#he just wants to open up. open up his bruised ribcage and reveal his tender young heart. and let it be cradled. and coddled.

[michaelenthusiast]

YOU'LL NEVER GROW OLD TO ME !

[2goth2moth]

Ink and Salt (GN!Squidperson x M!Human, NSFW)

Once again, big thanks to @xo-philia for beta-reading this :-)

Word count: 3257

Includes: Non-human genitalia of the tentacle variety, d/s undertones, praise kink, self-lubrication

Nothing Tilu ever did was subtle. No one could ever really tell whether it was natural or an extremely dedicated choice, but they certainly let it into every part of their life. The way they flirted was no different.

“Wanna make out?”

Only mildly surprised, Blair glanced at them over the top of his book. They were stretched out on their stomach across the floor in front of him, propping themself up on their elbows. “I thought you wanted to take a nap.”

“Yeahhh, I did,” they said with a luxuriant stretch. “But I got distracted by the cute boy sitting in front of me. And now I want to kiss him.”

Blair felt his face heat up. No matter how long he knew Tilu, their bluntness never failed to fluster him. He put a bookmark in between the pages of his novel before setting it on the desk he was sitting at. “Really?”

Tilu laughed, pushing themself back until they were sitting up, cross-legged. “You have to stop asking me that every time I want you. I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t want to kiss you. Do you want to?”

Blair nodded feebly, getting off his chair and sitting on the floor in front of them. Sitting on the same level made their already significant height difference even more pronounced. Even standing over a foot taller and with Tilu’s head barely reaching his chin where they sat, he still felt like they were towering over him. The markings that ran, jagged and electric, over their skin made them seem larger than life, an unintentional intimidation that was made more difficult for him to bear because of how much he adored them.

A hard fingernail made contact with his forehead. “You’re freaking out, I can tell.” Tilu brought their hand down to cradle Blair’s face, stroking his jaw affectionately. “Don’t overthink this. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“No!” Blair broke in, grabbing Tilu’s hands in his. ”I want to! I just…” He took a deep break to steady himself. “You’re so beautiful. I want to be good for you.”

A cool blue flush dusted Tilu’s face and ears. It rose prettily on their snow-white skin, contrasting with the rich wine-red of their markings. “You’re so fucking cute. Just get over here and kiss me already.”

He obeyed. Tilu’s hands found their way to his face again as their lips met. Their mouth was cool against Blair’s, and he shivered as the tip of their tongue traced the seam of his lips. Small, round fingertips caressed the delicate skin behind his ears as he opened his mouth to Tilu. Their tongue was long, and dextrous like the rest of them. It filled Blair’s mouth, flicking around his throat and palate, tracing over his teeth. He sucked on it gently, eyes fluttering at the feeling. His hands came to rest on their waist, stroking up and down their sides, dipping fingers up under the crop top they were wearing. Both of them were moaning softly and Blair could feel spit dripping from the edge of his mouth.

Tilu pulled away from him, leaving him slack-jawed and panting. They had translucent black saliva smeared around their lips. He was unbelievably pleased at the thought of himself matching. “I want to keep going.”

The question was unsaid but fully understood. “Yes please.” He whispered.

Tilu moved back in to kiss him again. It was sloppy, and their small, sharp teeth dug into his lips as they moved together. They shoved their hands up underneath his shirt, scratching over his ribcage and chest, pausing to lightly play with his nipples. He moaned again, loudly, and pulled back enough to let Tilu take off his shirt. His own hands found their torso, and began tracing over their markings. Dark red, spidery, scratchy things, they burst at the centre of their belly, curled over their delicate collarbones, framed pitch black eyes. He let one hand dip low enough to trace over the markings that rose above the waistband of their shorts. Even though he couldn’t see the rest, he knew that they marked the centre of their scalp and ran down their spine, and his mouth watered.

Clearly getting impatient, Tilu pushed him roughly. “Lie back.” They quickly stripped off their shirt, revealing an expanse of quartz-like skin. They ran their hands over their chest and abdomen, uninterrupted by nipples or a navel. “I want to ride your face and your cock.” Their shorts were next, a thin rivulet of black liquid dripping from a small slit in their pelvis down the inside of one thigh. “Take your pants off too, I’ll stain them.”

Blair rushed to obey, kicking his pants off his legs before settling on his back. His cock was half-hard already, lying flushed and sweet against the bottom of his stomach. Tilu shuffled over to straddle his chest first. They grasped his chin firmly, turning his head from side-to-side slightly, as if appraising a piece of art. A small thumb was shoved between his willing teeth. Blair sucked on it softly and thought that he would die a happy man if this was the last thing he ever saw.

“Good boy,” they cooed down at him, that pretty blue blush spreading to their shoulders and chest. “Are you ready?”

He nodded eagerly. Tilu pulled their thumb from his mouth with a quiet pop, the digit still attached to Blair’s mouth with a string of spit, and repositioned themself over his face. More black fluid was leaking out of them, slicking their public bone, running into the creases of their thighs. It smeared itself into the tacky mess of saliva already covering his face as they lowered their hips over his mouth. Blair flicked his tongue out to lap some of it up, the taste strong and salty. He continued running his tongue over their skin, doing his best to clean all the dark fluid up, not yet teasing their sheath. Tilu rocked their hips against his face in small, insistent circles. His adoring touch redoubled, brushing soft kisses and sucking small blue bruises anywhere his lips could find purchase. Still, as much as he wanted to, he didn’t start on their sheath. A tight grip in his hair broke Blair’s concentration and he pulled back, gasping, as far as he could.

Glassy black eyes stared down at him over the smooth milky stretch of their body. “Come on, baby. Don’t you want me to ride you?” Tilu smirked playfully at him, leaning back to play with the head of his cock. Blair let out a strangled moan, simultaneously nodding his head and trying to buck his hips into their hand. “You do, don’t you?” It was punctuated by a single rough grind down on his face. “Well, you have to get me ready first.”

With a nod and a whimper, Blair dove back in, now focusing all his energy on their sheath. Tonguing at the tender skin at the opening, he felt more inky liquid spill into his mouth, staining his lips and leaking out of the corners. He could feel Tilu getting more turned on in the way they rode his race more aggressively and sweet sounds of pleasure rose up from their throat. As he kept working them over, the tip of a cool, slick appendage emerged to probe his mouth. Blair opened his lips to let it in. It roamed his mouth, caressing the inside of his cheeks, wrapping around his tongue. He let it slip into his throat, tongue free to continue working at Tilu’s soft skin. More tentacles began slipping out of their sheath as he gently worked it open with his mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” Tilu murmured. They began running their whole hand up and down his hard length. “You’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” Their voice had gone soft and breathy in that lovely way it always did when they felt good. Blair could feel himself flush under their sweet words and touches, and he hummed around the tentacles slowly filling his mouth. There was no doubt that he looked like a complete mess: cock stiff and leaking on his belly, eyes full of tears, face and neck smeared in black slick and spit.

The way Tilu’s tentacles looked now was clear evidence of their pleasure. Teased out from their slit by Blair’s hot tongue, they bloomed like an anemone, gently waving about and stroking his face. His eyes rolled back in his head as more of them breached his mouth, stretching his jaw almost painfully, slowly fucking his throat. Moans escaped his mouth as he suckled on the salty-slick tendrils. A foggy haze was beginning to fill his head, senses overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of what he was feeling. The rich, briny scent of the black liquid, the pressure of tentacles filling his mouth, the rocking of their hips onto his face, the feather-light strokes on his dick. Tilu still pinned him to the floor with that bottomless gaze, although it now fluttered with every lap of his tongue.

Small fingers closed around the base of Blair’s cock with shocking force. His whole body tensed up and he moaned loudly, though the sound was muffled by the writhing mass of tentacles in his mouth. Tilu backed up from his face to straddle his stomach. They cradled his face lovingly, spreading the thick black slick around his mouth. Emotional tears leaked from his eyes and they wiped them away with a gentle hand. “Look at you. You’re so lovely, you know?” The way they continued touching, as if he were something to be treasured, nearly reduced him into a puddle. “I want to ride your cock now. Let’s see how much lovelier I can make you, hmm?”

“Oh my god, yes please,” Blair begged, squirming helplessly beneath Tilu. His desperation was met with a pleased smile that was filled to bursting with affection and needle-sharp teeth. They leaned down to kiss him sloppily. One hand worked over his dick in slow, teasing strokes as that long tongue licked deep inside his mouth again.

“I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard,” Tilu purred against Blair’s mouth with one last kiss. They positioned their sheath, now open and surrounded by tendrils, over his steadily leaking cock. The tentacles curled sweetly around his hard length, like tongues and fingers in one, running along his shaft and just barely breaching the slit at the head. Sharp bolts of pleasure shot through his body, burning through his ribcage and making his toes and spine curl. A high-pitched whine tore from his throat. Tilu planted their hands on his chest, nails digging into the soft flesh above his nipples, and braced themself to lower down onto his cock.

Even heavily slicked and with their tentacles fully extended, the size difference between Blair and Tilu made this a delicate process. Pointed teeth stuck out over the ridge of their lip as they bit down hard enough to draw icy-blue blood, face a cool-flushed mask of concentration. The head of Blair’s cock pressed hotly into their sheath, the stretch just bordering on painful. It took all of Blair’s self-control to stay still under their body, effort betrayed only by breathy gasps and a lightly jumping muscle in his abdomen. The slick pressure that engulfed him felt unbelievably good. Easing down a little bit more sent Tilu’s head arching back violently with the beginnings of a strangled cry.

“Fuck, you’re so good like this,” they said through clenched teeth. “So patient. Just a little longer, okay?”

Blair nodded, moving his hands to rub reassuring circles into their calves. Tilu’s head being thrown back gave him an excellent view of the pearly skin of his torso. The starburst of dark red on their stomach dipped and rolled with their heaving breaths as they lowered themself the rest of the way down his shaft.

When his cock was fully seated inside of them, Tilu exhaled shakily, loosening their grip on Blair’s chest. Small red crescent-moons mark the swell of his chest where their hands had been gripping for dear life. They apologetically soothed the marks with their cool fingertips, rubbing the divots flat before ghosting their hands over his nipples. Teasing the nubs up to hard pebbles with feather-light touches, they worked over his tender flesh before giving an experimental roll of their hips. The movement dragged Blair’s cockhead against the slick walls of TIlu’s sheath. A bolt of pleasure shot through Blair’s body, drawing a long, low groan out of him. Another roll splintered the sound in his throat and drew the fluttering muscles in his belly taut. The look of stubborn concentration melted off of Tilu’s face, being replaced by one of confidence and pleasure. Blue flush now traced down their throat, chest and shoulders, as well as staining their face and ears.

Tilu stared down at him with a cocky smile. They pinched at his pebbled nipples, hard, and ground down onto his dick again. Their tentacles started winding around the shaft of his dick in earnest now, squeezing around the slickened skin instead of just teasing it. Leaning forward enough to place their lips against his ear, they whispered, “I want to make you cum so hard that you forget your own name.” Blair keened loudly, arching into them, nails digging into the meat of their calves. A single tendril snaked down to cup his balls. “Get fucking ready, baby.”

They rose up on their knees, his cock sliding out of them until the tip was the only thing stretching them open, before slamming back down. The feeling set both of them moaning loudly and Tilu began fucking themself on Blair’s cock properly. Their legs spread over his hips gave him a mouthwatering view of the inky black spread over them and the azure hickies that he left on their tender inner thighs while he ate them out. “You’re- AH- so beautiful!” The cool walls of their sheath were squeezing him tightly, the rest of his shaft and balls wrapped in slippery tentacles, nipples still being roughly worked over in skillful hands. His moans were quickly turning into cries in the face of such extreme pleasure.

A particularly hard grind sent Tilu’s black-glass eyes rolling back, the surfaces wet with tears. They moaned wantonly, long tongue lolling out of the corner of their mouth. “God, I love your cock so much!”

Hands wrapped around Blair’s wrists where they were still gripping into Tilu’s calves, wrenching them upwards so that he could hold onto their hips. He grabbed into the soft flesh, holding on as if they were a rock in a stormy sea. He could feel the muscles under their skin flex with every motion. Sparks were shooting through his blood, curling his toes and drawing desperate sounds from his mouth. “Oh shit! Slow down. Ple-ease! I’m about to cum!”

“Cum inside me, baby.”

Blair’s entire body was tensed up, but Tilu didn’t let up. They started bouncing even harder, even faster, walls squeezing around him. Leaning down to his chest, they wrapped their lips around his left nipple, keeping their hand teasing his right. Sharp, needle-like teeth bit around the sensitive bud, careful not to break skin, the pain soothed by flicks of their slick tongue. Translucent spit leaked out around their mouth, creating a mess across his chest. Their hips began stuttering on him but they refused to let up. Riding his cock with even more intensity, they bit down on his swollen nipple at the same time as a tentacle wrapped tight around his balls.

“Ah, I’m gonna...AHH!” The pleasure coming at Blair from every direction was too much and it tipped him over the edge. His hips stuttered deeper into Tilu’s sheath once, twice, before he came impossibly hard, near-screaming out in pleasure.

Tilu continued bouncing on his length, even as he spasmed with overstimulation. Blair could feel them getting ready to climax as their tentacles started writhing wildly and their chest began heaving even harder. Sweet, high moans were spilling rapidly from their lips, mixed in with curses and little words of praise.

“Fuck, just look at you. So gorgeous.” They dragged the nail of their pointer finger through the tacky mess of slick and spit on his face. “You look so damn good, even all filthy like this. I’ve never met someone as pretty as you.” Tilu always got sappy when they were about to cum. Sinking all the way down onto his softening cock, the tentacles splayed out like the petals of a chrysanthemum and the walls of their sheath constricted even tighter around him. Their back arched dramatically, and they came with a high-pitched whine. “FUCK!”

Blair rubbed his thumbs into the meat of their hips, feeling pulsing aftershocks go through them, the overstimulation making him flinch. They leaned down against his chest and kissed him deeply.

“Mmm, that was good,” Tilu murmured against his lips, smiling needle-toothed and affectionate. Rising up on their knees, both they and Blair groaned quietly as they pulled off of him. He looked filthy. Saliva and slick were drying in dark smears on his face, chest, and crotch, and he was still sweaty and panting. His eyes were foggy and happy as he sat up.

TIlu were barely in better shape. Thick, jet-black liquid, the remains of their orgasm, leaked out of their sheath, marbling grey with Blair’s semen. The mess covered the hickies on their legs, and almost their entire body was flushed, the cool colour lovely against their red markings. Their thigh muscles quivered from the stress of holding themself up for so long, and when they moved to sit beside him, he could see their knees were turning blue as well. Even so, their eyes were soft and warm, and they looked thoroughly content.

His heart still squeezed with regret. “Tilu, your knees,” Blair said, reaching out to catch one of their hands and bring it to his lips. He kissed their knuckles, then their fingertips, then their palm with a kind of apologetic reverence, settling the curve of his jaw against the inside of their wrist. “I’m sorry, I should have thought to put something down for you to kneel on.”

“Shhhh,” they chided, rubbing lightly behind his ear. “Don’t be silly. I could have put something down too, if I’d wanted to. Don’t be so hard on yourself, you were wonderful.”

Blair felt his face heat up again at their soft words. He leaned against their cool wrist, humming into the delicate skin there. “Okay,” he whispered. “You were wonderful too. You look very pretty right now. Like this”

Tilu smirked at him. “‘Like this’? Bruised and blushing and dripping cum, with all of my tentacles out?”

“No!” Blair blurted out. “I mean...yes, but I meant...satisfied? Happy. You look happy right now. I like seeing you like this.”

