cock leading it down your throat “breathe. Don’t stop breathing just breathe throw it” he coached, his tone no longer rough but more of caring, not wanting to see you choke (but secretly a little). As he nearly bottomed out you gagged around him, causing him to stumble slightly, stabilizing himself with your shoulders, he quickly thrusted into your mouth, sending his cock back down the back of your throat, remembering his words you moaned around him, his pace picking up, and his grip on your hair tightening before you felt a warm liquid shoot down your throat and pool in your cheeks as he pulled out, smirking as he slightly ran his tip over your lips leaving a coating of cum for you to lick clean. “Such a good girl” he whispered kneeling down to meet you “let’s get in the shower-“ you cut him off with a tired whine in protest, your legs felt like jelly and you were not about to stand in the shower for 30-45 minutes, no way. “Okay then let’s get in a bath, clean up, and we can watch this new true crime show I found, seems like something you’d be into” he shrugged, you smiled softly, even after calling you a desperate slut, he had already had a movie planned for afterwards “I guess…only if…you leave your shirt off..” you agreed using his hand to help yourself stand, Tim quick to stand to help stabilize you as he walked you to the bathroom “what is up with you and me being shirtless, l/n?” He asked as he helped you sit down next to the tub, allowing him to lean over to turn the water on and plug the drain “I dunno..you’re just..really nice to look at” you smirked giggling, before you knew it you were uncontrollably giggling “now what?” Tim asked, not being able to contain his smile as he watched you lean against the wall for support “I’m sorry! It’s just..we just..had sex!..” you whisper-yelled giggling loudly “seriously!? Are you a child or something!?” He laughed as he helped you into the warm bath, your muscles almost immediately relaxing as he slid in behind you, pulling you back to lean against his chest.

“I love you, y/n..and I know..with our jobs..but we can figure it out..right?” He asked softly, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head, you leaned back resting your cheek on his shoulder “we can..and we will..” you whispered, reassuring him before placing a gentle kiss on his jawline and turning back around to face the faucet, letting Tim start to rinse your hair out.

Part 4 lovelies? Or start getting some one shots out there?

#officer tim bradford #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #Tim Bradford smut #Tim Bradford x reader smut #the rookie #the rookie imagines #the rookie abc #Tim Bradford imagines #Tim Bradford one shots

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minisugakoobies · 1 year

Text

Taste | LMH

Pairing: Minho x Gender Neutral Reader Genre: smut, porn without plot, non-Idol!AU Rating: M (18+) Warnings: oral sex (m receiving), spit used as lube (who am I?), deep-throating, choking/gagging on dick, wet & messy, face-fucking, cum swallowing, dom/sub undertones (dom!minho and sub!reader), use of the word "pet," I left the relationship vague so feel free to imagine what you will Word Count: 860 Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SKZ - they just inspire me

Summary: Minho's waiting for you… have a little taste.

A/N: So… I wasn't planning on writing anything this week. Then I saw the photos from SKZ's Harper's Bazaar Japan photoshoot. I could not stop staring at Minho with his legs spread wide… and then this happened. I kept it short for once!

Big thank you to @minttangerines for taking a look at this one. Please let me know what you think and if you'd like me to keep writing for SKZ! 💕

SKZ Masterlist

Minho sits with his legs spread, head tilted as he gazes at you with eyes blacker than the night sky.

“Come get it.”

The words seem like a tease, but his tone is firm. Commanding. It should be embarrassing how quickly your mouth waters as you step forward, crossing the room in only a few short strides. Should be.

You kneel between his long legs, hands folded neatly in front of you. “Touch,” he says, and you slip them up his calves, over his knees. The black leather under your palms creaks slightly as you rub his thighs. His eyes fall shut for a moment while you massage away the stressful day he’s had, working his body to the limit once again.

The zipper yields easily to your deft fingers. There’s nothing underneath but him. You tug on the waistband of the pants and he lifts his hips just enough for you to slide them off. His cock springs free from the confines of the leather, head flushed dark from the bloodrush. He’s already hard for you. It’s a heady feeling, knowing that you have this effect on him. Just the thought of your lips wrapped around him is enough.

The warm almond and honey scent of his body wash floods your senses as you wait. Despite the evening breeze fluttering the curtains behind you, the air in the room feels hot and thick with anticipation. A beat of sweat trickles down his bare chest, rolls all the way to his Adonis belt before stopping. Your tongue is already licking your lips, ready for a taste, when he smirks, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Go ahead, pet. Help yourself.”

Gently, you hold him in your hand. His skin feels like silk, and you stroke lightly, smoothly rolling your wrist. When your thumb glides over his slit, Minho hums, deep in his chest. You repeat the action a few times, earning yourself more content rumbles.

Those rumbles become a low groan as your tongue flicks out to coat the tip. Around and around you drag it, covering his head in your saliva, wetting it as best you can. It’s not enough, so you draw yourself up on your knees, lean over his lap, and spit.

“Fuck,” Minho mutters. He’s still reclining, body looking completely relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, focused, observing your every movement.

Satisfied with how slick his cock is now, you lower your head, taking him in your mouth. A heavenly sigh fills your ears, spurring you to go further, swallow him down more. He’s tickling the back of your throat when you stop, reversing your movement, pulling back to lavish more licks across his swollen head. In no time at all you’ve got a steady rhythm, bobbing up and down.

It’s a lax tempo you’ve set. You’re in no hurry, wanting to take your time with Minho. Drag out the pleasure for as long as you possibly can. You know he doesn’t mind by the way he keeps his hands behind his head, letting you set the pace. He moans again, and you glance up at him, finding him watching you with an intensity that has you desperate to be touched yourself. But you can be patient. This is about him.

“So good, pet,” he whispers. No matter how many times he calls you that, it always feels like the first time, a torrent of desire rushing through you.

Inhaling through your nose, you hollow your cheeks, making your mouth so snug around him that Minho growls. You ache terribly, needing him inside you, but you’re not done yet. His abs start to tremble as his breaths quicken. “More,” he demands. “Again.”

Your mouth is full of saliva now, running over your lips and down his hard length as you suck again and again. Wanting to be good for him. Wanting to please him. Your hands roam, cupping his balls, tugging lightly, just enough to have him gasping. When his hips begin to buck, you know it won’t be long.

His fingers come to rest on the back of your head. Immediately, you go still, ceding control. A strong press guides you down, as his thighs lift from the chair beneath him to meet you.

“Gonna fuck your mouth. Be a good pet and hold still.”

Nothing in the world could move you now. Minho starts easy, rolling his pelvis, cock gliding along your tongue, thick and salty as you swallow around him. Then he thrusts faster. The room fills with loud wet gagging noises that mingle with grunts and the filthy praise he utters as he comes undone.

“Just like that. Fuck, such a sweet mouth. Oh shit, yes, so tight, just like that!”

As you choke down more saliva, Minho hisses, feeling your throat constrict, and it’s enough to push him over the edge. He spills then, hot and pulsing quick, and you keep swallowing until there’s nothing left in your mouth but him.

With deep, steadying breaths, you recline on your heels, hands on your thighs. Minho’s chest rises and falls as he regains control. Finally, he sighs, reaching for you.

“Your turn.”

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #minho x reader #minho smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #minho fanfic #lee know fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #fic: taste #diverseinsertknet

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underdark-dreams · 1 year

Note

I'm a slut for hurt/comfort and I'm obsessed with this trope tbh: Can we get Rolan/Tav where Tav gets downed in battle? (Obvs they can be brought back bc scrolls and revivify and what have you, I just want that sweet sweet angst.)

Rolan x Unnamed Fem!Tav: she/her

Whoo boy, we may have angst'ed too close to the sun with this one. Can't say much else without getting choked up--just love Rolan even when he's in pain. Thank you for this request!