They stilled for a breath before surging forward and wrapping their arms around him. “You’re a goddamn sap, you know that?” They said, turning their head to the side so that their face was nestled into the side of his neck. “I also love you so, so, so much.” Tilu kissed his throat once- ever-so softly, ever-so sweetly- before standing up, tentacles starting to re-sheath themselves, and offering Blair their hand. “Shower with me?”

He looked up at his lover, standing there beautiful and happy, and he nodded.

[cardiaccadillac]

Naturally, being me, I wanted to write a oneshot for Murdered: Soul Suspect where Ronan watches his own autopsy. The screenshot may be a useful reference.

(Also a polite request for no spoilers beyond the police station section of the game. This is for now as far as I’ve played.)

He doesn't have to stay to watch this. Ought not to. There are more pressing matters calling him, like the girl in the holding cells or the serial killer at large, yet still it doesn't feel like Ronan has been given the choice.

Digging forceps, seven times prying for the remnants of a bullet. Shrapnel slivers extracted from devastated flesh, two splintered ribs and shattered vertebra, a ricochet from the cobblestones where an exit wound bloomed and then reversed its wrath back within him. Clatter of cold, unfeeling steel in a stoic tray. The remnants of a magazine that hours before had claimed his life, loaded by his own hand.

Ronan stands and watches it all.

Only when the forceps are laid aside, coated in a cloying sheen of red he still can't quite believe belongs to him, does he feel the first flicker of nausea; the living sensation warped into a ghostly mimicry no more real than the quickening of his phantom breath. The medical examiner picks up a scalpel and chooses where to divide the tattoos that had painted Ronan's life.

The motion is efficient. Professional. Impersonal. The first incision undoes the spider web, separates the roses that once tangled he and Julia together till death do them part, and Ronan watches it all with the passivity of a shy student afraid to question his master's work.

(Why keep staring? Is it because they've left his eyes open? Why did they open them when he watched Rex gently press them closed…?)

No. It isn't that.

He'd asked the girl sat by her own corpse a few slabs down why she would choose to watch this. Now he thinks he understands.

The body on the slab used to be him. The same body that once lived, once breathed, once felt; the same hands that knew equally the violence of bleeding knuckles, the pleasure-pain of an ink-tipped needle, the tenderness of caressing Julia’s skin. Just a used canvas soon to rot now. Hollow flesh incapable of even acknowledging the presence of his soul.

(He’d stirred his own death rattle with a ghostly brush of his cheek. Ronan doesn’t dare touch again.)

The creak of the bone cutters as they pry away the front of his ribcage draws no flinch, yet were Ronan still living he's certain he'd hear the blood pounding in his ears. (There's none left for that. All drained into the cobblestones several blocks away.)

Then a soft squelch, a hunk of bone and cartilage lifted away to rest instead in a metal tray, and the damage wrought on his lungs is revealed. The right one mangled, seven times punctured, as expected. Flecks of black from a decades-long smoking habit in both, not so expected, yet upon reflection blindingly obvious.

And between them nestles his heart. Still. Silent.

Whole.

The sight stirs within him an ache that feels like the bruise left by the hopelessness of his first attempt to climb back into his body. With a gesture of his hand he can send electronics into overdrive, summon ghostly structures into existence, or even leash an unsuspecting demon to banish it. Yet he can't command his own heart to beat.

Ronan bows his head and doesn't know if he feels anger or humility.

The examiner and his assistant talk. The words aren't illuminating. Cause of death is obvious, embellished with words like trauma and haemothorax and hypovolemic shock, but putting a name to the wounds seems to matter less than naming the man who caused them.

They empty him out. Piecemeal, organs on the scales. Turn him over, at last breaking the vacant stare of his sightless eyes. Livid bruises stain his back, bleeding over the bullet-broken lines of his tattooed mural as though painted by a careless child. Blood crusts at the back of his skull.

They're going to open it, Ronan realises, when the bone saw comes out again. Check for bleeding in his brain from impact.

He's never seen the back of his own head so closely before. Isn't sure that he cares to.

Wrenching his spectral eyes from the corpse, Ronan looks back in the direction of the holding cells. He's borne witness to his own autopsy long enough. He has his own witness to find.

[sisterspooky1013]

Damsels, Chapter Twelve: You Deserve to Enjoy Your Body

By SisterSpooky1013 / Rated E

Read previous chapters here / Tagging @today-in-fic

He follows her up the stairwell that leads to her apartment. The complex has seen better days, but when she unlocks the front door he’s surprised to see that the inside is relatively nice. It’s small but tidy, which is no surprise for any place Scully inhabits, and the decor is decidedly young.

“I’m going to take a quick shower, make yourself at home,” she says, then disappears into the bathroom.

He looks around and has an odd feeling that he’s invading someone’s space. There are little trinkets on the shelves, magazines on the table, a stack of bills on the counter, but none of it is Scully. He sits down on the couch but it’s impossibly narrow and low to the ground, as though it were designed for a child. Or a child-sized woman, he supposes. The only other seating options are the table or the bed. The kind of conversation he wants to have with Scully shouldn’t take place at a dinner table, so he sits on the end of her bed, listening to the running shower. He wants to rummage through the drawers, to see the private details of her fabricated life, but he doesn’t. When the water stops running, his heart starts to race.

&&

She steps out of the shower, wiping steam off the mirror with her forearm. Desi has gone down the drain and Scully looks back at her. She frowns, feeling a sense of loss. She’s going to go back out there as Scully, and Scully is going to sidestep her way right out of having an actual conversation with Mulder, just like she always does. Tears prick at her eyes, and she remembers how it felt to be Desi, to be free. She wants to keep that part of her, but she doesn’t know how.

Just ask yourself, ‘what would Desi do?’ and then do that.

Magenta’s words echo in her head. She’s not going to let Desi go just yet.

She suddenly realizes that she hasn’t brought a change of clothes into the bathroom with her, and because it’s a studio apartment, Mulder will be just outside the door. She puts on the short black bathrobe that’s hanging on the back of the door and it hits her thighs just below her ass. She needs to at least have underwear on beneath this; it’s too revealing. Scully would go out, grab a change of clothes, and then come back in here to put them on. But what would Desi do?

She opens the door and is surprised to see Mulder sitting on the bed. His head snaps over to her and a grin blossoms on his face.

“What?” she asks self-consciously.

He shakes his head, but the smile stays. “It’s just good to see you.”

She gives him the eyebrow. “I’ve been gone for ten minutes, Mulder,” she replies dryly.

“Right, um, it’s good to see Scully is what I meant to say. You. Really you.”

Is this really her? She doesn’t want it to be. She walks over to her dresser and opens the top drawer, plucking out a pair of red panties. Her back to him, she steps into them and pulls them up under the robe. He doesn’t make a sound, but she can feel his reaction.

Staying casual so as not to betray her pounding heart, she walks over and turns on the lamp beside the bed, then flicks off the overhead light and lays down. He turns to look at her from his spot at the foot, the amber light casting him in a warm glow.

“Your couch is tiny; for a second there I thought I had fallen into Gulliver’s Travels,” he says by way of explanation.

She has the thought that it had sat her and Angel just fine, but she doesn’t tell him that. She shifts to get more comfortable and winces at her sore ribs.

“He get you pretty good?” Mulder asks, crawling up to lie on his side next to her.

Scully would tell him, but Desi would show him. Pulling her robe open beneath her breasts, she exposes the developing bruise on her belly, just below and to the left of her sternum. Mulder sucks in a little breath that she assumes is in response to how bad it looks, but when she looks at his face his eyes are trained much lower, maybe on her scar. It seems as though he’ll never be able to stop blaming himself for that.

“No broken ribs or any internal injury, thankfully,” she says, watching him look at her. “I rolled away right as he kicked me, so it wasn’t as much impact as he was shooting for.”

“How long have you had that?” he asks, and her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Um...a few hours?” she offers.

“No, this,” he replies, reaching out and touching her belly ring with an index finger. She blushes.

“Um, a couple years or so. I got it after my cancer went into remission.”

“Why?” he asks, all curiosity, no judgement. He’s still fingering the ring gently and she stifles a shiver.

“I guess...I guess I wanted to decide what happened to my body for once,” she answers, and he looks at her face with some mix of pain and admiration.

“This assignment,” he says with a regretful voice, “it took that away from you again.” His hand has come to rest on her belly, his palm covering the gold hoop.

She shakes her head gently. “In some ways yes, but in other ways it was actually...kind of empowering.”

They look at each other for a beat.

“How many times did you come to see me, Mulder?”

He averts his eyes sheepishly. “Too many,” he says. “I’m sorry.” It’s clear that he counts himself among those who violated her autonomy.

“Why?” she inquires further. “Why did you come?” Her tone is all curiosity, no judgement.

He meets her eye again. “Do you want to hear the lie I told myself, or the truth?” he asks, and she knows he’ll be honest if she asks him to.

“Tell me the lie first.”

“I knew you didn’t have your weapon, because I went to your apartment and checked your gun safe. So I needed to be there to protect you, in case something happened.” He says it flatly. He’s not even trying to convince himself of that anymore.

“And what’s the truth?” She knows her voice is on the verge of trembling.

His thumb is now gently stroking the flesh of her belly, his fingers mere inches from the hem of her panties. Now seems like a good time for honesty.

“At first, I just needed to know where you were. I couldn’t stand the idea of not knowing. And then once I found you, I just…” he stops and swallows, letting his eyes drift down, skirting over her chest to where his hand lies.

“What?” she encourages him, needing to know. Needing to hear it.

He turns his head abruptly, facing her again. “You looked so fucking good up there, Scully.” His pupils are huge and his breathing is quickening.

She smiles demurely. “Yeah?”

He huffs a big breath. “Yeah.”

She screws up her mouth, embarrassed by the compliment. “Thanks,” she finally says, and then they are quiet.

His hand still rests on her stomach, and he looks around the room, rather than stare at her awkwardly. She can hear the clock ticking in the living room and a horn honking somewhere nearby. This is the point where she will say how late it is, how tired she is, how early they will have to be up in the morning to continue the investigation. This is the point where she pulls open the escape catch and slips through.

What would Desi do?

She reaches up to his face, slipping her cool palms onto his stubbled cheeks. He turns to look at her, and she blinks slowly, letting her lips fall open slightly. She remembers the VIP room, and how desperate he’d been to touch her.

You deserve to enjoy your body, Angel had told her. She wants it to be true.

She pulls gently, bringing him to her. He closes the distance between them slowly, pressing his lips to hers. This is not a searing kiss, not frantic or desperate or unbridled. This is her and this is Mulder, and this is real. His kiss is tender and sweet, and he sighs deeply against her mouth with a little hum. Relief, release, finally finally finally.

She slides her tongue along his bottom lip and his body jerks a little in response, electrified and activated. A swell of confidence courses through her. Bringing one hand down from his face, she pushes the top of her robe open to reveal her bare chest, her nipples already tight with anticipation. His hand snakes up her ribcage, fluttering over the bruise and coming to rest at the spot where her underwire lies each day they work together in the office. Where sweat collects when the air conditioning in their rental car is out. Where her body becomes Her Body, and they are crossing this boundary together. Even though they already crossed it, obliterated it, when he took her into that VIP room. This feels more significant. This is real. This is them.

He trails kisses along her jaw and down the side of her neck, slow and delicious. His tongue dances across her clavicle and his lips brush the skin of her chest. When he takes her nipple in his mouth, she feels it so deeply, in a place she’d forgotten existed. A place that she’d so rarely let herself go. The rough of his tongue drags across the sensitive bud and she arches into him, letting her head fall back and her eyes close.

You deserve to enjoy your body.

His mouth is back on her neck and he kisses his way up to her ear. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers huskily, and she feels a surge of arousal dampening her panties.

He gently covers her bruise with his hand, kissing her lips whisper soft, so soft it makes her ache. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, and at first she thinks he means emotionally.

“You won’t, Mulder.” It would have been the same answer either way.

She laps at his mouth and he reciprocates, deepening the kiss. As with all things, he’s exploratory; tasting each corner of her mouth, changing speed and pressure, discovering what she likes. Their slow, liquid kisses are the type she hasn’t experienced since she was a teenager and kissing was all that was permissible. She’d forgotten how erotic kissing could be. But she definitely wants to do more than just kiss.

“You can touch me,” she says. Even though he already is, already has. It’s as close to a request as she can manage.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he returns, and she remembers the way his hands had flexed and his body arched, seeking contact with her.

“Yes,” she breathes, “please.”

A low moan rumbles in his chest and his hand leaves her bruise, brushing over the skin of her belly as he continues to kiss her, the featherlight touch tickling her and making her jump.

“Sorry,” he says, and she can feel his smile against her mouth.

He plays at the hem of her panties, tracing the border across her stomach, the edge at her leg until it disappears under her ass. He follows it the other direction up and over the front of her leg until it takes him between her thighs. She moves one leg aside, resting it against him, and he continues to trace the trail along the seam of her thigh and vulva, so close she’s sure he can feel the heat coming off her. Maybe even feel how wet she is. He lifts his finger and places it low, on top of her panties near her opening, and drags it up over her cotton-covered slit. When he bumps up over her clit, she makes a little sound. He does it again.

“Can I…” he grumbles into her ear, “...I want to taste you. Please.”

A throb. Whatever she had previously thought to be the sexiest sound in the world is obsolete. Fox Mulder begging to eat her pussy is it, hands down, no debate. She wants to hear him say it again.

“You want to?” she asks rhetorically, baiting him. Her breath is ragged. If she somehow talks him out of this by accident she will die.

“So bad,” he drags his teeth over her earlobe. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about it.”

A throb. She might come just from talking about it. “Okay,” she says, as though acquiescing.

He moves to hover over her, kissing her several more times as though he can hardly tear himself away from one area to kiss another. If only he had a second set of lips to kiss her with. He makes brief stops at her breasts and belly along his journey, sucking the gold hoop between his lips, which produces an oddly pleasurable sensation. When he’s on his knees between her thighs, he hooks his fingers into the fabric at her hips and tugs, peeling them slowly down her legs. She lifts one leg and crosses it over his body so that he can pull her panties free and toss them on the floor. When that last scrap of fabric is gone, he gently pulls her leg back over and his eyes come to rest on the one part of her body he has not yet seen. She watches him intently, the mesmerized look in his eye as he commits her pink, swollen vulva to memory. He’s looking between her legs as though the answers he’s always been searching for are right here, and he can’t believe he’s only finding them now. He licks his lips.

When he lowers his body, laying on his belly and placing his palms on the outsides of her thighs, she feels the anticipation throbbing so hard she wonders if he can actually see how much she wants him. He dips his head and she is trembling, desperate, now now now.

The sweet slip of his tongue through her folds simultaneously ignites and extinguishes her. Release on top of heightened desire. Scratching the itch while tickling forth a new one. He is tentative, trying different levels of pressure and length of strokes, licking her long from bow to stern then short just across her clit. Every single point of contact is an entire fireworks show in a millisecond, one on top of the other, and she doesn’t even realize at first that she is crying out. Moaning and panting, making so much more noise than she ever would have permitted herself to make in the past. He slips a finger inside and she feels the beginnings of an orgasm begin to take shape. He laps her in short strokes, flicking up and over her clit over and over, and every synapse in her brain is firing. He slips a second finger in and she’s there, right on the edge, ready to fall over.

“I’m gonna come,” she whines, and he groans, keeping pace and pressure, not changing a single thing.

It’s slow, so slow the way it overtakes her. Her toes curl as it creeps up her legs, wrapping around her hips and pulling her under. She reaches the crest and hangs there, clamped tight around him at the peak of pleasure for so deliciously long. Then the waves hit her, pulsing and pushing and expanding and contracting, and he keeps going. It’s so good, so fucking good that she thinks she might cry, or maybe she already is, she doesn’t know. She’s still going, still pulsing around his fingers, but now that the most intense point has passed she wants him close, she wants more.

“Mulder,” she says with a thick, dry-mouthed voice, “come here.”

He crawls up over her body, still fully clothed, and she pushes his shirt up quickly, tossing it aside before her hands go to the fly of his jeans. She can see a question pass over his eyes, a worry that it’s too much too fast. Not for him, but for her.

“I want you,” she assures him, and he helps her push his jeans and boxers off, discarding her robe when he briefly stands. Then they are both fully nude, his stiff cock nestled between her thighs.

“Please,” she begs, because she means NOW she wants him now, right now, while she’s still riding the coattails of her orgasm.

He grips his cock and slides it over her, collecting her wetness, and then slowly pushes inside. He’s perfect, big enough but not too big for her petite frame, and she hooks her legs around his buttocks, pulling him deeper.

“Fuck,” he moans, but takes the cue and begins long, firm strokes.

The new sensation of the head of his cock sliding against her insides sets off another series of little waves of pleasure and she’s not sure if she’s still coming or coming again, but it’s so damn good she doesn’t care.

“You feel so good,” she moans against his neck, and he can feel him stiffen and grow even harder in response.

“Oh my god, Scully, oh my god.” He can’t find more eloquent words than that, but she doesn’t need them. She knows.

He kisses her while he slides in and out, groaning and growing more frantic. He’s close.

“Fuck, should I...pull out or something?” he asks breathlessly, a bit late in the game but she can appreciate that he thought of it at all. She remembers the box of condoms in the bathroom, but this is Mulder. She knows he hasn’t been with anyone else, and she can’t get pregnant anyway.

“Come inside me,” she commands, and that does it. His eyes clamp shut and his breath catches. He continues thrusting into her in stony silence, a living statue until he falls apart.

Words tumble from his lips as he pours himself inside her, a stream of consciousness he isn’t even aware of while dopamine is flooding every cell of his body. “Oh my fucking god, Scully, oh my fucking god, I love you so much.” She watches his face raptly, marveling at the blissful way his eyebrows stitch and his mouth hangs as he lets go, lets himself feel good for once. He collapses, falling to the side and taking her with him so he can remain inside her, nuzzling her neck as he rides out the final dredges of pleasure.

She traces her fingers over the sweat-dampened skin of his back, feeling whatever the opposite of regret would be. She’s never been so sure that a decision she’s made was the right one as she is now. He sighs deeply and then tips his head up to look at her, a sated smile on his lips that she returns.

“Hi,” she says in her very own voice, and he gives her a squeeze at the familiar greeting.

“Hey,” he replies, and her heart swells with affection that she cannot rightfully ignore.

“I love you too,” she says, and a flash of surprise disappears from his expression as quickly as it arrived. Maybe he doesn’t realize he said it, but he knows he feels it.

“Does that mean you’re not gonna kick me out?” he asks, and she can’t be mad that he’s ruining the moment with humor. He wouldn’t be Mulder if he didn’t.

“Stay,” she replies, and reaches up to switch off the lamp. They fall asleep just like that, his sticky cum on the insides of her thighs something she’s not ready to let go of just yet.

[pinnithin-writes]

The First: Aftermath (Part 3)

A collaborative work between myself and @reneethecyborg on what happened after Lupin III: The First. Part 3 of 4, 1332 words.

“I’m going to get a brain freeze.”

“Then take it off.”

The world’s greatest thief sighed and made no attempt to remove the ice pack from his neck, so Goemon got up from his chair and did it for him. Revealing the dark purple bruises on his throat brought a grimace to Goemon’s face.

“You’re lucky you can still breathe,” he intoned.

Lupin only croaked, “occupational hazard,” and cracked a grin.

Goemon shook his head as he sat back down. It was dark in the safehouse bedroom and the rain pattered soft outside. Jigen should be returning from town soon after his late night call to INTERPOL, leaving Goemon on hospital duty. His hands were just as skilled with sutures as they were with a sword, so the task of stitching Lupin back together generally fell to him, anyway.

The ice pack chilled his fingers. He set it on the floor beside his chair, where it clinked against the empty whiskey glass.

He had been sitting there listening to Lupin’s labored breathing for several hours now. This seemed a step further than the usual part-of-the-job wear and tear. The details of what happened in the airship were still unclear, but judging by the injuries the man had sustained, Goemon could draw his own conclusions.

In this line of work, Goemon had experienced it all. Fractures, lacerations, concussions - he kept a telltale tally. Some of it was to be expected, and he had long grown past being squeamish around the smell of blood or the cracking of bone. But as his hands had traced over the ruin of Lupin’s ribcage earlier that night, he couldn’t help but feel something insidious behind the welts and bruises.

Lupin had been utterly thrashed up there. Swung around like a tetherball, a punching bag for a madman. The rage had ebbed from Goemon’s nerves a while ago, leaving only exhausted frustration in its wake. There was nothing he could do about it except clean the blood from his face, and that was possibly the worst part of all this. He couldn’t un-break Lupin the Third. He couldn’t kill the man responsible for his pain.

He couldn’t even hold it against Lupin for getting involved. Moth-to-flame missions of saving the world were his modus operandi. He took to them like he had something to prove.

Delicately, he reached for Lupin’s freshly realigned wrist with one hand, checking the pulse, the joint, feeling out his carpals and tendons to make sure everything was where it should be. His radial artery fluttered against his fingertips. He wasn’t fine, but he would be. Goemon had to keep reminding himself of this.

“Sorry you have to do all this.”

Lupin’s voice was thick with pain, coming and going periodically throughout the night as he fell in and out of consciousness. In the present dimness, Goemon could no longer see him clearly, but he still flicked his gaze seriously in his direction. He did not let go of his wrist.

“Occupational hazard,” he shot back matter-of-factly.

Lupin’s attempt to laugh broke into a pathetic whine. “Shit, this sucks,” he bemoaned dramatically. “Is this the price I pay for glory?”

Goemon did not want to exacerbate the damage done to Lupin’s windpipe or his fractured ribs, but the frustration simmering under his skin prompted a hot response.

“You could perhaps tone it back.”

Lupin answered with a smile in his voice. “Don’t be silly. We both know I can’t.”

“Can’t,” Goemon answered tersely, “or won’t?”

Silence followed, but it was brief. “Can’t,” Lupin insisted. “It’s in my DNA. I can’t help it.”

“Sure.”

He heard a soft rustle of sheets and then a grunt of pain from Lupin. No doubt he had tried to habitually talk with his free hand. This restless rubber band of a man would likely be back on his feet sooner rather than later, no matter what state his bones were in. Goemon scraped his chair closer and skimmed up to his elbow, checking the joint with careful fingers.

“I’ve told you, I have a responsibility,” Lupin went on, his voice quieter than before. “A legacy to uphold. Granddad set me on this path and I have to follow it.”

He didn’t have to, Goemon wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew all about legacies, though his was far longer and more impersonal than Lupin’s was. Goemon Ishikawa the First, who thieved his way straight into folklore generations ago, had set the bar so high it was nigh unattainable. This removed the burden of responsibility somewhat from Goemon’s shoulders; he could content himself with only being a man and a myth when the position of legend was already taken.

Unlike the man in the bed beside him, Goemon didn’t have the stain of his father’s deeds to scrub out of his genes, but the Ishikawa line still worked alongside Lupin’s on the road to an early death. He understood his proclivity for destiny far better than most.

After a moment, Goemon just frowned and said, “I know.”

He examined his shoulder next, the one that had been knocked out of alignment sometime between the Hitler impersonation and the Eclipse implosion. Lupin had managed to jimmy it back into its proper place after arriving at the safehouse, while Goemon had struggled to get him to lie still. The swelling wasn’t nearly as bad as it was around his throat and abdomen, but the area was undeniably tender after whatever collision had caused the injury.

Lupin was silent as he let Goemon inspect him, his breathing shallow against his protesting ribcage. It was likely he had fallen back into his own thoughts, or he had simply given up trying to speak through the pain. Goemon’s fingertips traced the curve of his shoulder where the bones met as gently as they could. Wounds upon wounds, surviving one after the other. This man was a patchwork of miracles.

He heard Lupin let out a shaky exhale, nearly inaudible.

“I’m going to need you to take a couple deep breaths,” Goemon said at length.

“No, thank you,” Lupin grimaced.

“Okay,” Goemon replied tonelessly. “Have fun catching a lung infection, then.”

Lupin simmered in a few seconds of sulking before he complied. As he drew in breath after shaky breath, Goemon could feel the tremors under his skin, hear the hitch in his throat that betrayed his pain. He let his hand drop from his shoulder. Waited it out until he could give him the order to stop.

Coughing out a laugh, Lupin settled back against the sheets. “Maybe someone should do this to Jigen, eh?” he joked. “Finally kick that smoking habit for good.”

Goemon hummed his disapproval. “You don’t have to do that.”

Lupin’s daisy grin dropped like a deadhead; Goemon sensed it in his tone. “Do what?”

“That act you do,” he elaborated, his voice low and sharp. “You’re hurting. We know. And you don’t have to hide it from us.”

Lupin didn’t bother to answer, and Goemon only felt a little bit guilty about it. Sometimes he felt that this was a poor way of loving Lupin, pressuring him to become a smaller version of himself. To live a little quieter, to play with a little more caution.

But he couldn’t love a person if they were dead. Even if the two of them were destined for an untimely end, Goemon at least wanted to be there with him when it happened.

Beyond the walls of the bedroom, Goemon’s ears caught the tumblers of a lock turning and then the subsequent pressure change of the front door opening. Jigen’s light footfalls shuffled softly on the carpet; he had returned from his trip into town and likely had information to report.

“You did a good thing today,” Goemon told Lupin, rising from his chair. “But maybe have a better regard for your own life next time.”

With that, he left the room to meet Jigen at the front door.

Part 2 (by Cosma) < --- > Part 3 (by Pin) < --- > Part 4 (by Cosma)

[tara-the-quiet-bookworm-2016]

Pulse (Yandere! Connor x Female Reader.) (Chapter Six.)

Authors Notes- And here we are with the sixth and final chapter. And in this chapter things will get saucy in this chapter we will see such things as Non-con oral sex, abuse, a little bit of bloodshed, rape, non-con kissing, choking, and bruising. If none of this is your cup of tea then this is where we’ll part way but I’ll remember our time fondly. Now that we got that out of the way here is Chapter Six.

Chapter Six: Mine Forever And Always

"C-Connor, please...” you pleaded, as you backed away from the advancing android, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your back pressed against the wall. Your eyes glued on him as he advanced, you wanted to wake up and find this to be nothing but a big fucked up nightmare. But as Connor grabbed you by your arm, hard enough to leave a bruise and dragged you away from the wall and towards the center of the room you realized it wasn’t.

“I’ve had enough of your whining.” Connor growled, pulling you to your feet, a dark look in his eyes as he gripped your arms tightly. He knew he should he patient, but...

Raising his hand he struck you hard across the face, his heart skipping a beat as you cried out, hitting the floor you whimpered as you clutched at your face. Grabbing a hold of you he struck you in the face a few more times.

“Stop... stop...” you pleaded, holding out your hands as if you ward off any more blows from him.  Blood spilling from you mouth as you looked up at him pleadingly, your body trembling, raising his hand once more Connor stopped short of striking you once more before grabbing you by the front of your shirt, and tossing you onto the bed.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson.” Connor said, grabbing you by your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Because the next time you try something like that I’ll do something far worst than just smack you around.

Swallowing thickly you nodded, all fight, all desire to escape seeping from you as you lay quivering on the bed, as Connor moved away from you, casting you one final glance as he shut the door behind him and locked it. A dark feeling washing over him as he walked away, as much as he loved you he loved seeing you like this broken and beaten. After all, how else were you supposed to learn your place if he didn’t get a little rough with you once in a while, he wondered how long it was before he truly broke you... 

Shrugging that thought off he pushed himself off the door and walked off. Looking forward to the days to come.

*A Month Later.*

CRASH!

Connor blinked as he watched as the plate that held the breakfast he had so lovingly prepared for you was flung into the wall a few inches from his head and was now sliding to the floor. Biting down on his bottom lip he looked to you as you glowered at him from where you sat at the table. Eyes shining with anger as you panted. It had been a month, well, a month and three weeks since Connor had kidnapped you and you still hadn’t given in. Connor really should commend you on that fact that he had yet to break you down, but now... now Connor was getting tired of this game.

Wiping the remains of egg from his cheek he moved around the table towards you, eyes watching as you struggled to move away from him. Normally you would have raced into one of the many rooms and barricaded yourself in the closet or somewhere he couldn’t get you. But not anymore, Connor had put a stop to that after you had slashed him across the face with a shard of glass you had obtained when you broken the bathroom mirror. The cut you had given him had drawn several questions from Hank and various others in which Connor had vowed that it was the last time he would put up with anymore abuse from you. 

Watching as you tried to bolt, but found your efforts thwarted when the chain wrapped around your ankle stopped you, watching as let out a cry of surprise as you dropped to the ground.  Smirking Connor loomed over you as you struggled to pick yourself up, he took a moment to look you over taking note of the bruises on your neck and wrists. He always thought you were beautiful but with the various bruises marring your skin well now you looked even more breath taking. 

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” you sighed, your shoulders slumping, you didn’t fight when he pulled you to your feet. 

“Why would I ever leave you alone?” he asked, his fingers brushing against the bruise on your cheek. “I love you too much to ever leave you alone.” Placing a hand on the back of your neck he pulled you into for a kiss, this time you didn’t even try and bite him as his tongue pushed past your lips. Squeezing your eyes shut and after what seemed like forever he pulled away.

Brushing the tip of his nose against yours, a sigh escaping his lips. He waited too long, he wanted more, he deserved more after he had been more than a little patient despite your non-stop attempts to fight him every waking moment. Saying nothing Connor undid the chain wrapped a bit too tightly around your ankle, rubbing it gently only to have you kick at him, almost catching him in the face.

“Why must you always fight me?” he sighed.

You said nothing as you struggled to break free of him. But Connor held fast, a scowl  on his face. Saying nothing Connor let go of your ankle and grabbed you by your wrists. “I’m tired, Y/N.” He sighed. “Tired of fighting you, so I’m done.”

A sliver of hope formed in your chest, was he letting you go? Did you finally break him down? You felt a smile creeping to your face, however your hope was soon quelled as Connor tossed you onto your knees in the middle of the living room. Grunting you looked up at Connor, dread forming in the pit of your gut as you watched as he undid his belt. No, he could be-

“Connor please I-”

“Be quiet.” Connor snapped. 

Whimpering you struggled to your feet, crying out when Connor grabbed a handful of your hair and tossing you back to the ground. “I’m done being patient, done waiting for you to see reason, so now...” Connor removed his belt, tossing it to the ground at his feet. “Strip. I’m going to make you mine.” He ordered.

Blinking you looked up at him.

“You didn’t hear me?” Connor asked, gripping your chin hard enough to make you whimper. “I said take off your clothes.”

Swallowing thickly you complied, shaky fingers working to unbutton your shirt as you averted your gaze as Connor watched you. Placing your shirt beside you you soon removed your pants and underwear, leaving you nude before the android. Biting down on your bottom lip you wrapped your arms around yourself, hiding yourself from his hungry gaze. 

“Don’t hide from me.” Connor said, grabbing his belt from the floor and moving towards you. “You’re mine.” Whimpering you squeezed your eyes shut, expecting the blows to come, but soon snapped open when Connor pulled your arms from your body and twisted them behind your back. Wrapping your wrists in his belt, smirking as you cried out when he wrapped them too tight.

“Connor...” you whimpered, tears welled in your eyes.