Life, Death, Resurrection

During the ambush at Last Light Inn, the young wizard stares down the very real possibility of his dear one's death. A bittersweet night seen through Rolan's eyes.

Tags: Fem Unnamed Tav, Angst, Major Injury, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2,430 [Read on AO3]

It was like the very skies above had cracked open to let the hells stream through.

Everything roared around Rolan all at once—nightmares on wings descended in ambush through the roof of Last Light Inn, the din of screams and ripping flesh and thudding bodies against the floor overwhelming his senses before he could gather them.

Only reflex saved him as a winged horror stretched its claws high above to strike—then was pushed backwards by the thunderous force from both his hands. An arrow from Lia’s bow whistled past his ear, close enough that he felt the rush of air against his cheek.

“Fuck is happening—!” She yelled aloud to no one, another arrow already notched against her bowstring. Lakrissa sprinted in to form a line with her despite the bleeding gash on her bow arm.

Jaheira burst through the fray with eyes like steel. “Harpers, to the cleric!” The druid hit the ground on four paws—powerful teeth tore through one hellish creature’s translucent wing like it was parchment, its shrieking figure hurled against the back wall by the panther’s jaws—

Rolan wasted a precious second glancing to Isobel’s quarters above. He saw the flashes of rapid-fire spellcasting, heard the vicious scrape of metal against metal, and grasped Jaheira’s meaning in an instant. All the chaos on the lower floor was just a diversion to occupy their forces—the cleric’s room was the true focus of the ambush. And she was up there somewhere.

“Die and I’ll kill you both,” Rolan shouted to his siblings as he broke for the stairs. The blunt end of Cal’s spear swung past him in response, landing a killing blow on the ghoul Jaheira had just flung past their heads.

Supportive forces from outside the inn walls were rapidly gathering. Harper Skywin's crossbow bolt sang true through the wide front doors, piercing one monster's throat a moment too late, its claws already dripping with the warm blood of the disemboweled Harper on the floorboards.

Dammon rushed across the threshold just as Rolan's boots reached the first step. Their eyes met for only an instant as Rolan dashed upward. Behind him he heard the sharp sizzle of flesh as the smith’s blade, still glowing from the fires of his furnace, seared through the belly of the creature standing over its kill.

Rolan reached the balcony just as yet another winged ghoul touched down outside the cleric's room. He threw handful after handful of icy shards through its chest, overcome with impatient fury. Finally its impaled body fell back over the railing with a death rattle. He wheeled round in the doorway to face the scene within.

The colossal Flaming Fist's greatsword swung outward in a reckless circle—his face was disfigured by necrotic energy, dark unnatural wings sprouting from between his shoulders.

She and her companions flanked him on all sides—Rolan watched her face reflect the radiant magic of her own sword as it slashed for Marcus's shoulder. Shadowheart's arms guided a blinding bolt into the Fist's back, while from the corner Isobel called down healing energy upon her allies as rapidly as she could. The fight was nearly theirs.

Rolan joined to aim a spell through the fray, channeling every bit of the Weave he could reach to bind and weaken the monster. Marcus roared in frustration as he felt their numbers rapidly turning the tide against him.

Several things happened all at once. With a raging strike, Karlach swung her battleaxe down upon the Fist’s neck to cleave at the exposed gap in his armor, landing the death blow that would bring him to his knees.

And in the same instant—maybe because his savior was closest, or just the last face Marcus glimpsed in death—Rolan saw the Fist's hand raise toward her too late to intervene. A final burst of necrotic magic pushed out from his collapsing body, rushed through her chest, exited like black smoke from between her shoulder blades.

Her mouth formed a soft “oh!” of surprise. In the next moment, Rolan watched her figure crumple and fold over itself on its way to the ground, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“No—” The hoarse word barely escaped his throat. The Gods couldn’t be so fucking cruel to take her now, not after she’d just given him back the only family he’d ever known—

Rolan scrambled toward her through pools of cooling blood, kneeled where she lay. An iron fist gripped around him. "Wake up," he ordered her limp and unresponsive body, even as he gathered it in his arms. "Damn it, wake up!"

All the rest of them standing around him were forgotten. Somehow he was stumbling down the stairs with her, rushing into the barracks that had rapidly begun filling with the other wounded and bleeding. The rest of them could wait; she must be the first.

He laid her body out on the nearest empty bed. Not body—he corrected his mind in a wild panic—her eyes would open and she would live. Right now, her features lay so still it filled him with dread.

Why was no one descending instantaneously to heal her? He would’ve shouted if he could find his voice. Isobel was practically on death's door herself—Rolan watched her slump against the wall and wipe dark blood from her mouth. He turned away, unable to bear the fucking sight of her anyway, not after what her life may have just cost him. He cast around desperately for the Sharran.

Shadowheart was beside him in a second, already peeling off her bloodied gloves.

"Please," he begged. "Tell me she's not—"

Shadowheart's hands gripped his shoulders, vice-like. "If you want her to live, go. I need to concentrate." Her words broke through, and Rolan stumbled backwards in mute obedience.

Only his other fears for Cal and Lia could have drawn him from the room. He found them gathered around the central hall with the rest of the able-bodied, wiping the infernal blood from their weapons and taking stock of the casualties in a daze. The three of them all held each other wordlessly. Through the heat rising from the open hearth, Rolan glimpsed Alfira and Lakrissa doing the same.

With that concern eased, his mind was consumed with the one that remained. He paced across the hall in an effort to follow her companion's warning to stay away for as long as he could stand.

Once he couldn't, Rolan returned to the makeshift infirmary to stand helpless at the foot of her bed. Shadowheart took no notice of him; her eyes glowed blank as her hands directed a powerful flow of magic into her patient's chest. In this wan light, Rolan found her features more fragile and delicate than he’d ever seen them.

As the ritual came to an end, Shadowheart leaned across the unconscious figure to check the pulse at her wrist.

"How is she?" Rolan asked, terrified of the answer.

“She’ll be all right,” the cleric told him as she rose to take her leave. “But that was powerful magic; her body needs time. She probably won’t wake for hours.” He ignored the note of suggestion in her voice.

"I'll stay with her," Rolan said, final. Shadowheart didn’t question him as she moved away toward the next injured.

Rolan slumped cross-legged on the floor near her shoulder. From this angle, he could see the rise and fall of her chest under her tunic. Her bloodied half-plate lay against the wall behind him; no doubt Shadowheart had removed it to heal her wounds. Her breaths were shallow but steady.

Rolan found his own chest rising and falling in tandem, as if he might lend her some of his strength by doing so.

At the long table near the center of the room, he heard Jaheira's Harpers grouping around her in deep conversation about their next move. Marcus had been with them since the beginning, Rolan was aware—which meant that Ketheric Thorm had been one step ahead of their strategy this whole time. Rolan heard her name brought up several times in urgent excitement. She was their secret weapon. She could infiltrate Moonrise Towers this very night, and she still wouldn't be expected.

Rolan closed his eyes against the incessant discussion. He couldn’t care less about Marcus, or Thorm, or Isobel, or the entire Shadow Curse itself for that matter. There they all stood alive and well, plotting the next bloody feat she was meant to undertake, as if her spent body wasn't fighting for life in the bed a few steps away. Angry disbelief rose in his throat.

"For fuck's sake," Rolan interjected through them, "can't you all just let her rest for one fucking night?"

Surprised faces turned toward him. He didn't care if it branded him a traitor to their cause, didn't care what they thought of him at all, as long as she was left in peace for once.

It seemed Jaheira was the only one wise enough to understand. "The cub's right," she decided. "We regroup at dawn. Tonight, we rest."

Once the Harpers had filed out of the room on her orders, Jaheira turned back to him from the doorway. “Look after her,” she said, almost with gentleness. Rolan didn’t need the druid or anyone else to tell him that. But he said nothing as she left the room.

Rolan was finally left alone with his thoughts as the fire in the stone hearth behind him burned down to coals. Before long all the other infirmary occupants were sound asleep, drifting away to join the one beside him. From across the dark room Art Cullough whispered the same snatches of his halting song.

Rolan’s weary back ached despite his resolve to keep watch over her. He’d only rest his head for a little while, he told himself. He folded his arms on the edge of her mattress and lay his cheek across them so he could still face her, one hand brushing against hers. He took it without thought.

Her hands were cold. It didn’t worry him; he knew by now that they usually were. Many times in the past she’d laughed with embarrassment whenever her hands met his skin for one reason or another. Nevertheless, he wrapped her fingers under the warmth of his palm.

Rolan closed his eyes as he listened to her soft breath rise and fall.

He awoke some hours later to the sensation of something tickling his hand. Rolan raised his head groggily, realizing through the dark that it was her thumb brushing across his knuckles.

“Rolan?” Her voice whispered.

“I’m here—” He straightened up, trying to see her face through the dim light. His bent legs had gone painfully numb under him.

“What time s’it.”

He had no clue, just having awakened himself. “Past midnight,” he guessed, judging by the spare red glow of the coals in the hearth.

“Where’s Isobel?” She croaked out.

Rolan’s relief at hearing her voice again was colored with disbelief that she was already asking after others. “She’s fine, asleep upstairs. How do you feel?”

“It was Ketheric’s orders,” she explained, ignoring his question. “Taken alive…why he sent Marcus.”

To Rolan’s mind that didn’t begin to explain the attack, but he couldn’t care about all that now.

“It’s over,” he assured her. “Your companions are all safe. Everyone’s sleeping off the fight. You should too.”

He heard her sigh in relief, and then the sound worked itself into a pained cough. “Feel like Karlach clocked me in the ribs,” she winced.

“Should I get Shadowheart?” Rolan was ready to wake her friend without delay. He had half-risen before her fingers clenched against his to keep him where he knelt.

“Stay,” she requested, then added almost shyly, “please.”

Rolan was back beside her in an instant. Wherever she wanted him, that’s where he’d be. He settled himself against the edge of her bed once more, their hands still connected.

She was quiet for a long moment. “I suppose now we take the fight to Moonrise Towers.”

“By all the Hells,” Rolan muttered. He wasn’t upset at her—just at every other circumstance that weighed and pressed down on her shoulders. “Don’t you think you can take one night for yourself before you have to rush off and save us all again?”

She shifted against the bedding. “The element of surprise won’t last forever, Rolan. You know that as well as I do. The sooner we dispatch Ketheric, the sooner we can finally make our way to Baldur’s Gate, all of us.”

Rolan knew she was appealing to his personal motives, but he resisted. “Think about yourself for once,” he instructed her. “Just rest for now. Sleep. Gods know you deserve it.”

She fell silent for a while. Rolan tried to make out her expression in the dim light; he wondered if he’d been too harsh.

“Oh, just come here,” she said suddenly. “My back hurts just looking at you.” With a soft grunt of effort she scooted to the far side of the bed; Rolan realized she was making a spot for him.

He hesitated only for a moment before climbing up beside her. The mattress was firm and lumpy, but after the unyielding wood floor, it felt soft as a cloud against his stiff limbs. She settled on her side to examine him up close.

“Your face is all bloody,” she said. Her eyes reflected just enough firelight that he could make out their expression of concern.

Rolan glanced down at himself, realizing his skin and clothing were still flecked and stained head to toe from the night’s battle. His face must be in a similar state. “I don’t think it’s mine,” he answered honestly.

“Goodness,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “What a dashing hero.” Rolan couldn’t make out if she was teasing or serious, and wasn’t sure which possibility made his heart thump faster. He deflected by bringing her knuckles up to his lips.

Rolan felt her sigh again in reaction, more relaxed this time.

“Rolan?”

“Mm.”

“Hold me for a while?” She asked quietly.

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Rolan’s arms slid under and over her, drawing her frame near to him. Her head bent to his chest as he held her close. Her brave, reckless, kind, vulnerable self.

Before very long, her breathing reached the heavy cadence of sleep. Rolan drifted toward unconsciousness not far behind her. It was dreamless; his arms held all he could want.

#rolan x tav #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #bg3 fic #angst #hurt/comfort #injury #fem unnamed tav #underdark-dreams #soitbe-soitis #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers

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thesummerstorms · 29 days

Text

PJO x DC, Camp Half-Blood has an open betting pool on:

Is Poison Ivy actually a dryad or, like, the dryad+human equivalent of a demigod?

Is Black Canary a daughter of Apollo? (Blond + sonic scream) Or is her boyfriend Green Arrow (blond+ archer) the son of Apollo?

Are the Arrow sidekicks then legacies? Some of them are too old to be Canary or Green Arrow's biokogical kids, but...

No one will entertain the idea of both Green Arrow and Black Canary being Apollo kids or even one of them being a legacy because it's widely known they're together and no one wants to go there, Greek Mythology be damned.

Which gods could still fight in a space battle? (Apollo and Artemis are the sun and moon, but does Poseidon have any dominion once you leave Earth's atmosphere? What about someone whose powers are more rooted in humanity, like Hermes?)

They have this debate under the guise of "which god's kids" to avoid anyone being smites, but everyone understands the subtext.

If they ran away and, like, joined the Green Lanterns though, would they finally get to escape demigod problems? Or would the Gods still follow them?

What the hell is Swamp Thing, and does Pan have anything to do with it? Did some poor Satyr 's nature magic go really, really wrong?

Batman son of Nyx? Nemesis? Athena? Phobos or Deimos?

Annabeth Wayne Chase tends to shut those conversations down when she can, or else leave the room, and people figure she has some weird Gothamite grudge, maybe related to Batman not helping her when she was a seven year old run away. This theory has extra credence because she will throw something sharp or heavy at you if you try and insist Batman must be her older brother through Athena.

Do alien pantheons (Rao, X'Hal) really exist, and, more importantly, do they now have any domains on Earth due to Superman, Starfire, etc.

What exactly is going on with Aquaman, Tempest, etc & Poseidon. (Percy tried to give them the explanation but it was too rational to be fun.)

Are any of their missing or presumed dead siblings actually running around in a mask with the Justice League?

Everyone is pretty sure they know the answer to this, actually, at least in their heart of hearts. It never stops the youngest kids from hoping.

Bonus:

Roy Harper /Arsenal encounters either Will Solace or some other blond Apollo child with both archery ability (at least somewhat) and sound powers (a la Will's sonic whistle) and becomes paranoid that Dinah and Ollie have either a time traveling or dimension traveling secret love child.

#pjo x dc #dc x pjo #dc #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #Annabeth Wayne

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inkyquince · 1 year

Text

Niki with gray streaks at his temples. Niki with crows feet lining his eyes. Niki, who got to expand his business beyond the photography, into being a man of the pictures. The prettiest pictures. Racks in more money than even his best photo shoots.

characters. Niki. (Degrees of Lewdity)

cw. older niki being a pervert. legit wrote this while watching pearl and then x and had a flash of inspiration. nothing too bad, just niki being an older pervert, filming, its... hinted that its coerced but there's no words spoken. body worship. its HINTED niki is into musk lmao. anyway, this is for all yall very patient dol lads while i've been having a lil brain melt over miguel and then bg3 :3

Niki who still has his white stick balancing on the bow of his bottom lip, tongue stroking the end as he squints at one of his scuffed lenses. Sometimes he’s surrounded by people whose names he doesn’t care to know, shooting some boring scene that gets the old timer’s panties wet and peckers to stiffen. That’s for the crowd that likes the vanilla stuff. “Vanilla” he ruminates, watching the two women in animal masks ride that poor sod’s entire body. Yeah. This is the shit that gets sold at the checkout line in the grocery store. He prefers his other work. The type where he’s no longer surrounded by people fiddling with equipment and lousy actors rehearsing their lines. The type that brings him back to his younger years of filming in the quiet barn.