“Oh, don’t be like that, you know things will be so much better if you just do as I want.” Connor cooed, his own hands working to undo his pants, tugging them down, revealing his black boxers, his cock straining against the confines of them. 

Wasting no time he tugged them down revealing his thick cock to you, dread forming in your stomach as Connor wrapped his hand around his cock, his free hand gripping your jaw. 

“Open your mouth, and don’t you dare try to bite me. You do and I’ll break your damn jaw.” Connor warned, pulling you close, the head of his cock pressing against your lips, smearing precum across your lips as you tried to break free.

“Enough.” Connor spat, forcing your mouth open and pushing himself in. A gasp escaping his lips as he forced more of himself into the warm, wet heat of your mouth.

Squeezing your eyes shut you gagged around his cock as he hit the back of your throat, tears spilled down your cheeks, drool trickling down your chin as he quickened his pace, until he pulled you flush against him. Letting out a low groan Connor spilled his seed down your throat, as you let out a whimper. 

After what seemed like forever Connor pulled you off his cock, carding his fingers through your hair Connor smiled down at you as drool and tears stained your reddened face.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry...” you choked out. only to be shushed by Connor.

He knew you were sorry, he knew the fight had been taking out of you, but...Connor bit down on his bottom lip, but he wanted more...

Pulling you to your feet Connor placed a rough kiss on your lips, tongue pushing past your lips, a low moan escaping his lips as he tasted himself on your lips. After what seemed like forever Connor pulled away, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. Then without warning he shoved you roughly onto the couch, making you cry out. 

“Connor, no... please...” you whimpered.

Connor paid you no heed as he advanced on you. unbuttoning his shirt he tossed it behind him as he crawled on top of you. His hands sliding up to toy with your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your nipples, eliciting a gasp from you as you tried to pull away from him. But Connor held fast, keeping you pinned as he peppered your neck and chest with kisses before biting down on your right nipple.

Bucking your hips you felt your cheeks flush with shame as you felt yourself growing wet, squeezing your legs together you tried to force you mind anywhere else. But it seemed like Connor knew what was going on as he bit down on your nipple hard enough to draw blood before lapping eagerly at it. Pulling away Connor looked down at you, a soft smile on his lips as he placed a tender kiss on your lips as his hand slid down towards your pussy, his hand forcing itself between your legs, skilled fingers sliding between your slick folds.

“You’re already so wet, it’s almost like you wanted this...” Connor mused, eyes glued on your flushed, tearstained cheeks as you tore your gaze away from him as a gasp escaped your lips. “You want this don’t you...” Connor placed a kiss on your shoulder as his fingers found you clit, making you gasp, your back arching. 

“N-No,” you choked out as Connor continued to circle your clit, squeezing your eyes shut you tried to ignore the waves of pleasure washing over you, it wouldn’t be long before you came. 

“Come now you don’t have to be shy with me.” Connor cooed, wrapping his free hand around your neck and squeezing. “I know you love this, it’s almost like you defied me just so I would do this to you.”

Shaking your head furiously you looked away from him, your hands, still bound behind your back tightening into fists as your orgasm crept up on you. When finally you let out a strangled cry as you came, your back arching once more as you came, your legs squeezing around Connor’s hand, your thighs trembling. 

Connor smirked as he pulled his fingers away from your trembling cunt as he stuck his fingers into his mouth, his eyes sliding shut as he tasted you. Removing his fingers from his mouth he looked down at you, watching as you fought to catch your breath, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin. More, he needed more of you. After placing another kiss on your trembling lips he flipped you over, burying your face into the couch cushion, fingers tightening in your hair as he gripped your hips. 

“I love you.” Connor whispered, as he ran the head of his cock through your folds before pushing into you, pushing a gasp from your lips as he sheathed himself completely inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to him he began to fuck you. 

Small pitiful whimpers escaped your lips as Connor started at a rough pace, his hand gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as the hand buried in your hair jerked your head up when you tried to bury your face in the cushion to hide the embarrassing moans escaping your lips. You hated this, hated how your body reacted to this, your second orgasm slowly creeping up on you as your nails cut into the palms of your hands leaving crescent shaped cuts in their wake. 

You hated how you body seemed to love this, your cunt squeezing around Connor’s cock  as he hit that sweet spot inside of you, or how you couldn’t keep the moans escaping your lips despite how you tried to keep quiet. You hated that as time went on the desire to fight Connor, to be free slowly dissipated he... you realized as your eyes slid shut. Was winning, he was breaking you down...

After what seemed like forever you let out a strangled cry as you came, your cunt squeezing around Connor’s cock. But Connor was far from done as he continued to fuck you, his pace quickening as he worked to pull another orgasm from you. It wasn’t long before you came again, a pained whimper escaping your lips, you wanted to be done, you wanted him to stop. 

“Connor, please...no more...”

It looked like you had enough. Connor mused as he felt his own orgasm creep up on him, after what seemed like forever he let out a low growl as he came, painting your abused insides white as he pulled out of you. His cum dripping out of your pussy as he collapsed on the floor beside the couch you lay on. 

Silence felt over the two of you as you lay there, Connor’s cum dripping down your thighs as you lay trembling there, all fight taken out of you. This was it, wasn’t it? You thought as you looked to the equally exhausted Connor, his usually immaculate hair mussed up, his face flushed a light blue. He had finally broken you down, hadn’t he? There was no escape, as realization hit you tears spilled down your flushed cheeks as sobs wracked your body. This was your life now you thought as Connor pulled you into his arms, releasing your wrists from your restraints, you didn’t fight as he rubbed them, didn’t fight as he placed a kiss on your temple as you buried your face in his chest. 

This, you realized, as you wrapped your arms around Connor, pulling him close, was your life now. And, as Connor pulled you in for another kiss, this time you returned the kiss, your hand caressing his cheek. There was no going back, the life you thought you knew was no more, all you had now was Connor...Connor had won.

[avengerscompound]

Patience

Patience: An IronHawk Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Square:  @iron-man-bingo - Post Battle Sex

Rating:  E  

Warning:  Smut (Bi MMF Threesome, light d/s, edging, vibrator use, oral sex, tit fucking, double penetration - vaginal and anal)

Word Count:  2318

Pairing:  Clint Barton x Tony Stark x F!Reader

Summary:  While Tony and Clint debrief after a battle, you get yourself nice and ready for them.

Patience

You stood almost buzzing in the hanger as you waited for the Quin’s cargo door to open.  You’d hadn’t seen Tony or Clint for over a week until today when they showed up on live news coverage of a battle in Washington with some weird giant dog-like aliens.

You were a huge swirling mess of excitement and anxiety and as the ramp finally came down and the Avengers started to file out looking exhausted and battered, you rushed forward without any thought other than the need to reconnect.

Tony was the first of your two that came down the ramp.  He was in better shape than a lot of the others.  The Iron Man suit protected him from a lot of damage and it meant he could keep out of harm's way while still actively fighting.

You launched yourself at him and he caught you, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you as you peppered kisses all over his face.  “Oh. My. God. I. Missed. You. So. Much.”  You said.  Each word punctuated with a kiss.

Clint trotted past and slapped your ass.  “You missed something alright.”  He looked the worst of the bunch.  He always came back from these things looking like he’d been put into a blender with a handful of rocks.

Tony laughed.  “It’s fine.  We’re fine.  We missed you too.”

You brought your lips to his and kissed him deeply.  He kept walking with you until you were safely inside, but didn’t break the hungry kiss once.  Steve cleared his throat, and you pulled back reluctantly.  “Sorry to break it up, but we need to debrief and Clint is definitely going to need to see a medic.”

“Speak for yourself,”  Clint said coming over to you and Tony.  You slipped down off Tony and Clint pulled you up against him, hugging you tightly and teasing his lips over yours.

“You’ve broken a rib, Clint.”  Steve scolded.

“Yeah, one.  I still have 23.”  He said before kissing you.  You wrapped your arms around his neck and hummed into his lips.

Tony leaned in against your ear and ran his hand down your spine.  “Go put that lingerie I like on.  You know.  The red ones.  We’ll be up soon enough.”

You pulled back and let Clint go.  “Alright.  See you soon.”

“Come on, Legolas,”  Tony said and grabbed Clint’s elbow and dragged him away.

You went up to the penthouse and changed into the lingerie Tony liked.  It was a blood-red corset with black lace trim.  You paired it with black stockings.  You knew it was going to be a while before they returned and you thought you might prepare for when they got here.  You grabbed your vibrator, applied lube to it and switched it on.

You slowly slid it between your folds, running it up and down from your clit to your entrance, letting the buzz send a tingle through you and your arousal grow.  You pressed the toy against your clit and held it there, intensifying the buzz and making you want to pull away from it.  As your breathing became shallow, you pushed the toy inside yourself.  You pumped it slowly in and out, clenching your core muscles and arching up into your hand.  As you got closer to the edge and began to lose some of your control, you pushed it hard against your g-spot and held it there.  Your orgasm peaked and you pulled the device way.  You lay there panting and shivering on the bed, letting yourself come back down again.  When you did, you turned the vibrator on again and repeated the process.

It took Tony and Clint about two hours to get back up to the penthouse.  In that time you brought yourself to the edge of orgasm again and again.  You couldn’t help but think of their reaction to finding you like that.  The dark, lustful look on Tony’s face and the needy eager one on Clint.  That image alone made you need to pull the vibrator out before you were sent over and ruined your own game.

Finally, they entered the room.  The way their faces changed as they looked at you would have made you burst out laughing if you weren’t so focused on stopping yourself from orgasming.  Tony went from tired but pleased to be home, to shocked, to turned on, to a little dark and dominating.  While Clint went from excited to be home, to shocked, to extremely turned on, to excited again.  Their expressions changed so quickly that it was comical.

“What are you doing there, dear?”  Tony said as he closed the door.

You smiled up at him and panted through your words.  “Don’t worry.  I’ve - I’ve been - edging.  Since I got up here.”

A smile slowly crept over his face and he took a few steps forward.  Clint followed after him, his erection already starting to push against his pants.  “You’ve been edging for two hours?”  Tony asked.

You pulled the vibrator from you again and sat panting with your knees pulled up against you.  “Yes.”  You said, as your body began to settle.  “I wanted you both to see how much I missed you.”

“How many times?”  Tony said with a faint growl to his voice, his hand running along the bulge that was forming in his own pants.

“Fourteen.”

Clint whistled.  “Holy shit.”

“Such a good girl.  Why don’t you do one more for us.”  Tony cooed.

You took a deep breath and turned the vibe on again.  They watched as you inserted it deep into your aching cunt and slowly began to fuck yourself with it.  You put on a show, bucking up into the toy and arching your back.  You panted and moaned and chanted their names.  They began to take some of their clothes off.  Tony pulled off his undershirt, revealing his toned body and the arc reactor embedded in the middle of his chest.  He had a few bruises, but nothing too bad.  Clint took off his leather armor.  His body was muscular and firm.  He was covered in gashes that had been patched with gauze and a large bruise had formed on his left side over his ribcage.

Seeing them start to undress affected you strongly and you nearly came then and there.  You pulled the vibe from you and threw it across the room.

Tony stalked over to the bed and climbed up over me, while Clint followed on like an excited puppy.  “We missed you too, honey.”  Tony hummed.  “Didn’t we, bird?”

“Mm-hmm… you were all I thought about.”  Clint said.

Tony brought his lips to yours and you kissed.  You wrapped yourself around him and reached over to Clint, tugging on his hair as he kissed your neck.  You kissed Tony until your lips tingled and you became breathless and when he finally pulled back, Clint took over.  The kiss changed from one man to the next.  First slow and tender, just dipping your tongues into each other’s mouths.  Then aggressive and desperate, biting and nipping at each other.  When you finally broke apart from them completely you just lay there, pressed between them as you composed yourselves.

“Would you like to come now, dear?”  Tony asked, running his nose up your neck, nudging your chin back.

“Yes, please.”  You breathed.  You still hadn’t let either of them go and you ran your hands over their hills and valleys of their body.

“Undress us,”  Tony said.

You moved your hands to Tony’s waist and pushed the skintight pants he wore under the Iron Man suit off.  You moved to Clint and fumbled with the buckles on his leather pants.  He took longer but when they were both naked and hard in front of me Tony pushed me onto my back.

You trembled as you lay there exposed.  All you wanted, all you could think of was them inside you and coming around their cocks again and again.  But they were drawing it out and making you wait for it.  Tony kissed my neck and ran his hands over my corset as Clint bit and sucked at your nipples through the lace.  Tony pulled back and tore the corset open.  You gasped and arched your back and he tossed the ruined fabric across the room.  Clint immediately began to suck and bite on your exposed nipples.

You became a whimpering and trembling mess, arching and writhing under them.  “Please, Tony.  Please.”  You pleaded.

“Patience, dear.  We’ll get there.”  Tony cooed.

“I’ve been patient for the past two weeks.”  You whined and tugged on Clint’s hair.  “Please, Clint.”

Tony slapped your thigh and you jerked up.  Not from pain.  You were just so highly wound that the sudden strike seemed to assault every nerve.  It made your cunt clench and increased that need for relief.

Clint pulled back and chuckled.  “You must be desperate if you’ve resorted to begging me.”

“Why don’t you go down on her, little bird.  Get her to come on your face.”  Tony said.

Clint smiled and bit his bottom lip before leaning over and kissing Tony deeply.  Tony hummed and caressed the back of his neck for a moment.  When Clint pulled away, he crawled down so his head was between your legs.  Tony sat back and watched, slowly stroking his cock.

Clint’s tongue dipped between your folds and gently slid over your clit.  It was barely a touch and yet it sent shockwaves crashing through you.  Your legs kicked out and you jerked away from him.

“Jesus, babe.”  Clint laughed and he pulled you back towards him, tearing your stocking as he did.

“Poor, baby.  You really need this, huh?”  Tony teased.

You whimpered in response, thrusting your hips up towards Clint.  Clint plunged his face into your cunt, lapping, sucking and biting at you.  You cried out and arched your back, coming immediately on his face you had been sitting that close.  Clint hummed and drank you up.

“Mmm… you taste so good.”  Clint hummed as he continued to languidly lap at your cunt.

You closed your eyes and let yourself come down from your orgasm high, relaxing on the mattress.  He sat up and ran his finger along your cunt one last time before looking over at Tony expectantly.

“Clint,”  You breathed.  “Could you kiss me?”

He smirked and looked at Tony like he was asking his permission.  Tony cocked an eyebrow and looked down at you.  “Want to taste yourself, honey?”

You grinned at them both and bit your tongue.

“How can I deny that look, you dirty girl?”  Tony teased.  “Go on then.”

Clint leaned in and his lips met yours.  He gave into you as you aggressively kissed him, sucking and licking your fluids from his lips.  When he pulled away, you chased after him, but Tony pushed you back down on the bed and straddled your chest.  You jerked under him and made an impatient squeaking sound.

He pushed his cock down between the valley of your breasts and squeezed your breasts around his shaft.  He began to rock against you, thrusting into the little pocket he’d created with your tits.

You dipped your head forward and licked a drop of precome that had formed on the head of his cock.

“I was thinking I might fuck that beautiful ass of yours, while Clint fucks your pussy.  What do you think of that?”  He asked.

You moaned and nodded your head.

“Our dirty girl likes the sound of that,”  Tony said climbing off you.  “Lie back for her.”

Clint lay down eagerly while Tony went and grabbed the lube.  You straddled Clint’s waist and began to rock against his cock, looking down at him and running your hands over his chest.  “Does it hurt?”

“I’ve had worse.”  He said and pulled you down into a kiss.  You rocked against his cock and then sunk down on it, letting him fill your swollen and aching cunt.

Tony came up behind you and squeezed the lube on your ass.  He used his fingers to tease your asshole open, stretching you out to take him.  By the time the head of his cock was pressed against your asshole, you had come and Clint was panting against your neck.

Tony slowly sunk into your ass.�� You were stretched and filled and both their cocks worked against each other as they thrust into you.  As Tony began to pick up his speed you moaned loudly and clutched at Clint.  “Harder!”  You cried.  “Really fuck me!”

Both men complied, ramming into you.  You clenched and cried out as your orgasm broke, your body spasming and arching between them.  As you came they picked up their pace even more, slamming into you again and again.

Your senses were in overload and you came again before the last orgasm had even ended.  You clenched and twisted between them.  Tony grabbed your hips and held me in place and with a sudden hard thrust into you, he came deep into your ass.  That seemed to bring Clint over too and he groaned and gripped at the sheets as he spilled into your cunt.

You collapsed down into a little pile and they both began to trail their fingers over you and placed gentle kisses over your neck, back, and shoulders.

You snuggled between them and hummed happily.  “Hey.  I’m glad you’re home.”

“It’s good to be home.”  Tony said, softly.

“And if that’s the greeting we’re going to get, we’ll have to go away more often.”  Clint laughed.

“Do you want to go and have a shower before dinner?”  Tony asked.  “I can take you both out if you like.”

“Soon.  I just want cuddles now.  I haven’t had cuddles for so long.  I missed them.”  You said, nuzzling into Clint’s chest.

They both pulled themselves tightly against you, wrapping you completely between them.  “That I think we can handle,”  Clint said.

[nikitafreakinmears]

You’re a terrible cook Michael and Nikita

(Sorry this took so long. I’m lowkey the worst)

Nikita came home to the smell of burning and the shrieking of the fire alarm. 

“What the hell?” She made her way into the kitchen, where the smoke seemed to be the thickest, to find Michael throwing a pan of what looked like some sort of charred vegetable into the sink. After several seconds of cool water and opened windows blowing air, the smoke began to clear. Finally, Michael turned, seeing her for the first time. 

“Oh, hi. Sorry about that. I... I was trying to make an apology dinner.” He smiled, but behind it his expression was sad. Nikita felt the pain in her own heart. It took all of her self control not to run across the room and pull him into her arms. But their fight from the night before was still fresh between them. 

As soon as she’d come home he’d known something was wrong. She’d tried to hide it, but when she’d winced sitting down he’d insisted on having a look. When he’d pulled back her shirt to reveal the bruise blossoming across her ribcage Michael had pulled away in horror. 

“How did this happen?” He’d demanded when he’d finally found his voice. 

“It’s nothing. I just...” She trailed off. It would be easy to say that she fell, or got pushed over. It would be almost second nature. But she couldn’t lie. Not to him. She couldn’t tell the truth, either. She didn’t need to, because he saw it in her eyes. Michael drew back with an exasperated sigh.

“Nikita.You said you’d stop doing that.”

“Well it’s not like I planned it. A woman at work said her ex was stalking her. She was terrified. What was I supposed to do?”

“Call the cops. A normal person calls the cops.” And they both fell silent, because that was the problem right there, wasn’t it? She wasn’t normal. And no matter what he might have wanted, no matter how desperate he was to keep her safe in this white picket fence life, she could never be normal. She didn’t know what that looked like. Trying to achieve it would be like drawing a picture of a photograph someone else was describing. It would only be an imitation. 

He’d tried to go back to bandaging up the ribs, but she’d impatiently pushed him away. “I’ll go to an urgent care,” she muttered, headig for the door. “It’s fine. I’ll see you later.” Out in the night she’d pushed away the tears that had nothing to do with the pain in her chest. 

But now it was late the next day and after spending the night in a hotel room and the day wondering the city, she was ready to come home. That didn’t make the conversation any easier. 

“I... I’m sorry, too,” She spoke barely above a whisper. “I know we’ve talked about this. I know it scares you. But Michael, this is who I am. You fell in love with me and you married me and that means you get all of me. You get the part that wants too save people. You get the part that can’t do nothing when she could do something. You get the parts that come back to you a little worse for wear.” As she’d been talking her voice was growing thicker, crowded with tears. Michael had been moving across to the room towards her and just as the sobs broke free from her he wrapped her up in an embrace. He held her, there in the middle of their kitchen, among the smell of burnt food and the sound of running water, as she shook them both with her sobs. When the cries had abated he pulled away. Nikita was afraid of what she would see in his expression. There was compassion there, a tender love. But there was also fear. 

“I’ve just been so close to losing you so many times,” he finally spoke. “If it happened now, now that we’re finally supposed to be safe. I meant it when I said that you’re all I have.” She nodded, swallowing the last of her tears. 

“I know.”

“But,” he continued pointedly. “But I can’t ask you to change yourself. That wouldn’t be fair. So next time, next time please call me. I swear, I’ll have your back.” 

“Yeah,” she smiled a little. She knew that it was a tentative agreement, but it did send a shiver down her spine. She had missed having him by her side in a fight. “I will. I swear.”

“Good. Now,” He took a step back and they both took in the mess in the kitchen sink. “Take out?” Nikita laughed, a sound that was refreshing to both of them.

“Michael, I love you. But you’re a terrible cook.”

(Hope you enjoyed it. Send me a pairing+prompt)

[dunnfor29]

Snowed In

A/N Again, this was just something I wrote to practice my second person perspective. It’s nothing substantial, just a bit of fun. Beta’d by the lovely @notsomolly. NSFW-ish.

- I’m lonely.

Two words from your best friend and you were on a flight the very next day to join him for a bit of his press junket and possibly some award shows. Not that it was a big hassle; you could telecommute for work and it wasn’t exactly unpleasant to stay in five star hotels with full room service. And Sebastian was a nice bonus, you thought with a stifled laugh. You two were close and had been for years. There was a peace and a comfort that you found in him that no other person or place provided.

You stared out the window at the snow coming down; this was day three of the storm and, consequently, day three of being cooped up in Sebastian’s hotel suite. You had ventured into his bed earlier that morning, complaining of being cold. You peered up at him from where your head was perched on his shoulder to find his eyes closed, his breathing steady. “Seb,” you whispered, “Sebastian.” He hummed in response, lids flickering slightly. “Play a game with me.”

“Pardon?”

“We’re snowed in,” you shrugged, “we’re clearly bored, let’s just do something silly and stupid.”

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

You thought it over for a moment, before a childlike spark of mirth ignited behind your eyes. “Truth or Dare.” You frowned when Sebastian barked out a laugh. “Aw, c’mon! I know it’s super seventh grade, but it could be entertaining.”

“To say the least,” he added. “All right. We’ll play Truth or Dare, but all bets are off; no backing out of anything.”

“I’ll agree to that on the condition that everything stays within these walls,” you stated, “I won’t have my dirty little secrets gossiped about on any movie sets and I’m certainly not stripping down to run naked down the hall or out into the snow.” Another sharp bark of laughter sounded off the walls. “Deal?”

“Deal.” You shook hands, then sat up, wrapping the soft throw tighter around your shoulders. “Now, since it’s my hotel suite, I think I reserve the right to go first.” You made to protest, but Sebastian shushed you. “Here it goes: Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“Hm… Kiss, Marry, Kill out of the Avengers cast.”

You snorted. “That’s an entirely different game, Seb.”

“Fine. Still truth?” You nodded. “Who, of the Avengers cast, would you most like to kiss?”

Without hesitation, you purred, “Chris.”

“Which one? There’s three in the Marvel films and two are in the Avengers.”

“Pick one,” you winked, with a casual shrug. “Truth or Dare.”

“What? No, you didn’t answer the question.”

“Yes, I did. You didn’t ask me to specify a last name. I could’ve said Tom and you’d still be confused as to who I meant.” You gave him a brilliant smile. “Now, Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” he sighed.

“You’ve had roles before where you’ve kissed other men. If you had to kiss one of your Avengers cast mates, who would you choose?”

“Well, since Mackie isn’t here to give me shit for this, I guess I’ll say Evans, just to see tens of thousands of teenage girls’ heads explode.”

“How very devious of you,” you said, laughing. “The Stucky fandom would never recover.”

He winked. “All right, your turn: Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.” It was your ultimate, go-to answer. Dare always seemed too… well, daring. Truth was safer. At least, it had always been safer, but Sebastian didn’t seem to want to let you off easy.

“Let’s make this interesting…” were the words uttered immediately before you knew you could no longer hide behind banality. Inwardly, you cringed. “Where is the naughtiest place you’ve ever had a hickey?”

“Wow. Right to juicy stuff, eh?” You attempted to stall, but his eyes were already scanning your body, a mischievous glint in his eye. It made your stomach feel strange… good strange, but strange nonetheless. “So, like, location?”

“Yeah, location on your body.”

“Okay, but-”

“No buts, remember? You can’t back out of any question or dare.”

“Can I change my answer to dare then?” He shook his head and you sighed, defeated, then whispered, “I’ve never had a hickey before.”

He shot you a look of disbelief. “That’s the lamest excuse ever. C’mon, just answer and then you can embarrass me.”

“No, Seb, I mean it… I really have never had a hickey.” You wouldn’t meet his gaze now, so he reached out to grab your hand. Glancing at him from beneath your lashes, he gave you a soft, if not a bit teasing, smile. You straightened up and smacked his hand away. “Nope. You’re trying to distract me. It’s my turn to embarrass you, remember?”

He laughed, hearty and genuine. “Turnabout’s fair play. Shoot.”

“Truth or Dare.”

“You want to know the naughtiest place I’ve ever had a hickey, don’t you?”

You flailed dramatically, then flopped back against the king size bed. “You take the fun out of everything.”

“Do you wanna know or not?” You turned to look at him, opening one eye skeptically. Did you? He didn’t wait for further assurance that you did, he simply lifted one edge of the hem of his plain white tee, and tugged his joggers down just a smidge, circling that delightful V – well, half of the V – that disappeared further down. “Right about there.”

You couldn’t help but stare a little. The trail of fine hairs that descended from his navel was also visible and a tiny, but prominent vein was raised under the skin over his hipbone. Your mouth went dry, but you cleared your throat and redirected your gaze level with his. The smirk tugging at his mouth was a clear indicator that he knew you were admiring his little sinful skin show. And, honestly, it made you all the more turned on.

“Your turn,” you whispered, finally, hoarsely. He chuckled, readjusting his tee, and covering his lap with the sheet. When he asked, you struggled to decide; you already felt like you’d revealed something very private and vulnerable, so you opted for Dare. And oh, what a mistake that was, for as soon as the word dropped from your tongue, he got a devious smile before biting his bottom lip. “Fuck. You’re gonna make me do something insane, aren’t you?”

“Not insane, no. I just think you should let me give you a hickey.”

Your eyes nearly bulged from your skull. “What? Are you fucking kidding?” He shook his head, reaching to take your hand again, rubbing circles into your palm. You wanted to yank it from his grasp, and yet, you never wanted him to let go at all. Sebastian always evoked such strong, conflicting emotions in you. “Why?”

“Because you’ve never had one. And you picked Dare.” He said these things as if they were obvious, rational explanations. “No backing out,” he reminded, softly.

“C’mon, Seb. Don’t you think it would be a little odd for you to just suck a love bite into my skin? Besides, I can’t have a giant bruise on my neck when I go back to work.”

“Okay, first off, we don’t have to jump right to it, we can ease our way in, take our time. And secondly, there are plenty of non-visible places on your body.” You shivered; imagining his mouth on your throat was delicious enough, but now he was talking about your body – torso, most likely – and it was suddenly very warm in the room. You tossed the throw aside and looked pointedly at him. “So?”

“All right, let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that I agreed to this. How would we go about leading up to it and where were you thinking of leaving this so-called hickey.” You were flustered and he could tell; he tried to hide his amusement, but it was no use, you saw right through him. He cleared his throat and motioned for you to lie down, flat on your back. Without so much as a second thought, you followed his direction. “What now?”

“Well, like you said, for argument’s sake, I would say we could lead up to it by making out a little – get a little foreplay going,” his voice, though still playful, had dropped an octave, the timbre reverberating in your chest he was so close to you now. “As for where…” He touched a fingertip to the hollow of your throat and traced downward, stopping at your sternum, then the bottom of your ribcage, to your abdomen, coming to a stop at your pelvic bone. “All possibilities.”

“So, you, just…” you swallowed, thickly, trying to act relaxed, blasé even, while simultaneously trying to quiet your rapidly increasing heart rate. His eyes were skimming slowly from your surely flushed face to where your hands wrung the hem of his NASA tee you just happened to have borrowed. You tried again: “So, you, just… like, want us to make out?” It came out apprehensive and you suspected he knew how nervous you were and, indeed, he called your bluff.

“No. I’m daring you to make out.” He smirked, “and the hickey, of course.” He pauses for a few beats, presumably waiting for you to back out, push him away… but you don’t. He leans further over you, blue eyes meeting yours, seeking permission, which you silently give with a subtle nod of your head. He gives you a soft, half smile before moving in.

At first, it’s just the brush of his nose against yours, then traveling across your cheekbone and back again. His bottom lip touches your top one until his mouth closes over yours. It’s slow, tender, and not at all what you were expecting. You sigh into the kiss, which he takes full advantage of, just barely tasting you. At some point, you had fisted his tee in your right hand and you jerked him closer, causing him to laugh and deepen the kiss to your command.

His hands are occupied elsewhere; one brushing the loose strands of hair away from your face, cradling your head, and the other lightly massaging your hip. In your head, you can hear this tiny voice begging him to go a few inches to the left, to the apex of your thighs. It shocks you to realize that it’s your voice; you frown and shake your head vigorously to loosen those thoughts. He pauses from where his lips had been lightly sucking your collarbone.

“Something wrong?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” All five words come out in a rush of one single breath. “Seb, I’m-”

“Nervous,” he whispers, lips suddenly at the soft spot just behind your ear. “If you want me to stop-”

“No!” He lets a soft laugh escape, his breath brushing against your skin in the most delicate way, and you shiver. You stiffen, resolute in your next statement. “I mean I’m not backing out of this dare.”

He tuts at you, mockingly disapproving, then quietly says something in Romanian. You nearly growl; he knows how frustrated you get when he speaks in his native tongue. Not just because you don’t understand, but also because it’s an incredible turn on. Well, you actually hadn’t ever told him that second part. He most certainly knows now, though, as you whine impatiently and lift your hips into his.

Another few tuts, followed by another sentence in Romanian. The hand on your hip begins to move, his palm flat against your pelvis, his thumb slipping beneath the hem of your shorts while his fingers smoothly glide against the skin of your stomach. The warmth of skin on skin, the sheer exciting impiety of knowing it’s Sebastian’s, makes all your unilingual anger dissipate. His tongue is teasing the hollow at the base of your throat and it sets your body on fire to know he can hear, and feel, all the appreciative noises you’re making.

“I think you’re enjoying this,” he mumbles, tugging your tee up until it’s bunched around your ribs. “Should we just, y’know, lose the top?”

You know you’re wearing a bralette underneath, but it’s not exactly covering much. You shook your head and he doesn’t press the issue any further. Instead, his mouth is on yours again, teasing it open with the tip of his tongue, delighting in parting the seam of your kiss-swollen lips. Fuck, he was such a good kisser; you had always suspected it from watching his love scenes in various projects, but wow did this surpass even those high expectations.

And just when you were completely punch drunk, he moved lower, his exquisite lips finally coming into contact with the skin of your abdomen. He’d lick, then bite and suck, then lick again to soothe the sting. Over and over, he repeated this process for a good twenty-five seconds; first at the very bottom of your sternum, then again on the left side of your ribcage, and one last time on your right hipbone.