His muses came and went. None of them lasted much longer than two months. Except his little assistant. Fuck, he never had one before, when all he needed was his camera and his own sharp eyes. Except he fucking pulled something in his back and had to lie on Harper’s examining table, listening to the doctor chastise him on not taking care of himself, his own blond hair flecked with grey too.

So, he had you. Lift the heavier equipment, hand out shit so he didn’t have to. Then, when it was just the two of you? You stayed quiet when he needed it. Filled the silence when he needed it. Helped him… When he needed it.

When the actors and actresses bored him, when the hopeful bright eyed thing getting paid to get fucked in the ass struggled to hold his attention, Niki goes looking for something real. The club, recording as people groped each other breathlessly. To the park, to catch the odd streaker.

Then there’s something special. Stuff he doesn’t let himself indulge in too much. But when he had a block, where all of his shots look stilted and wrong, when nothing is coming together like it should do, he can’t help it. He needs something real, nothing like the acted out sex, or the lapdances, or anything. Nothing for an audience, but something just for him.

Even he didn’t know how it started.

Sharing a room for a good price, with you quietly cooking at the stove while Niki huffed and grumbled, looking at the extensive amount of filming he had to do the next day. He thinks you might have burned yourself. Maybe nicked yourself with a knife. Just a soft swear from under your breath had him looking up at you, his graying strands dipping into his eyes as he saw you in the way he was meant to.

The lighting was perfect. You loose tank top showing just enough skin by your ribs. The pretty way you were wholly unaware of his gaze going from disinterested, soft, to sharp, intense. An artist who finally had a muse again.

Without you noticing, Niki quietly resticks his white stick back into his mouth and gets up. Moving around behind you as you made sure the two of you ate that night. The radio whining out a tinny little song masked any sound made by his movements.

You turned around to ask your boss if he wanted something to drink with his meal but stopped short, seeing his camera up and rolling. Pointed directly at you. Making the soft whirring noises as Nikki fiddled with the equipment a bit before looking straight at you.

There were no words for you. Just his gaze, fixed on you, with the camera whirring.

It was the first time you had ever been on the other hand of the lens. You always stayed by his side during the filming, fiddling with the audio equipment or going over the notes Niki had prepared. It felt like you were bare. Being captured exactly how Niki saw you in this moment. Immortalized. Seen. Even though you still had all your clothes on, you felt bare. Because of not how he currently saw you, but you knew in what way he wanted to see you.

Niki’s expression didn’t change as you slowly raised your hands and slipped yourself free of your shirt. His eyes remained steely and glinting but behind his relaxed lips, just barely open, his teeth were biting through his lollipop stick, breaking it.

Soft, perfect nipples hardening in the cool air, perking right up under his gaze. It felt more real than anything else he filmed for a long while. All for him. His breathing kicked up as you watched him right back, quietly seeking his approving gaze as you slowly dragged a hand over your chest, pressing your fingers down into your skin. It looked so soft, so easy and malleable for his tongue to ruin it with bruises and bites. He noticed the blemishes on your skin, everything that made you imperfect, but real. Nothing fake, not like his other productions with the actors. He knew you wouldn’t force your moans for him. Niki knew he caught you unawares, so you hadn’t had time to spend the last hour shaving your pubes, or shower after a long day of hauling things for him. Authentic. Saliva pooled on his tongue.

With a little jerk of his head, he motioned at your shorts, necessary in the cloying heat. Your chest hitched with a shuddering breath and Niki’s dry lips curled into a smile at long last. Nervous. Unaware. Shy. Real.

So, your shorts pooled around your ankles, which you kicked to the side. Underwear was still on, but he could see everything, outlined perfectly. You motioned to slip those off but Niki shook his head. He made a circular motion with his finger and you flushed. A bit clumsy, almost slipping on the discarded shorts, you slowly did a charming little pirouette, leg lifted. He chuckled and then made his particular motion for you to bend over for him.

Underwear snug against your body, he made sure to zoom in to where your hole would be. Waiting.

You heard the click of the camera turning off before you heard Niki’s voice.

“That's enough. We’ll get up early tomorrow morning.”

You stood there, stock still for a moment, face too hot before scrambling for your clothes, almost mortified by what just happened. It felt like a snub. It wasn’t, but it felt like one. You expected the next day to be full of filming the cute cow-girls with tits too big for them to know what to do with, but Niki didn’t head towards the farm, instead driving out to the farmlands and hiking to the coast.

He filmed you swimming. Sunbathing. Just existing as if you weren’t being paid by the hour for this.

It wasn’t always like that. Niki still filmed other things, with his hand slowly rubbing circles into inner thigh as the camera rolled. The longer time passed in between your private shoots, the more times you caught him watching you during the shoots, eyes seeking out skin.

Your personal shoots became lewder. Niki wanting to capture every inch of skin, as you invited him in, both his attention and his camera.

Older Niki, having his personal assistant double as his muse. He’s twice their age, with gray streaking his temples. He grits his teeth when younger men chat you up. He grinds them when you can’t come around in the evening, just to pose for him. Lie there for him, naked and sinful and good. Forced to watch some of your films instead. Niki and his favorite muse.

#dol #nsft #quincewrites #niki the photographer #degrees of lewdity

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albatmobile · 7 months

Text

a conundrum of redheaded proportions pt. 2

the second and final part of this ask!

𓅪 Rated: E | 6.5k includes: misunderstandings, confessions, selectively mute!reader, blow jobs, vaginal sex, deep throating, praise kink, spitroasting, begging, lots of smut y'all ur welcome, voyeurism, jealousy, Justice league AU

𓅪 previous hookup fem!reader x jason todd, eventual fem!reader x roy harper, eventual fem!reader x jason todd x roy harper

my Hero OC! Cardinal comes from this series: tumblr [1] [2] || ao3

It seems like fate that not even three days later Batman’s listing you off with Jason and him to lead a low-stakes mission with some of the younger, noob League members.

“Seems like we keep bumping into each other,” Roy teases you lightly before your squad’s debrief.

You quirk your head questioningly and make to apologize as if you’ve actually bumped into him.

“No, I just meant the other night,” he trails off unsurely, wondering if it’s too taboo to bring up you seeing him naked and hard in the hallway.

You don’t say anything, obviously, but you hardly even move.

Shit, he fucked up. Again.

“Er,” Roy clears his throat subconsciously, “anyway, sounds like it should be a pretty easy in-and-out type of deal, right?”

You nod bashfully and give a lame thumbs up.

Roy watches Jason sign something to you with a cheeky tinge to his movements and you respond with a flurry of sharp motions. None of it being anything Roy comes remotely close to understanding.

Roy clears his throat and both of you stop with your hands mid-sign, faces nearly touching through the armor of your masks.

It’s Roy’s turn to quirk his head.

“She said she,” Jason starts out in an obvious lie that has you instantly flicking him off. “I didn’t even say anything yet, beautiful.”

Put aside that Jason and you had just completely left Roy out of the conversation, now Jason’s giving you nicknames?

Fuck this.

“Uh,” Roy barely contains the urge to punch Jason in the stomach, knowing it’d only be in vain with Jason’s insanely padded bulletproof vest.

You huff in aggravation, looking from Jason to Roy.

“Fine, I won’t say anything.”