It felt as though you weren’t even in the room, on that bed, beneath Sebastian. It was a total out of body experience, or at least that’s the only way you could identify it. You had heard yourself moaning, panting, whining, all while writhing under his ministrations. Now, as you were coming to, you realized that your right hand was twisted in the shoulder of his tee, and the left was gently grasping a fistful of soft, brown hair. Then, you made eye contact.

“You. Said. Hickey.”

He quirked a brow, then laughed, “What?”

“Hickey, Seb. You said hickey. Not plural.”

“Mm, I didn’t hear a complaint,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the one on your hip. “Though, I will admit, this game turned into something definitely more R-rated than something one would play in seventh grade.” That made you both laugh as he came to lie beside you. “So, how were your first hickeys?” He emphasized the ‘S.’

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be forgetting them anytime… well, ever.”

[lameinserts]

right as rain, soft as snow (ix!)

title: right as rain, soft as snow

pairing: spider-man x reader/peter parker x reader

warnings: almost sexy times but no sexy times

word count: 4,684

summary: in which the reader is an avenger and a whole lot happens before peter finds out about it. drama ensues. 

              He waited for you at the airport, just like he said he would. He waited for you at your hangar and smiled when he saw you walk out, and even though you had only been apart for a few days, it felt like years since you’d seen each other. And you missed him. And when you finally closed the distance in between each other you would drop your one and only small suitcase to hug him, smiling as he wrapped you up in his arms and held you close to him. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and letting your cheek rest against his. Despite your bruises and bandaged wounds from the day before, you let him hold you tightly, because somehow, him hugging against the aggravated abrasions made it hurt less rather than more.

               He pulled away slightly and gave you a kiss on the top of your head, looking down at you and loosening his arms around you. He furrowed his eyebrows, bringing a hand up to your face, feeling your cheek. “Did you get into a fight, or something?” He chuckled, and with confusion you eventually realized that someone in your fight yesterday must have hit you seriously hard for a bruise to still be there. It might have been that Panther. He could have broken your cheekbone. Your injuries set themselves, thanks to the serum and you had grown used to the pain that came with a broken bone.

               You brought a hand up over his, gently touching the tender area. “I must have.” You laughed, acting like you didn’t remember, and he laughed back, although the worry was still present on his face. “I tripped over my luggage in the hotel room. I hit the ground.” With a quick motion with the flat palm of your hand towards your face, you mimicked your face hitting the ground, although it never really had. You did get hit pretty hard, though.

               He nodded softly, seemingly believing you. “Wanna head home?” he asked, and you nodded your head slowly. He took your heavy luggage with surprising strength, and you could only furrow your eyebrows in confusion as he lifted it easily with one hand. Of course, you could too, but you were Charge. Someone had accidentally taken your suitcase off the overhead thinking it was theirs, and they visibly struggled with it – a grown man struggled with your one suitcase. Couldn’t blame him, it was laced with various metals and technology to keep your suit safe. Could be used as a shield if need be. But Peter picked it up easily.

               You pursed your lips together, feeling your heart racing slightly, but you decided to drop it. Maybe Peter was just stronger than he seemed. You walked beside him, nudging him every now and then as he asked you all about your trip. He mentioned briefly that he had never been to Europe, although he really wished that he could go. He hailed a taxi once the two of you reached the outside of JFK airport, and he opened the door for you. He asked the driver to pop the trunk and you watched him easily place your luggage inside with one hand and slam the trunk shut. He came over and slid into the seat next to you, smiling at you before telling the driver his address.

               Silently he slipped his hand into yours, smiling his dumb goofy smile over at you. “Tell me about it. How was the funeral?”

               “Funeral-y.” You smiled and he laughed – surprised because you had managed to make a joke. That was your first funeral. “The cathedral was beautiful.” You murmured, staring off into space as you thought about it. “The stained glass windows were gorgeous; the entire building was stone. It was really a beautiful place.”

               “Did you go anywhere else?”

               You shrugged. I went to Bucharest you thought, And I chased after the Winter Soldier. “No, not really,” You responded, smiling, the guilt at lying to him running cold through your veins. “I walked around a little. But I wanted to get home soon.”

               He smiled over at you understandingly. “I wanted you to come home soon, too.” You scooted over slightly and let your head rest against his shoulder, closing your eyes and taking a deep, exhausted breath. Using your powers and energy like you did yesterday always tired you out in the following days, and this time was no different.

               You could feel the bruises along your ribcage ache with each small motion that you made, taking a deep breath through your nose and trying your best to feel the healing rather than the ache. That cat had done a number on you – he could hit surprisingly hard. The pain In your calf hadn’t completely gone away, and now there would be lovely hole-shaped scars along it. That would show beautifully underneath your dress during the banquet. You decided that you didn’t care.

               You had fallen asleep on his shoulder the entire ride back. But he did not wake you. He just held your hand and gently rested his head on top of yours, almost dozing off himself. The ride was not especially long – a little under thirty minutes. When the cab had pulled up to Peter’s apartment building he nudged you awake gently, to which you barely opened your eyes to. He smiled and laughed, apologizing to the driver before getting out, removing your luggage and walking around to the other side of the taxi to take you out. He glanced down to the luggage which sat on the sidewalk, and then to you, deciding to make two trips and hope that nobody would steal the suitcase. Or… He bent down quickly, moving the back piece of fabric away from its Velcro holds to reveal straps, like a backpack. He knew some luggage bags had this feature, but they were rare. Especially since this one was heavy.

               He quickly pulled the suitcase over his shoulders, standing and reaching into the taxi to pick you up and scoop you out into his arms, where you stayed mostly asleep all the way up to Peter’s apartment. He had to bang his toe against the door for Aunt May to let him in, and she laughed at the sight of the two of you. She opened the door all the way and took a step back as to give Peter enough room to let you in, and sideways he slowly stepped in – careful not to hit any part of you on the threshold. With the suitcase on his back, he just barely squeezed through.

               He walked immediately to his room and set you down on the bed, to which you stirred slightly.

               “Mm? Peter?”

               “Shh, it’s okay, ______. Go back to sleep.”

               “Mmm.” You hummed your agreement and rolled over, letting him pull the covers over you. He pulled the suitcase from off his back, staring at it, feeling something tingling inside him to open it and look. To see what made it so god damn heavy. It was almost as if his spider senses were just itching to crawl inside that suitcase. If he had caved in to that feeling, he would have known then and there that you were Charge. You were careless – you had just stuffed your suit in haphazardly into the case, closing it without even bothering to change the code. He would have known. But he was a gentleman enough not to snoop.

               He backed out of the room quietly, closing his door behind him and plopping on the couch beside his Aunt. He sighed deeply, and the two looked over at each other with a small smile. He rested his head against her shoulder, closing his eyes.

               “You got it bad, don’t you, Peter?” She asked teasingly, ruffling his hair with the hand that wasn’t holding her coffee mug.

               “Yeah, Aunt May.” He whispered, “I do.”

 ---------

                You woke up a couple hours later, feeling much more refreshed than you had before. Sleep was something you desperately needed after you used your electricity – it was almost like you were a battery that had to recharge. Honestly, you probably were. You had no idea what other messed up shit they did to you in the desert.

               You sat up slowly, running a hand through your hair that was starting to feel dirty and stiff. You needed a shower, and desperately.

               You brought your hands down to your lap, staring at your gloves. You took a deep, deep breath and sighed, plopping back down onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, replaying everything that had happened in the days previous in your head. Where you went wrong, how you could have done better. How you could have used less force. You wonder how many people you accidentally killed yesterday, fighting for a fugitive that Steve trusted. You sighed again, forcing breath through your teeth and pressing your palms into your eyes, trying to force the memories out of your head.

               So what if they died. Shot into your head. You sat up quickly, furrowing your eyebrows, eyes wide at the shock of the thought. You were fighting. You were bred to kill. Kill. Kill. You covered your ears, squeezing your eyes shut and taking deep breaths.

               Get out of my head. You shot back, challenging; waiting for a reply, but got nothing in return. Maybe you were just imagining it.  You had to be imagining it.

               Please. You begged yourself, please just be imagining it.

               Just as you were about to relax and move your hands from their vice grip on the sides of your head, you felt a dip in the bed beside you, and hands on your shoulders, pulling you close. You opened your eyes to see Peter, concerned as ever, wrapping an arm around you as you slowly removed your hands from your ears.

               “Are you okay?” He asked softly, rubbing your arm, “Did you have another nightmare?”

               A living one, yeah. You thought, but slowly nodded your head with a smile. “Yeah. I’m okay, though.”

               He smiled back at you, but still didn’t let you go, holding you close and resting his head on top of yours. You stayed like this for a few moments in silence, relishing in the feeling of someone caring.

               “Want to come outside and sit on the couch with me and Aunt May?”

               You looked up to him, nodding with a small smile. “Yeah. Sure. Actually – can we watch the news? Did you hear about what happened in Romania?”

               Peter raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, just heard about it actually. Come on, we’ll go turn the TV on.”

               The two of you stood from your spots on the bed, walking out of Peter’s room, watching as Aunt May turned her head to look.

               “Hey, sweetie!” She chimed, and you smiled back at her warmly. Happy. “Jetlag really got you, huh? Good thing you slept it off. Was that your first trip out of the country, all the way overseas?” You nodded to both of her questions, sitting down on the couch on the end, with Aunt May on the other, and Peter in the middle.

               Peter picked up the remote and turned on the TV, quickly flipping to the news channel, where your story was being covered again. Helicopter footage of you, specifically, dueling it out with the Black Panther, as it seemed everyone was calling him. Now that you were watching footage of yourself sparring, it was easier to see mistakes that you made – faults in your stance and stutters in your swings. You felt a throbbing reminder of each bruise where he hit you. And hard. Your rib still hurt from where he broke it, but it was healing. You grimaced when you watched the punch that broke your cheekbone and fractured your jaw slightly – watching yourself stumble from the pain but manage to turn around and keep fighting.

               You noticed Peter looking over at you in the following moments the punch fell, and for a moment you wondered if he was starting to figure things out – until he turned back to the TV. Upon pressing down on your face, there was probably only a little bit of redness there. No evidence that you had gotten hit that hard. Or that you had gotten hit at all.

               The footage was jumping all around – it was probably the most effective loop to keep people watching. It cut to you with the barring, swinging and jabbing, the metal almost glowing with your electricity.

               It cut to four people – two women and two men – sitting around a desk and talking about the incident. More like debating; they must have been important people.

               “What does this mean? Why has Charge suddenly switched sides?”

               “How could you possibly say ‘switched sides,’ Ms. Lynn? Just because she’s fighting with Captain American does not mean she still hasn’t broken any laws. Are we not going to forget about the Sokovian Accords that were passed hours prior? Captain America was told not to take action, and he did.”

               The footage cut back to you, taken from a chest cam of one of the SWAT men – at your advance, blocks and quick and easy take down. You saw and heard Aunt May shiver. “The look in her eyes gives me the shakes.” She murmured, and staring into your own eyes, you felt the same.

               They continued to talk over the fighting footage.

               “How can we know that this is even the real Charge? We all assumed Charge had been killed when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. This could easily be a decoy.”

               “No way. Look at her. That’s Charge, as if back from the dead.”

               “We can’t forget what she did in New York. She fought with Spider-Man. She saved all those people that night.”

               Footage of you in the subway, taken from a phone, fighting and taking down all of those men, practically by yourself. Then you carrying that little boy, Trey, out of the subway. His mother hugging you tightly. Thanking you for saving her son.

               “She saved that little boy. She held him in his arms. The old Charge would not have even blinked over the loss of a child.”

               “Well, obviously, she’s changed. Hopefully for the better. But that does not justify her actions in past years, and just because she’s fighting with the Captain? That doesn’t mean anything. We can’t possibly know what her plan is. We can’t possibly know what she could do. What she’s capable of. Are we just all going to forget the London attacks?”

               The picture of you, katanas drawn, staring up at that helicopter without any fear. Only malice. Murder. On top of that building that you had blown up hours later. And killed hundreds. You closed your eyes tightly, feeling your heart beginning to race.

               “But do you really think she can be blamed?”

               “What in the world are you saying, Johnson?”

               “We know now that what she was doing was because she was under S.H.I.E.L.D. After S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, it seems like she’s making better decisions. Saving people instead of killing them. What I’m saying is – she was forced to do what she did. It was her job; her sole purpose. We have no idea what they could have put her through if she failed or worse; if she refused.”

               “We also know that the Winter Soldier was the work of HYDRA. Does that mean we’ve forgiven him, as well?”

               “Well-“

               You glanced over to see Peter fidgeting in his seat. “I don’t know.” He murmured, shaking his head, glancing over to Aunt May.

               “I know.” She replied, “I don’t really know either.”

               “I don’t think that she should be trusted. Can be trusted. She’s too dangerous. Did you see all the shit she did? Messed up. Someone like that just… They’ll never get any better. Once a monster, always a monster. It’s all some act. Has to be.”

               You could feel your heart twisting at his words. You wondered if Peter would be able to say the same things if he knew that you were Charge. You wondered if it would make his words even more hateful.

               The news report continued, but all you could think about was what Peter said. Were you really just a monster? Was there really no way anyone could help you? That you would always be a killer? You shuffled in your seat, suddenly extremely uncomfortable. You felt suddenly very paranoid and unsafe. Your heart pounded within your ribcage.

               “____?” You glanced over, and both Peter and May were staring at you with serious concern. “Babe, are you okay?”

               The fact that he called you ‘babe’ made the guilt and fear so much worse. He didn’t know. He would never understand. He would hate you if he ever found out.

               He placed his hand on your arm and it took everything within you not to pull away immediately. “Yeah, yeah I’m – I’m okay. I’m okay.” At some point you realized you were trying to persuade yourself more than Peter. “I think I should just go home. And sleep the rest of the lag off, you know?”

               You stood from the couch, and the slightly heartbroken look on Peter’s face hurt you even more. “Okay,” he murmured, nodding his head slowly, “I’ll walk you home-“

               “No.” You immediately cut off, and he looked even more worried, but you tried your best to play it off quickly. “It’s okay, I’ll make it myself. You’re so relaxed and comfortable – stay here with Aunt May. Thank you for letting me stay so often, by the way.”

               “Of course, honey – come over any time.” Aunt May said, her voice also soft and careful. God, for them you must have been like a walking landmine. You rubbed your hands over the needle scars on your upper arms, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile. You lowered your arms, despite how difficult it was.

               “I’m okay, really. I’ll see you later, Peter. Or maybe at school tomorrow. Monday, right?”

               “Oh, yeah – I totally forgot today was Monday. If you need help with homework or anything, just call me and I’ll come over. Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?”

               “Yeah, Peter, it’s okay. I promise.” You smiled and headed back to his room, grabbing your luggage and picking it up with one hand. Peter furrowed his eyebrows at you – he must have been shocked. It was seriously heavy, as he remembered, and even though he could pick it up easily, he was Spider-Man, and you were… ______. Of course, neither of you knew the fact that you were both seriously strong. Equally strong, most likely – but seeing Peter shocked made you immediately have to act like it was heavy. You placed it down in front of the door, pulling up the small handle so you could roll it.

               Peter stood, that heartbroken look still in his eyes. Like you were leaving him. “Please, let me walk you home.” He stood in front of you, taking one of your hands in his. “Please.”

               You crumbled under his gaze – you had to lower your eyes in shame. What was that look in his eyes? You had no idea. You had never seen it before.

               “Okay.” You whispered, nodding your head and smiling up to him. “Okay. Come on, let’s go.” You turned towards the couch. “Goodbye, Aunt May. Thank you – see you soon.”

               “Bye, sweetie.” She called gently, waving with the hand that wasn’t holding her coffee mug. You waved back, smiling, and walked out the door, Peter grabbing the handle of your suitcase and rolling it out behind you.

               You walked mostly in silence, even when you made it to the sidewalk and headed in the direction of your building. You with your gloved hands in your pockets, as if hiding them in shame, and Peter silently rolling the case behind you. The only sound between the two of you was the rolling of the wheels against the pavement.

               You eventually made if to your apartment, the both of you looking up the steps and at the door. Waiting for you. Peter and you turned towards each other, and you slowly took your hands out of your pockets. Peter took the opportunity and gently seized your hands in his, bringing you close and resting his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes, letting him, and holding his hands back tightly.

               You opened your eyes, and Peter was looking at you so intently, so intensely, that you had to actually try to hold his gaze and not look away. You had never been great with reading body language. But something in his eyes told you, almost as if he were speaking directly to you: Don’t walk away from me. Please. Don’t forget me.

               I won’t. You closed your eyes, pressing your head further against him, trying your best to tell him without the words you couldn’t seem to just get out: I could never leave you. Not willingly.

               He let go of one of your hands, and you opened your eyes to see what was wrong, not ready to leave him. His hand was on your face, cupping it, but you hadn’t opened your eyes in time to see him moving. You flinched away, moving instinctively from a hit, shutting your eyes and jumping like a god damned kicked little puppy, and you hated yourself for doing it. You opened your eyes slowly and saw Peter staring at you with such a sadness in his eyes – because you flinched. Not because you flinched from him, but because you flinched at all.

               “______...” He whispered, shaking his hand softly, “What happened to you? What did you go through?”

               And suddenly tears were welling in your eyes at the very thought of telling him. You’d come full circle in why you were so afraid in the first place. He couldn’t know. He never would know. Fat tears started to fall and you sniffled. Your lip began to shake from trying to hold them back. “I’m sorry…” you whimpered, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. He immediately enveloped you in one of the warmest and biggest hugs of your life – you hadn’t had many. He held you close and tightly as you tried to hold your tears back, shushing you and rocking the both of you side to side.

               “Please don’t be sorry. Please.” He murmured gently, holding you so tightly, his own eyes shut. You sniffled and hiccupped into his shoulder, holding the tears back as hard as you could. And just as you were starting to suck it up and get rid of the tears, he said: “Don’t be sorry for not being ready. I’m sorry for pushing you. I love you.”

               You broke, sobbing and shaking in his arms, leaning fully onto him and just… letting it out. You suddenly felt weak and so, so tired. Your legs gave out on you, and you slowly began to sink, but Peter was there to catch you, just like he always was, just like he always would be. He held you tightly and slowly sank with you to the stairs, where the both of you sat, you still buried in his arms. You slowly pulled away, and the two of you could only look. He brought a hand up to your face again, slower this time, and wiped away your tears with his thumb. You nodded softly, unable to say it. I love you too. You’re the only person that’s ever said that to me. Thank you. Thank you.

               He leaned forward, placing his lips very slowly onto yours, testing the waters, hoping that it was okay and that he wasn’t scaring you. You easily told him you weren’t by leaning forward and meeting him in the middle, bringing your own hands up and into his hair, bringing him closer until he was practically on top of you on the staircase. He pulled away for a moment, wide eyed, glancing around the street. He glanced toward the door and you nodded, the both of you slowly standing. He reached for the suitcase, picking it up and bringing it up the stairs as you unlocked the door.

               He walked in behind you, dropping the suitcase without a care onto the floor and shutting the door behind him. You turned towards him and he was on you in a minute, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close, immediately capturing your lips with his in a hungry kiss.

               It was as if you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. That if you did, the world would fall apart. Your heart was racing – but not in fear or with an adrenaline rush. Your heart beat for another reason that evening. He reached his hands down, cupping his hands under your legs at the crease of your knees and lifting you, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. You were taken by surprise for only a moment, and in that moment Peter seemed to be afraid that he had scared you. But you leaned right back down and continued your kiss as if you had never stopped.

               He found his way to your bedroom, gently placing you down on the bed, crawling forward as you crawled back to meet in the middle of the queen sized mattress. You laid back, head on the pillow, and he followed suit, crawling on top of you. He placed his forehead onto yours, staring into your eyes, waiting for your approval. You responded by wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. He reached down for your shirt, starting to pull it up – your hand reached down like lightning and grabbed his wrist, stopping him from raising it any farther.

               “Not yet.” You whispered, swallowing down bad memories, and staring back up deep into his eyes. “Just this. Just us.”

               He nodded softly, laying down beside you. You turned towards him, and together you tangled your limbs. You tangled in each other’s bones, holding tightly and kissing slowly. His arms wound around your waist he pulled you closer to him, connecting your foreheads in a break. You stared at each other for a minute or two before continuing your slow, careful kisses.

               This lasted for almost two hours. Just staring, smiling, kissing, holding. Hearts beating. He eventually brought a hand up and ran it through your hair, staring at you with a look in his eyes that you had never seen looking at you before.

               “I should go home.” He whispered softly, moving his eyes downcast for only a moment, “I really don’t want to leave you.”

               “Then don’t.” You responded, taking his lips in another quick, sweet kiss. It amazed you how much you loved the way that felt.

               He grinned in between kisses, laughing softly. “Okay, okay.” He laughed, pulling away from your persistent assault, “Let me call Aunt May and tell her.” You nodded, aiding in untangling yourselves and letting him leave to call her.

               You buried your face into the pillow, taking a deep breath and smiling softly. It was only a few minutes until he returned, quickly removing his jeans before pulling the blanket up from the end of the bed and enveloping the both of you in it. “Don’t forget we have school tomorrow.” He whispered softly, “And the banquet in nine days.”

               “I’m really excited.” You whispered, snuggling into him after quickly removing your bra, closing your eyes.

               “Me too.” He whispered, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly, “It’s going to be a lot of fun.” He noticed you were beginning to pass out, and he laughed. “Goodnight, ______.” He whispered, placing a kiss on your forehead.

               You hummed back to him, falling further and further into sleep. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t wake up screaming.

that took so long im so sorry. ive had a really rough month. but yay first kiss!! love it

tag list: @bangtanjm @143amberrose thekayceenicole@1022bridgetp@littlemsrantsalot @all-the-kings-horses @fallinginthe-void @morduniversum @lisamnieto @lionfart @sparrow1707 @x-elf-boy-x

first part: here!

next part: coming soon!

[jhopesjawline]

Morning

A/n - I’m not sure where this came from, but it’s smutty and fluffy and it’s Jimin, so who really cares? I was craving Jimin, so I literally pumped this out one afternoon, so I don’t know how good it is, but I hope you enjoy ~ Kaitlin

Genre: Fluff | Smut Members: Jimin x Reader Word count: 2700

A lazy day morning with your boyfriend ~

Masterlist

The bright rays of the late morning sun slipped inside through the crack in the thick curtains. You watched with lame concentration as tiny specks of dust floated through the sunshine that leaked into the dull room.

Your legs felt cool against the sheets, your jeans abandoned on the floor to mix with the piles of dirty clothes scattered across the dingy carpet of his bedroom. The t-shirt bunched around your waist exposed a sliver of your back, and you felt the warm, naked body lying next to you. The heat radiating from his warm skin sent chills down your spine and a trail of gooseflesh broke out down the length of your bare arms.

The walls were littered with posters and the sticky notes where you’d written tiny love notes. His shelves were decorated with small figurines and soft plushies, many of them gifts from you. A gentle smile tugged the corners of your dry lips as fond memories of his crescent shaped eyes filled your mind, he always loved your presents and his smile gave it away every time.

Letting your eyelids shut once more, you focused on the steady breathing of the strong body behind you. His chest rose and fell in perfect time, pressing into your back and letting you feel every beat of his heart.

His muscular arm was limp as it lazily slung over your waist, holding you close like a child squeezing a teddy. You played with the rings adorning his chubby fingers, smiling inwardly remembering how he complained the night before, saying how his hands would swell from all the salt. But that didn’t stop you from downing and entire family size bag of potato chips.

Last night was a treat. You spoiled him with take-out, and in return he treated you to a refreshing walk around the bustling city where he bought you the most beautiful necklace you’d ever seen. He had caught you eying it through the thick glass of the jewelry store, and without hesitation dragged you inside to try it on.

The second he saw the sparkling chain wrapped around your neck, he paid for it on the spot and had you wear it out.

You had a habit of surprising him with little gifts as well, and the occasional home cooked meal whenever you could. Your boyfriend worked incredibly hard and deserved the world, and you loved pampering him just as much as he loved the attention.

He would try and act tough around others, but in the private confines of your bedroom he was the sweetest, giggliest boy imaginable. He let you run your fingers through his soft hair until sleep lulled his head against the swell of your chest, his plump lips parted against your skin and allowing the tiniest of sounds to slip out.

He was your giant baby, and you loved him.

The smooth material of his rings was comforting as you traced the metal with your fingertips, picturing in your mind the patterns and embellishments decorating each ring. Twisting the one on his thumb, you recognize the single stone set into the jewelry. This was the ring you had given to him last fall as a ‘Happy Tuesday” present.

The look on his face when you’d shown up at the dorm with your hands full of bright balloons was priceless. Letting the strings go, he belly laughed at the way they bounced against the ceiling, barely having another moment before your lips were on his and you were tumbling to the ground.

Lying flat on top of him, you tugged a small box from your back pocket and placed it on his chest, giggling at the way this angle gave him the cutest double chin as he tried to look at you properly. He opened the box and his eyes disappeared into the tiny crescent moons you loved.

Pulling out the ring, he examined it for a moment, tapping the round stone set in the center. He slipped it onto his thumb, twisting it into place before his lips were back on yours, cradling you in his arms while he deepened the kiss.

The stirring of his warm body behind you shocked you from your day dream. Peeling your eyes open, you stretched your tired limbs and rolled over until you were face to face with your handsome boyfriend. Even with his face mushed into the pillow, his jaw slack and the hints of stubble showing on his chin, he was still the most beautiful thing you’d ever laid eyes on.

His mouth was parted and the occasional grunt slipped past – but not a deep grunt, more like a baby fussing. You reached your hand out and swiped your thumb across his bottom lip, giggling at the way his tongue darted out at the feeling.

Trailing your fingers down his bare chest, you traced the firm muscles with a light touch, not wanting to disturb him. You let your palm slide down his belly, rubbing small circles over the layer of baby fat covering his abs. It always amazed you how he could look so manly, while still being squishy.

He smacked his lips together in a groggy attempt to wet his mouth, letting out a deep sigh as he settled back into sleep. His black hair was fluffed up at the top from sleep and fell messily in front of his face, the soft strands getting caught in his long eyelashes. Tilting your head up, you place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

You let your hand slip past the band of his boxers, sneaking lower and cupping his cock with a gentle grip, intrigued by the feeling of him while he wasn’t hard. You started massaging the skin around his member, rubbing patterns into the flesh and brushing your fingers over the head.

It wasn’t long before the sensations registered in his sleepy mind, his cock beginning to harden under your touch as he let out tiny moans. You watched his face with curiosity, noting the way his eyelids fluttered and the way his lips parted and let out uneven breaths.

Stroking his member at a calm pace, he finally opened his puffy eyes, taking in your features before his lips tugged into a warm smile.

“Y/n,” he mumbles out, licking his dry lips and tucking his strong arm under your neck.

“Morning, Jimin.”

The two of you laid together, the only movement was your hand under the fabric of his shorts and the occasional twitch of his hips. His eyes had closed once more, head lulling back against the pillows as he relished in the pleasure.

He was fully hard now, pulsing in your grip as you stroked him. The quiet moans that fell from his plump lips made your thighs tingle as heat pooled in your abdomen. As if he sensed your need, Jimin’s hand slid up your chest and cupped your breast, tweaking your nipple between his fingers teasingly through the fabric of your thin t-shirt.

You let out a moan at the feeling, back arching to push your chest further into his hand. He switched to the other breast, pinching the sensitive bud and twisting it in his fingers.

“Jimin…” you breathed, tightening your grip on his member and sliding pre-cum down the shaft. Throwing off the heavy blankets and tugging him from his boxers, he gasped at the feeling of the cool air as it met his cock.

His lashes fluttered open revealing his stunning brown irises. You blushed under his gaze, leaning forward and capturing his lips in a tender kiss. The way Jimin’s lips moved with yours was delicious as you savored the taste of him. His mouth slipping from yours and trailing lazy kisses down the expanse of your neck, sucking pale bruises into the skin.

Jimin’s hand bunched up the wrinkled fabric of your shirt, exposing your chest and massaging the flesh with gentle squeezes. His lips left a wet trail as they sucked a line to your breasts, flicking the skin with his expert tongue as he took a nipple into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth.

You moaned at the feeling, arching into his mouth and increasing the pace of your strokes on his member. Jimin rubbed circles into your ribcage, tracing comforting patterns down the skin until he reached the band of your panties.

He slid his fingers over the fabric, rubbing your heat through the damp material. You grinded into his palm greedily, your hips bucking as you whined for more. He chuckled against your skin and slipped your panties to the side, exposing your dripping core.

Dipping a single finger inside your heat, he curled the digit, groaning at the wetness. Dragging the pad of his finger up your slit, he rubbed light circles around your sensitive clit, eliciting a moan from your swollen lips. His teeth nipped at your breasts and sucked the skin. The stimulation coaxing your high from your belly and twisting your insides with sudden pleasure.

Your mind fogged as the sensations sent ripples of pleasure through your shaky body, and you held your free hand against his firm chest in attempt to ground yourself. He coated you in your own wetness, spreading it around and massaging your clit with gentle fingers. He swirled his fingers in patterns that had white spots dotting your vision, and you quickly began to lose yourself in the ecstasy.

Jimin whimpered as you squeezed the base of his cock, breathing hard against your chest as he sucked harsh bruises into the soft skin. Your heavy sighs mingled in the air with his own and added to the slippery sounds of messy bliss.

His fingers dipped inside you, curling up and brushing against you with a delicious pressure. You gasped at the feeling, a loud moan escaping your parted lips as you wordlessly asked him to keep going.

You dug your nails into the flesh of Jimin’s chest, scratching red marks down the creamy skin as he curled his fingers harder inside you, beckoning your orgasm with expert ministrations. Your legs shook with pleasure, your hips bucking into his palm, desperate for release.

“Oh… my god- Jimin,” you moaned, screwing your eyes shut as the euphoric feeling threatened to wash over your shaking body. You stroked his cock faster, tightening your grip around his pulsing member and coaxing the high from his body.

Jimin separated from your chest and shifted until he was level with your face, placing tender kisses along your jawline and peppering your cheeks with lazy pecks. He leaned over you and cradled your head in the crook of his arm, trailing his fingers up and down your jaw.

You felt the familiar tingle swirl through your core as Jimin’s fingers pumped into you relentlessly. You choked out a strangled moan of his name and he held your gaze with an intensity that made your insides coil as you orgasm ripped through your body.

White hot pleasure surged through your veins, chilling your spine and sending a delicious tingle down the back of your neck. Your vision blurred into tiny white specs, the colorful twinkle in Jimin’s eyes fading into the back of your mind as the pleasure coursed through your body. You twitched in his grasp, leaning up to catch his bottom lip in your teeth and tugging him into a tender kiss.

You grinded into his palm as you rode out your high, whimpers and whines spilling from your lips and into his mouth. He removed his dripping hand from your heat, tucking your panties back over your core and bringing his fingers between your faces.

You watched him suck his fingers clean with a lust filled gaze, entranced by the way his wet tongue swirled around his digits. You licked your own lips before pushing him back down on the mattress.

You switched positions, tucking your arm under his sweaty neck and leaning over his body as his chest heaved with heavy breaths. His hand flew to your waist, squeezing the skin as he let you pleasure him. You sucked on spot behind his ear, pumping his cock and snapping your wrist. He moaned your name as he bucked his hips in time with your hand.