Okay, now Roy really feels like punching Jason. He’s supposed to be helping Roy hook up with you, not trying to steal you away for himself.

Roy’s feeling the second-hand heat from the glare you’re undoubtedly shooting Jason’s way. He can’t help but feel like you’re talking about him and he really wants to know why Jason would be refusing to tell him.

You smack at his arm and clearly sign something before motioning your head toward Roy.

“What’d she say?”

You shake your head in your hand.

Jason pats Roy on the back. “First off, just because someone’s translating doesn’t mean you talk to her through me, dumbass,” Jason says as he motions to you. Roy gulps as he follows the movement. “Second of all, she said she doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Consider it gotten.

“Yeah, no,” Roy lies, sheepishly tugging his trucker hat lower. “No wrong idea from me, that’s for sure. Nada, baby.” God, can he shut the fuck up? “Sorry,” he says finally.

You shake your head hesitantly and look down at your hands like you’re unsure of something. When your head pops back up, you look to Jason before reaching over and squeezing Roy’s hand like a reassurance that you aren’t mad.

“Shit babe, you should already know you can squeeze more than that,” Roy spews. He slaps a freckled hand over his mouth as soon as his word vomit catches up to him, but by then, it’s too late.

If you weren’t mad before, you definitely seem upset now.

It’s as if his words electrocute you back to reality, jolting the realization that you’d actually gone ahead with the action.

“Jesus,” Jason shakes his head like he can’t believe either of you, “it’s like watching a goddamned train wreck in slow motion.”

Roy, personally, can’t believe he keeps fucking up so tremendously with you.

It comes as a relief to all three of you when your ride shows up and the mission begins, preventing any further awkward mishaps.

𓅪𓅪𓅪

Jason takes control of the ship, sitting in the pilot’s seat before discreetly signing something to you.

Roy hears you ‘tch’ before you sign something that Jason doesn’t need to translate for him. Without another word, well, sign, you saunter out of the cockpit, throwing one last look over your shoulder at Roy before walking to the back of the vessel.

It’s not fair.

It’s really not when your waist goes in so perfectly and your ass flares out unmistakably. Each sway comes with the cruel reminder he can’t touch it. He can’t touch you.

“God, she fucking hates me,” Roy sighs, slumping over in the jump seat. “God, I keep fucking up. I keep acting like a fucking pervert in front of her. It’s not fucking like me. I don’t know what’s going on,” he groans in frustration. “It’s like I’ve got zero fucking game around her and it’s really starting to piss me off. I can pick up any girl, but her? She’s seriously fucking me up, like, in the head and stuff, dude,” Roy cements his statement by jamming his index finger against his skull psychotically.

Jason clicks on the autopilot and gets up to shut the cockpit door, looking around to make sure no one’s overhearing them as he does so. When he sits back down, he removes Roy’s finger, which still remains against his forehead.

“You look and sound like you’re on fucking crack again, Roy.”

“It was heroin, but thanks. Always a class act to joke about addiction,” he mutters.

Jason can barely contain his eye roll. “Is it so hard to just, I don’t know,” Jason opens his arms dramatically like it should be the most obvious thing in the world to him, “be yourself? Don’t you think maybe, at the very least, that being yourself is a bit better than this weird, lame shit you’re pulling now?”

Roy sits there, definitely not pouting, as he takes in his best friend’s words.

Jason knows the real him and still lets him hit, so maybe…

“You’re right,” Roy sighs. He slumps back in his seat, exhaling dramatically enough for Jason to roll his eyes again. “If anyone’s gonna help me understand her, it’s you.” As much as he hates to admit it, Jason’s the only one who can offer him any sort of sage advice right now. “What should I do?” he asks.

Roy’s expectant puppy-dog-look has Jason milliseconds away from clicking the eject button and leaving Roy to figure shit out on his own. While he does eye the button, his hands remain on his knees as he takes in his friend’s desperate demeanor.

“Consider this a mitzvah,” Jason says monotonously, finally deciding to divulge Roy. “I can tell you straight up that if all you want to do is fuck her, you’re going to keep fucking up because she’s not like that.”

Well, Roy definitely hadn’t been expecting that.

“All the two of you did is fuck,” Roy points out saltily. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you ditched me to go get your dick sucked.”

“Roy,” Jason rubs at the tension steadily forming between his brows, “what did we just talk about?”

Roy puts up his hands in surrender easily. “I swear, it’s not my fault. It’s like my filter’s completely gone,” he complains.

“You’ve never had one to begin with,” Jason states plainly.

“Fine,” Roy gives in, motioning for Jason to continue.

“So, it wasn’t just a one-time thing like I told you. It’s a bit more complicated,” Jason says, leaving Roy’s eyes to bulge. “We’d been talking ever since her split with Kate, but I didn’t want to take advantage of her. She told me she rushed into things with Kate, so she wanted to take things slow.” Jason shrugs. “You know, not like jumping into something right away. Anyway, I understood, so, in the end, I just got to know her.”

Roy shoots a knowing brow but doesn’t take the bait this time. “You seem to be forgetting I’ve also known her for years.”

“Knowing someone and knowing of someone are two different things. You and I both know that, Roy,” Jason points out. “When the time finally came that she was ready, probably like a year later, that’s the day I ditched you.”

“What happened after that?” Roy asks curiously.

“It was a one-time thing in the sense that it was only one day,” Jason says. His attention shifts to the closed cockpit door as if it might somehow magically open. “After that, I never pushed and she never reached out like that again. We both got consumed in missions. When we’d finally get around to catching up, she’d act all shy again with me.”

Jason almost sounds embarrassed about the whole ordeal. He clears his throat, moving to busy himself with the controls, seemingly to signal the conversation was officially over with.

Roy can’t help but think back to how the two of you acted earlier… like you guys were close.

Fuck.

He mentally berates himself for getting in the middle of his friend’s… uh, what exactly are you to Jason? His friend with benefits?

No.

Love interest?

Roy chances a peak at Jason out of the corner of his eyes, but with his Red Hood mask on, it’s impossible to get a read on the stoic man.

This can’t be Jason’s way of telling Roy to back off, right?

“Tell me to back off and I will,” Roy says.

Jason’s helmet remains facing forward. “I could say the same for you.”

Just like that, the topic gets dropped for good and Roy’s no closer to any sort of clarity.

𓅪𓅪𓅪

Just like Batman had promised, the mission was get-in, get-out.

The swamps of Louisiana refused to be left behind as its grime sticks around long after the hostile info swap with Swamp Thing.

By the time you’re loading the dirty mutant teens back into the ship, Jason’s already calling dibs on the shower. You make sure everyone’s buckled securely into their seats before heading to the cockpit to let Jason know it’s safe for liftoff.

Your interrogating skills could use some work, Jason signs.

He can’t explicitly see it, but he knows your brow is quirked under your mask. You mean lighting him on fire wasn’t protocol? you sign back.

“The fuck are you two jabbering on about?”

Roy’s voice visibly startles you and your hands still defensively in front of your chest where they’d been signing.

“Just rehashing the mission,” Jason says. He shrugs, moving to flip a few switches on the control panel.

“You mean how she lit that oversized weed bush up like a Christmas tree?”

You snort.

He’s not usually like this. Jason looks at you before tilting his head Roy’s way. He’s trying, though, Jason signs.

You wave him off with a huff, You’re delusional.

If you’d just fucking talk to him, you’re expecting his usual response to your concern, so you’re definitely not expecting what he signs next, you’d see you’re both being delusional.

You flip him off for the second time on the mission before slipping back into your seat in the main cabin so Jason can take off.

“Women.” Is the only explanation Roy gets before the ship shoots off into the boggy, yellow sky.