Licking a stripe across his jawbone, you caught his lips in a heated kiss, relishing in the way he panted into your mouth helplessly. When he stilled, you watched the way he screwed his eyes shut as the pleasure surged through his strong body, rippling his muscles with every clench of his core.

Lowering yourself until you were straddling his firm thighs, you take his member into your mouth, letting the warmth envelope him and increase his pleasure. The way the breath caught in his throat caused a twinge of confidence to rush through your system. Looking up, you locked eyes with him. Jimin stared down at you with such adoration it warmed your belly with butterflies.

You twisted your tongue around the tip of his cock, savoring the image of Jimin squirming under your grasp, his loud whimpers complete music to your ears. Slipping your lips over him, you slide down until you could feel his tip pressing against the back of your throat, taking him in all at once.

“F-fuck!” He cried out, reaching out a shaky hand and tangling his ringed fingers in your messy hair. You held your head still, nose brushing against his firm abdomen as his hips twitched into your mouth. You gagged at the full feeling of him down your throat and he moaned.

You began bobbing your head up and down, matching his thrusts and humming when he tugged your hair. His member twitched between your lips and you took him further into your mouth, gagging at his size.

You swallowed around his member and he let out a guttural moan, his fingers messed in your hair as he pulled the strands desperately trying to ground himself.

You swallowed again and he bucked his hips so hard you lost your grip, your hands flying to his hips to push him back down onto the mattress.

You swallowed once more and he was coming undone under you. His hot cum hit the back of your throat, as a string of curses fell from his pink lips. He thrusted into your mouth, riding out his high with heavy breaths.

Shuddering at the bitter taste, you lick him clean and crawl up to his chest. You place sweet kisses on the corners of his plump lips, brushing away the dark hair matted to his forehead with sweat. Immediately Jimin’s strong arms wrapped around you, holding you close and rubbing large, comforting circles up the expanse on your back.

His fingers traced invisible patterns along your skin until they tangled in the baby hairs at the nape of your neck. You could feel him playing with the clasp of the necklace wrapped around your neck. He followed the chain around your throat, brushing his knuckles against your jawline with a gentle touch, caressing your face as he stared down at you lovingly.

You blushed under his gaze, pressing your hot cheek against his plump one in a lazy attempt to hide from his gorgeous eyes. Reaching around you found the discarded blanket from earlier, and tugged the warm covers over your sweaty bodies. Nuzzling your face into Jimin’s neck, you felt his soft lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispered praise and loving words of adoration against your skin.

Your cheeks flushed a bright pink as he showered you with quiet, embarrassing compliments. Tucking your face further into the crevice of his neck, you could feel the familiar tug of sleep on your heavy eyelids. The glow of your orgasm washing over you and veiling your mind with a fuzzy warmth as it lulled you back to sleep.

The gentle feel of Jimin’s fingertips on your skin coaxing pleasant dreams and happy sensations as you let sleep pull you under. The blackness clouded your vision and you were surrounded with the heady scent of Jimin, the familiarity of his loving touch comforting and peaceful.

[idornaseminary]

Chapter Five: Calix

“Do you have to go… again?”

Ryker’s meek and resigned whisper, full of realisation that the warm, summer days were over but undercut with a begging plea to the changing seasons, triggered a heart-flutter that left his older brother feeling broken.

Calix sighed softly, letting his head rest against the doorframe as he absentmindedly traced the outline of the golden owl pinned above his heart. The portal to Idorna was only open for a miniscule moment, but Calix always found saying goodbye to his brother the hardest thing to do in the world; it cut deeper than any knife could, hurt more than any curse could, left scars like nothing else could.  

“Do St. Mungo’s really need to send you away again? Like, they’ve been sending you away ever since you got there,” Ryker protested innocently, “Can’t they just leave you on the second floor?”

“You know it doesn’t work like that, Ry,” Calix consoled, pushing himself away from the door and crossing the small bedroom to sit beside his brother. “I have to travel. Besides, I’ll be home for Christmas, won’t I?”

“Yeah. I suppose. You’ll be gone again when spring arrives, though.”

Ryker turned away, falling backwards onto the bed with an irritated sigh. He could never stomach the thought of Calix leaving - their last few days together would always make him sicker than he already was, though Calix did his best to make it easier.

It hurt Calix even more to lie to Ryker. Ryker knew all about Hogwarts. Ryker knew about St. Mungo’s. But, Ryker could never - would never - know about Idorna.

“Hey,” Calix said gently, flopping down beside his brother, “hey, I will be home again before you know it. I promise - I will be back.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna be gone for so long. And, you can’t even contact me!” Ryker jumped up off the bed, his clenched fists bone-white around one of his pillow. “I won’t hear a word from you until Christmas! Christmas, Cal! Christmas!”

“I know,” Calix said apologetically, catching the pillow-missile his brother threw at him, “I know. I’m gonna miss you as much as you miss me!”

“Then don’t go… please….”

Calix, perched in the little reading nook by his bedside, filled with green and bronze cushions, ran his fingers over the carved feathers of his house’s pin, feeling the furrows and divots in the aureate metal.

He traced the features of the golden owl, memories of the morning crashing over his psyche like waves on rocks, his thoughts focused solely on his misty-eyed brother. ‘I’ll be back. I promise,’ Calix said over and over in his mind, until the sound of his roommate’s voice broke through his reverie.

Calix’s eyes drifted from the pin to Sam, who was staring at him while unpacking his clothes and books and belongings. The look in Sam’s eyes, a concerned scrutiny, told Calix that he’d missed something.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Calix said, shaking his head from side to side, “I was miles away. What did you ask me?”

“It’s okay. I know who’s on your mind. I was just asking you about your summer,” Sam said with a signature cheeky grin, taking a small potted-plant, covered with what looked like boils and warts rather than spines, from a silver box. “You said you were going to be working at St. Mong’s or Mung’s or something-or-other?”

Calix clucked his tongue as he watched his roommate carefully and delicately position the colourful Mimbulus mimbletonia - Sam’s pride and joy, which he happily boasted about for hours and hours - on his bedside locker.

Calix was more concerned with Sam’s caution around Mimbulus than the rarity of the species - it was a harmless plant, and heaven knows they had worked with far more vicious and fatal vegetation, but when prodded or poked stinksap was released from those pustules. Calix didn’t want his room smelling of rancid stinksap. Not on the first day. It was guaranteed to happen eventually though, even deliberately done to piss Calix off.

“St. Mungo’s, you tosser,” Calix said with a hearty laugh, bringing his knees close to his chest, “But, yeah, I was working there during the week, like every year. I was on the second floor, you know, working with magical bugs and diseases. It was pretty cool, really.”

Calix glanced back towards the window and watched the light slowly fade, casting a gorgeous glow over Old Aroon as the sun began to set below the horizon. “You know, I’m actually really happy to be back. Even though it was so hard saying goodbye to my brother. He started crying this time…”

“I know, dude, I know,” Sam said, joining Calix by the window, “But, it’s not forever. And, he knows you’re off doing good in the world, like…”

“Putting you back together whenever your hexes backfire?” Calix questioned playfully, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, “Or perhaps when you get bitten by an herb?”

“That only happened once and you know it wasn’t my fault!”

Calix cackled in delight at his friend’s outcry, rocking slightly as Sam pushed his shoulder in protest. 

When Sam made contact, Calix could feel his roommate’s heartbeat; he could feel the sudden blush, the flush of heat brought on by the memory; sense the sudden burst of adrenaline; taste the embarrassment and the anger coursing through his veins.

“You know damn well that wasn’t my fault! That was some stupid fresher’s fault. She shouldn’t have been anywhere near those tentacula plants - she could’ve gotten herself killed!”

“Didn’t she make it up to you?” Calix exclaimed, “In my bed if I remember correctly! You were too caught up in the moment to realise whose sheets you were getting your rocks off in!”

Sam shrugged his shoulders, his face a bright red: “I washed them afterwards, what are you complaining about? But, seriously, talking about the freshers…”

“What hex backfired this time?”

“Nothing backfired…”

“What hex backfired?”

“You say that with such contempt, like it’s a regular thing!”

“It is a regular thing.”

“Shut up! Are you gonna help or not, dude?”

Calix chuckled, throwing his head back: “You know, I always will.”

Sammy, smiling cheekily, lifted the corner of his shirt, pulling it up over his hip. The fabric slide across his skin revealing a ring of dark and painful bruises below his ribcage. “See, not that bad. It was just a stinging hex that went terribly wrong. I’d like them gone before I go chasing tail.”

Calix gave him an owl-eyed stare, full of knowing and understanding. Those marks were the ones that remained after the summer months, the haemorrhages and haematomas disappearing to leave only the tender reminders of past wrong-doings.

His caring nature took over though, and to the sound of Sammy’s summer escapades and his attempts to explain what his tie on the dormroom door meant, Calix patiently made ever mark disappear, ridding the first of many hex-related injuries this semester.

[welcometoidorna-blog]

Chapter Five: Calix

“Do you have to go... again?”

Calix sighed softly, leaning his head against the doorframe as he tried to muster the courage to say goodbye to his younger brother. He couldn’t miss his portal to Idorna, it was only open for a miniscule moment, but he was always pushing the margins of time.

Ryker’s meek whisper, full of realisation that the warm, summer days were over but undercut with a begging plea of indifference to the changing seasons, triggered a heart-flutter that left Calix feeling broken. His brother’s appeal cut deeper than any knife could, hurt more than any curse could, left scars like nothing else could.  

Every year, every August, Calix had to pack his bags and leave home. He never worried about his mother, trapped in her own mind; but he did worry frequently about his sister and almost everyday about his brother.

“Do St. Mungo’s really need to send you away again? Like, they’ve been sending you away ever since you got there,” Ryker protested innocently, “Can’t they just leave you on the second floor?”

“You know it doesn’t work like that, Ry,” Calix consoled, pushing himself away from the door and crossing the small bedroom to sit beside his brother. “It’s part of my training. I have to travel. Besides, I’ll be home for Christmas, won’t I?”

“Yeah. I suppose. You’ll be gone again when spring arrives, though.”

Ryker turned away, falling backwards onto the bed with an irritated sigh. He hated it when his brother left. His brother was the only one who didn’t care whether he was a wizard or not. His brother was the only one who accepted him just the way he was. He could never stomach the thought of Calix leaving - their last few days together would always make him sicker than he already was, though Calix did his best to make it easier.

It hurt Calix to lie to Ryker. Ryker knew all about Hogwarts. Ryker knew about St. Mungo’s. But, Ryker could never - would never - know about Idorna.

“Hey,” Calix said gently, flopping down beside his brother. He jabbed at Ryker, poking the side where his brother was most ticklish. “Hey. I will be home again before you know it. I promise. I will be back.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna be gone for so long. And, you can’t even contact me!” Ryker jumped up off the bed, his back ramrod straight, his clenched fists bone-white. He grabbed one of his pillows and hurled it at Calix. “I won’t hear a word from you until Christmas! Christmas, Cal! Christmas!”

“I know,” Calix said apologetically, catching the pillow in his hands, “I know. I don’t hear from you either, Ry! I’m gonna miss you as much as you miss me.”

“Then don’t go… please....”

Calix, perched in the little reading nook by his bedside, filled with green and bronze cushions, ran his fingers over the carved feathers of his house’s pin, feeling the furrows and divots in the aureate metal. The little hollow, where Calix filled the shelves with books, was a peaceful spot with a sweeping view of Gladur forest - it was Calix’s favourite place to relax in the evenings, with a warm cup of hot chocolate, a good book and a comfortable blanket wrapped around him.

He traced the features of the golden owl absentmindedly, his thoughts focused solely on his misty-eyed brother, who Calix had eventually reassured enough to let go for the semester. ‘I’ll be back. I promise,’ Calix said over and over in his mind, until the sound of his roommate’s voice broke through his reverie.

Calix’s eyes drifted from the pin to Sammy, who was staring at him while unpacking his clothes and books and belongings and arranging them in a neat and orderly fashion, meticulously and diligently placing each and every single object in the exact same spot they were placed before the end of semester.

The look in Samuel’s eyes, a concerned scrutiny, told Calix that he’d missed something.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Calix said, shaking his head from side to side, “I was miles away. What did you ask me?”

“It’s okay. I know who’s on your mind. I was just asking you about your summer,” Samuel said with a signature cheeky grin, taking a small potted-plant, covered with what looked like boils and warts rather than spines, from a silver box. “You said you were going to be working at St. Mong’s or Mung’s or something-or-other?”

Calix clucked his tongue as he watched his roommate carefully and delicately position the colourful Mimbulus mimbletonia - Samuel’s pride and joy, which he happily boasted about for hours and hours -  on his bedside locker.

Calix was more concerned with Samuel’s caution around Mimbulus than the rarity of the species - it was a harmless plant, and heaven knows they had worked with far more vicious and fatal vegetation, but when prodded or poked stinksap was released from those pustules. Calix didn’t want his room smelling of rancid stinksap. Not on the first day. It was guaranteed to happen eventually though, even deliberately done to piss Calix off.

“St. Mungo’s, you tosser,” Calix said with a hearty laugh, bringing his knees close to his chest, “But, yeah, I was working there during the week. I was on the second floor, you know, working with magical bugs and diseases - mostly interested in haematological malignancies and blood-borne illnesses, but I got quite a bit of experience in a lot of different areas. It was pretty cool, really.”

“Dude,” Samuel said, raising his hands, “I know we’re both nerdy, we’re Ibinas, but when you start talking about that shit, I start to completely zone out, okay?”

Calix laughed more, glancing back towards the window and watching the light slowly fade, casting a gorgeous glow over Old Aroon as the sun began to set below the horizon. “You know, I’m actually really happy to be back. Even though it was so hard saying goodbye to my brother. He started crying this time… he hates watching me go.” “I know, dude, I know,” Samuel said, joining Calix by the window, “But, it’s not forever. And, he knows you’re off doing good in the world, like…”

“Putting you back together whenever your hexes backfire?” Calix questioned playfully, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, “Or perhaps when you get bitten by a herb?”

“That only happened once and you know it wasn’t my fault!”

Calix cackled in delight at his friend’s outcry, rocking slightly as Samuel pushed his shoulder in protest.

“You know damn well that wasn’t my fault! That was some stupid fresher’s fault. She shouldn’t have been anywhere near those tentacula plants - she could’ve gotten herself killed!” “Didn’t she make it up to you!” Calix exclaimed, “On my bed if I remember correctly! You were too caught up in the moment to realise who’s sheets you were getting your rocks off in!”

Samuel shrugged his shoulders: “I washed them afterwards, what are you complaining about? But, seriously, talking about the freshers…”

“What hex backfired this time?”

“Nothing backfired…”

“What hex backfired this time?”

“You say that with such contempt, like it’s a regular thing!” “It is a regular thing.”

“Shut up! Are you gonna help or not, dude?”

Calix chuckled, throwing his head back: “You know, I always will.”

Sammy, smiling cheekily, lifted the corner of his shirt, pulling it up over his hip. The fabric slide across his skin revealing a ring of dark and painful bruises below his ribcage. “See, not that bad. It was just a stinging hex that went terribly wrong. I’d like them gone before I go chasing tail.” Calix gave him a owl-eyed stare, full of knowing and understanding. Those marks were the ones that remained after the summer months, the haemorrhages and haematomas disappearing to leave only the tender reminders of past wrong-doings.

His caring nature took over though, and to the sound of Sammy’s summer escapades and his attempts to explain what his tie on the dormroom door meant, Calix patiently made ever mark disappear, ridding the first of many hex-related injuries this semester.