Once the ship is set to fly on autopilot, Jason makes good on his dibs. His commanding boots stomp down the cabin aisle, shaking the entire aircraft as he does before coming to a halt in front of the bathroom.

“The Justice League requires an immediate debrief to be written once a mission's complete,” Red Hood's robotic voice warbles menacingly. “You have until we’re finished with this report to wash the mud from your acne-covered faces. Take any longer and your ass will be spending the ride back to base with shampoo in your hair.” His gaze shifts across the rows of seats to solidify his point to the scared prepubescent mutants who’ve yet to move. “Might wanna get a move on if you plan to rinse and repeat.”

His helmet snaps your way, gesturing you to join Roy and him up front.

You shouldn’t scare them like that, you berate him. It’s mean.

“Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound it. “Thought I was, at the very least, being gentlemanly considering I just handed you private shower access.”

He doesn’t bother with signing once you’re both back in the cockpit, though you seem more focused on Roy. Even when Jason removes his helmet, you hardly react.

Truth be told, your attention is making Roy extremely nervous.

He’s already been overthinking, well, everything, but it’s worse now.

He keeps second-guessing every movement he makes. Every single word he says feels wrong no matter how long he languishes over the right thing to say.

Case in point:

“Private showers?” Roy wiggles in his seat, similarly to how Lian so often would in her highchair.

“Yeah,” is all Jason says, with a pointed look your way. “You’re welcome. Now let’s fill out this corporate bullshit so I can get Swamp Thing’s things out of my crevices.”

Roy snorts when you shiver distastefully at Jason’s choice of words.

To his surprise, Jason hands you a notepad and you begin furiously scribbling out your responses.

Meanwhile, Jason busies himself with recording Roy’s and his recollections of the mission. By the time they’re done recording, you’ve blown through six pages all filled to the brim with information. For some reason, he thinks it’s completely normal to give you a thumbs up because of this and mentally smacks himself when you respond by slamming the book shut before he can see it.

The debrief goes over smoothly, with Roy only managing to make somewhat of an ass of himself, which he considers a new personal best.

The ‘somewhat’ quickly turns to ‘a complete’ when he decides to say, “You know, for someone who doesn’t talk a lot, you sure have a lot to say.”

Jason makes a hasty ‘abort’ gesture, but it’s too late.

Roy’s fucked up for the fucking gazillionth time with you.

You don’t even react. Instead, you gesture for your phone from the ship’s safe. Jason hands it over easily enough, though he’s obviously not exactly sure where this is going.

Roy swallows heavily, focusing his attention on the setting sun, which casts a golden sheen on the clouds that pass by. He tries to block out your loud typing, but the fingertips of your costume tap thunderously against your screen until it’s all he hears.

He thinks you’ll ignore him the rest of the way back until you’re suddenly flipping the screen around his way.

Jason makes a face at Roy as if to say, ‘I told you she’s into you.’

After chatting back and forth, Roy notices you shifting uncomfortably.

Jason seems to understand immediately. “Roy, show her how to turn on the showers,” Jason insists. Roy gawks at his best friend, not missing the hidden meaning. Roy’s about to protest, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but you’re already up and nodding to the back of the plane. “And, for fuck’s sake,” Jason huffs under his breath to Roy, “don’t make me wait too long.”

On the shower, or…?

Roy shakes his head, placing a delicate hand on your back to guide you into the pretty clean ship bathroom, considering how many people had just used it.

Before he loses the courage, Roy strips and turns to give you a full view of his bobbing, pink-tipped cock. He watches you hesitate to remove your mask as if it’d been a secondhand reaction. Ultimately, you do pull it off, shyly biting your lip as he drinks in your godly beauty as if it’s the first time.

You slink out of the rest of your costume at a tantalizingly slow pace as you step closer and closer to Roy.

“Think we should turn on the showers to drown this out?”

You nod with half-lidded eyes as your hands slowly descend down his chest.

The faucet squeaks as Roy fiddles with a good temperature, but you seem completely preoccupied with studying his cock. Your legs obscenely spread into a squat as you come face-to-face with his bobbing erection.

Roy has to restrain himself from smacking you in the face with his dick and forcing it down your fuckable throat for fear of scaring you off.

You seem content to stroke him at a gentle pace, with your firm grip exposing and concealing his tip as his foreskin stretches around each stroke. You draw a dribble of precome and curiously flick at it with the tip of your tongue. Roy suddenly surges forward, grabbing a fist full of your hair to cushion your head as he pushes you completely out of the spray and against the shower wall.

You release a small gasp before you’re back on his cock, this time with more fervor. Your tongue teases along his length, audibly slurping up the mess of spit you’ve left behind as you retreat.

“God, this is so embarrassing,” Roy whimpers, hips sputtering against your swollen lips. You quirk a brow at him as you pull off a move that leaves his knees shaky. “You’re so good to me, baby. There’s no way I’m gonna last, fuck.” You’ve started to deep throat him again and it’s all too much.

You’re too pretty and his one-off session with Jason did nothing to increase his rusty stamina. After a minute, he pulls out of your wet, hot mouth and spurts loads of thick come across your face and expectant tongue.

Absolutely sinful.

Once he’s breathing normally, he helps you stand up and begins babbling the moment your hand slips into his.

“I never thanked you for saving me from Enchantress of all villains, by the way,” he says when he finally comes down from the high. He’s not expecting you to respond. He just wants to get it off his chest.

You short-circuit, staring at him with an owlish gaze that leaves him mesmerized.

Roy thinks he’ll never get used to looking into your eyes. The stunning mix of colors so unique to you, private to only him and, well, the rest of the redheads in the tower, but it’s something Roy can deal with if it means he gets to hold you close again.

Your mouth quivers and he thinks he’s said something wrong until you speak.

“I’ve had the biggest crush on you since we met,” you say. Roy’s mouth goes dry as a blush steadily creeps across your plump cheeks. He watches as you subconsciously tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “I thought you hated me, though,” you admit. Suddenly, your eyes flick down to where his dick is still twitching in the aftermath and add, “Okay, well. Yeah, I just sucked you off, but still.”

Your voice is sweet, soft and understated; everything Roy never knew he needed and more.

“Cap,” Roy says, leaving your head to tilt comically in confusion. The redhead bursts into laughter at the action. “I mean, you’re lying, babe.”

He hears a quiet gasp from you before you dramatically shake your head no, then seem to remember you’ve already revealed your voice and speak, “You intimidated me.”

Roy laughs again, “Me? Intimidate you? Oh, damn. Babe, please, you’re like the definition of intimidating. I kept thinking I was fucking up and that you’d gotten the wrong impression of me.” When he finally catches his breath, he shakes his head like he finally understands what’s been going on. “I definitely should’a had Jason hook us up earlier.” He pulls you back under the spray, murmuring with your face between his hands, “I’ve wanted you for so long, beautiful. You have no idea.”

“I,” your ethereal voice cracks slightly from underuse. You clear your throat, “I always mistook your staring as you not liking me. Well, until the other night, then it finally clicked.”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing you speak.

“You mean when I got a hard-on at the sight of you alone?”

He watches you swallow with greedy eyes.

“Yes.”

He groans at your answer, feeling his restraint slipping again with each passing moment under your spell. “You gonna keep talking to me when we fuck, or are we gonna need some hand signals?”

You bite at your lower lip, causing Roy’s dick to twitch back to life in response. “I could talk to you forever, Roy,” you respond honestly.

His hips buck helplessly into the small amount of air that lies between the two of you.

“Say my name again.”

It’s a command you give in to easily; over and over.

His gruff, gravelly voice is nothing like you’d ever heard on a mission before and it’s driving you crazy. Your clit twitches on command as his hands tighten into fists. It’s as if to hold himself back from taking you right here and now.

“Roy,” you tease, closing the remaining distance. Your chest squishes against his armor, eyes flicking up at him through your long lashes as if you don’t already have him completely wrapped around your finger. “I need you to fuck me.”

“You…” he trails off in a daze, searching your eyes for any signs of hesitation, “You need me to?”

In response, your eyes slide into slits and he still finds none. Your fingers trickle over his freckled shoulders, twirling around them tantalizingly slow like a promise that this is real.

“I can’t come on my fingers just by thinking about you anymore,” you breathe, shaking your head lightly. He watches as you bite at your lip again. You’re so fucking sexy, holy shit. “Not since I saw you that one night,” you admit. Roy’s dick twitches eagerly in anticipation of what’s to come. “It’s not enough anymore. I need you, I need the real thing, Roy,” you’re practically moaning as you breathe his name against his lips. “Please, don’t make me keep begging.”

“Oh?” Roy’s fiery eyebrow quirks upward as a dominating confidence settles over him. “I think that’s exactly what you’re going to keep doing, baby.” Another twitch as you gasp from his words alone. “I want you to beg me until you’re about to come,” your mouth parts as lust overcomes you, visibly filling your eyes, “then I want you to beg me to stick my cock back in your wet cunt because you’re such a needy slut for me, aren’t you?” You unwittingly nod, completely enraptured by his raw sexual energy. “I want you to rut against it like the fucking whore I know you are until I finally give in and fuck you. Then and only then, are you allowed to come. Got it, princess?”

Your eyes are wide, feeling slick already leaking out onto your inner thighs. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh,” he groans, allowing his hands to trickle down from the small of your waist to the dip right above your infamous ass, “you know exactly what you’re doing to me. Don’t you, baby?” Your fingers unclasp his remaining gear, stepping back slightly as it falls to the floor before closing the distance again. He feels your heart ramming up against your ribcage as you press into his now bare chest. “You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” he asks. Roy watches as your wide eyes flicker between his, searching their verdant depths helplessly and chuckles darkly, “You don’t have to say anything, princess. I got you. I’ll take real good care of you, I promise.”

You seem shocked that he understood your nonverbal cue and, to be honest, so is Roy.

His dick is aching, practically humping your thick thigh with every movement of your swollen lips keeps causing it to bob up and down. Before he can stick it in, however, there’s a wiggle and twist on the bathroom doorknob.

You both panic, looking at each other with wide eyes, when you realize that neither of you had bothered to lock the door.

Roy scrambles to hide you, fully erect cock facing the intruder, only to sag in relief when he sees that it’s just Jason.

“It’s just me,” Jason says. The raven holds his hands up in faux-surrender. He hardly seems startled by your and Roy’s naked state. If anything, he looks pleased? “Was kind of hoping Roy’s shitty stamina would mean you’d be finished by now, but I refuse to sit in my sweat any longer,” he says nonchalantly, however his eyes flick to your bare face with the hints of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up,” you say with no malice behind it. You find yourself blushing and duck in the safety of the junction of Roy’s freckle-spattered neck for solace.

Jason’s eyebrows shoot up briefly at your verbal response before he schools his surprise. “Well, don’t let me interrupt.”

Jason then begins the motions of sudsing up his body, brow quirking when he feels the continued weight of your eyes on his movements. Roy would be pissed if he weren’t busy staring, too.

Roy’s jaw nearly drops when you place your hands against the shower wall, partially under Jason’s spray, partially under the one that's already on next to it.

You arch into the wall, wiggling your hips teasingly for Roy to come closer.

Jason’s eyes flicker down out of the corner of his eyes, watching as Roy watches him. Whether for support or permission, Jason doesn’t know, but he holds Roy's gaze, nonetheless.

Roy’s cock bobs enthusiastically in response, wondering if this was all some fucked-up sex dream he was going to wake up from. Roy places gentle yet firm hands on your hips as he draws you backward against his erection. He paces himself, rubbing his tip against your slick entrance as his hands grope your ass in awe.

Jason's hard, spending a little too much time pumping his cock to spread his body wash for Roy not to notice. The way your head is pressed against the tiles keeps your face out of the spray but also means that you can see both Roy and Jason.

You huff, arching your back even further

“Talk to me, baby,” Roy practically purrs, grabbing a handful of your ass as his cock continues to rub against your slick folds. It’s enough friction to leave your legs shaking with want.

Your half-lidded eyes sear into Roy’s lower abdomen like a siren’s call and, boy, is Roy ready to go overboard.

“Please, Roy,” you moan as you press your ass against his hard cock. You wriggle backward, hoping to gain more traction, but he continues to taunt you with the promise of his heavy heat. “I want you to fuck me.”

“You need me to wreck that pretty little cunt of yours, baby?”

You nod, biting at the corner of your lip. Jason curses somewhere beside the two of you and it’s all the encouragement Roy needs to put on a show.

He drags his hands up your wet, lithe body as you perch so beautifully for him to take. He fondles your tits as he covers more and more your body with his own until his mouth is directly next to your left ear. On your right, Jason watches, emerald eyes lit with barely retrained want.

Roy smirks at his friend before turning his attention back to you. His deep voice rumbles lowly against the shell of your ear, “Beg.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, turning your head to the other side to capture his lips with yours. “I need you to fill me up, I’m so wet for you, Roy.” To prove it, you press backward into his erection- as if Roy wasn’t already restraining himself from fucking your cunt full of his come. “My pussy’s aching for you, please,” your sinful voice begs.

Jason’s remained entirely quiet up until this point. “Finger her,” he commands.

Roy barely holds himself back from shivering under Jason’s commanding tone, leaving him no choice but to obey. He teases you, tickling along your labia before briefly teasing your leaking entrance. Your mouth opens and produces a porn-worthy moan, only to remain open and empty when Roy finally reaches your clit.

Jason bites his lip, looking between you and Roy for permission to oblige to your body’s reaction. Roy looks down at you, but your tongue has already lulled out to accept Jason’s girthy cock.

Roy shifts the position so you’re all in between the two shower sprays. You’re bent over, in between the two muscular men, with your face eye-level with Jason’s bobbing cock. Meanwhile, Roy’s soft hands hold your hips steady as he lines himself back up with your entrance.

Once you’re all settled, you waste no time in surging forward to swallow around Jason’s impressive length. Spit trails down the sides of your mouth as you force him deeper down your throat.

Your muffled moans and sighs are all the encouragement Roy needs.

He whines pathetically when the tip of his cock finally breeches your tight entrance, waiting briefly as you become accustomed to his girth.

Your voice is godly, so it’s no wonder that the little pleased noises you make are heavenly. Your breathy moans echo across the small room as Roy finally takes what he’s always wanted.

The wet heat of your cunt draws the most pathetic noises out of Roy as he slowly fucks his tip into you with a fluid motion of his freckled hips. Each shallow thrust leaves you aching and pressing back into him to beg for more.

“So good for us, aren’t you, baby?” Roy bites his lip impishly as he meets Jason’s half-lucid gaze head-on. Roy’s tip catches deliciously against your twitching cunt, forcing out a wanton moan that vibrates up to the very base of Jason’s cock.

Without warning, Jason groans as he releases your hair.

Roy looks questioningly at him before he’s pulled forward by his fiery hair to meet Jason’s eager lips. Roy can tell when you’ve begun sucking again because Jason’s lips become sloppier and more aggressive as they mesh against Roy’s chapped ones. When they break apart for air, Jason’s hand remains firm in Roy’s long, fiery locks. He pants, leaning his forehead against Roy’s while you eagerly work your body in between them.

Jason takes it upon himself to punish your ass cheeks while Roy uses his free hand to tangle in your tresses and tug. All the while, the men remain connected by their violent clashing of spit and teeth above your pliant arch. You feel your inhibitions deliciously slipping with every passing moment.

For once, you’re not being quiet.

If anything, it seems like Jason knew the only way to shut up your sultry whines was with his cock. The thought alone nearly sends Roy over the edge again.

He breaks away from his raven-haired best friend to grab desperately for your swinging tits. His gentle hands squeeze and jiggle them with his thrusts slowing.

“Don’t wanna come again, baby,” he whimpers, flicking your nipples so that you unleash an equally pathetic noise.

Jason smirks. “Fuck that.”

You get no further warning before Jason’s calloused hand comes down on your ass cheek. His thick cock catches the majority of your pleasured scream, though not completely. Roy rubs the spot, completely hypnotized at the red shape forming across your skin, then quickly pulls away and motions for Jason to repeat the erotic action.

With each hit, your moan reverberates around his cock deliciously.

A particularly hard smack forces Jason deeper into your pliant throat until he’s forced to grab a fistful of your hair to control the pace.

You feel entirely filled. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the realization as you allow your biggest crushes to use your body in the best way.

“Yeah,” Jason says darkly. At the same time, he grabs your chin, squishing your cheeks in the process as he ruthlessly fucks against your swollen lips. His voice is a dark timbre that shakes every particle of your being. “Take that shit, you fucking slut,” Jason hisses. He wraps his hand around your hair again as he reaches forward to smack your ass.

Your hips stutter as you whimper against the dominant pace of Jason’s hips against your mouth. “Fuck,” you whimper.

His eyes contain an emerald ire, as if he’s just barely restraining himself from pushing Roy aside and fucking you like he knows you like. You can’t help but stutter forward, body spasming in Roy’s secure grasp as your orgasm releases a euphoric, chilling heat all across your body.

Jason removes his dick, moving to support your weight with Roy as they savor every wrecked moan that crackles from your abused throat.

They only allow you to recover for so long before Jason smacks his veiny cock against the side of your mouth for you to open again. “Just like that,” he rumbles your name out lowly. “Good girl.” He nods at Roy who follows his lead and smacks your ass, reveling in how your abused cheeks jiggle salaciously in response.

Jason drags his cock in and out of your swollen, spit-covered lips a few more times before he maneuvers himself into a crouch.

“What are you-" you start, but his gentle fluttering against your clit cuts you off immediately.

His rough hand instantly stifles your wrecked moan. “I know you can come again,” Jason says, drawing another pathetic weep from you. “That’s right, you’re gonna show Roy what a slut you are, aren’t you?” Your thighs unwittingly snap shut around Jason’s skillful fingers, only to instantly be forced back open with a dark smirk. “There we go.”

His dark green eyes capture yours as he slurps at his slick-covered fingers before shoving them down your throat.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He chuckles darkly, looking between his two-fucked out partners with a sadistic glee only Jason could harbor. He shoves his calloused fingers further down your throat, earning a low moan that vibrates straight down to his cock. You wriggle impatiently and he gets the message. Jason’s free hand snakes teasingly down your panting torso to tickle your pulsating clit while his other hand fucks into your obedient throat.

With his expert fingers, it’s no surprise that you come again.

Your wobbly knees nearly give out to crumble down onto Roy’s dirty, discarded uniform on the floor below you. Luckily, he catches you before you can come back into contact with the disgusting swamp muck.

Roy forces his dick back inside your overly-sensitive cunt without missing a beat.

“Roy!” you exclaim as the overwhelming yet welcomed stretch starts up again. Your thighs have yet to stop shaking, but if anything, it only makes Roy fuck into you with reckless, primal abandon.

His freckled hips snap in and out of your doubled-over body at a toe-curling pace while Jay pumps his cock at the desperate display.

Roy doesn’t last much longer after your second orgasm.

The lewd sound of his dick squelching in and out of your slick-filled pussy, coupled with the clenching of your fluttering heat does him in.

What Roy doesn’t expect is for Jason to watch him come so carnally.

“You good?” Jason’s voice rumbles lowly like a predator closing in on his prey. It draws another spurt of come from his sore dick with a pained groan.

“Fuck, Jay,” he pants as he looks between you and his friend.

Roy tiredly crumbles to the dirty uniforms below with you still in his arms. You willingly follow, too exhausted to remain standing.

“Don’t think I’d mind seeing the two of you like this again,” Jason says. He stands from his crouch, staring down at the two of you with a domineering demeanor. “Shit. Yes,” he groans when you and Roy move toward his thick cock in transfixed unison. “So fucking good.”

You and Roy share Jason nicely, taking turns licking lewdly up and down his veiny length. It takes a moment to find a rhythm, but once you do, you’re eagerly sucking and exchanging heavy-lidded glances with the redhead beside you.

Roy takes over, flicking and moving his tongue obscenely for your pleasure. When he pulls off, he spits onto Jason’s dick, causing it to bob up and down in arousal. You waste no time in slurping it up, using it as lube to work Jason’s cock deeper down your throat. This, however, only lasts so long before Roy’s grabbing the back of your head to pull you in for a messy, toe-curling kiss.

He stares down at Roy’s noisy slurps, then at your teasing flicks with barely concealed dark want hiding behind his slitted emerald eyes.

He’s rough with both of you, taking a fistful of each of your hair to intermittently draw each of you down onto his cock, one after the other. If no one had heard you getting the best orgasms of your life earlier, they were now definitely hearing Jason’s gasps and curses clear as day.

You feel Roy’s eyes on you the entire time. Normally you’d be anxious with his undivided attention, but right now, it only spurs you to suck in Jason’s length deeper. You moan around his cock, feeling tears trickle out onto your cheeks as you finally manage to reach his hairy base.

Roy’s hands flit across your body, finally landing on your tits as he leaves open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive neck. You instinctively lean into the touch, eyes rolling to the back of your head, when Jason slowly begins to rock in and out of your throat.

They’re both unable to tear their eyes away from the show you’re putting on, but it does stop Roy’s breathy question, “You like having both of us sucking your dick, Jay?”

“Shut up, Harper,” Jason groans as he halfheartedly glares down at the redhead.

All at once, your deep-throating ceases as Jason replaces your mouth with Roy’s.

You watch as Roy gets a far more aggressive treatment as if they’ve done this before. Jason’s brows furrow together as his long fingers regain their grip on Roy’s fiery tresses before snapping far down into his throat at a brutal pace.

You gasp at the sight and are even more surprised they both falter to look at you.

“I-" What do you even say? ‘This is the hottest shit I’ve ever seen and I want both of you in me at the same time’?

“Well,” Roy smirks wolfishly after he pulls off of Jason’s red-tipped cock with a lewd ‘pop,' “I’m down.” Jason’s biting down painfully on his lower lip, cock gripped strongly in his fist as he wills himself not to come from your words alone. Seeing this, Roy, of course, doesn’t let him off the hook so easily. “Would you want that, Jay? You want to feel that wet, tight cunt again while your dick rubs against mine?”

You’ve never seen someone come so fast.

Jason’s lips part slightly as he pumps his hot come all across your and Roy’s fucked-out, sweat-glistened bodies. His moan is breathy, slightly broken as the last of his orgasm spurts out across the two of your expectant tongues.

“Fuck,” Jason curses. He stares down at both of your slumped, sticky bodies like he’s trying to figure out if this is actually real.

By the time you’re all done making up for all the lost time, your fingers have pruned and your legs are too wobbly to hold your body. Needless to say, the quick trek back to the cockpit is the worst walk of shame any of you have ever experienced.

A/N: this was a total self indulgent fic- i hope you enjoyed and lmk if you did! I've been in a huge creative rut recently :\

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#reader x roy harper #reader x jason todd x roy harper #jason todd x reader #reader x jason todd #my fic: redheaded conundrum

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