#he was my 'men with long hair are hot' awakening ;-;

[lokisgoodgirl]

Five Times [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: An evening of psychological foreplay comes to a head. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki x Female Reader. Smut. Established relationship. Possessive/Soft Dom Loki. Non-toxic jealousy. Language. (w/c 1.6k)

“You look so ravishing, I can barely stand to ruin you-” Loki growls unconvincingly as he backs you against the bedpost.

The sweet tang of jealousy seeps from him, clinging to his skin and hair and wicked smile the way the black suit clings to his muscles.

“-But I will,” he promises darkly. It times perfectly to the press of his forearm against the wood above your head.

Before you can muster a response, his face is buried in your neck. Biting, pulling.

His angular jaw presses feverishly against your collarbone, licking and groaning against the skin. This is one of the ways, he has. One of the ways to be his. The deeper part of him that wants to feel he might lose you. It awakens the deepest part that knows he never could.

The sharp of his teeth graze against your pulse-point, and for a second, just a second, you think he might sink in with invisible fangs. Suck you dry, like the vampire you always suspected he might be. And what’s more, tonight you’d let him.

Five times, he'd tried to whisk you away at tonight’s event to take care of dark business in dark corners. And five times, you turned him down. Just as he had asked.

And each time, as instructed, you found one of the others to dance with. Steve, Bruce, Sam, Bucky, Scott. Winding your arms around their necks, running your hands down their chests. Five men, five dances. Pawns in you and your lover's elaborate foreplay. And each time, Loki’s cock had grown harder; concealed only by magic. Just.

His towering body is pressed flushed to yours. Every inch of your god from his dress shoes to the thick muscles straining against the collar of his shirt is in contact with your heated flesh. His stomach melds against your chest, the rise and fall of shallow breaths making you dizzy.

Loki’s hair falls like a veil, shielding you from a reality where anything exists but him. As if you could ever need anything else.

Hot breath and the settled musk of his cologne floods your nostrils in ragged, heavy pants. Possession soaks the hungry pull of his mouth over yours. The god’s lips are wet, a mix of his frantic kisses and the saliva welling in his mouth at the scent of you. The feel of you. The loss of you, if only for a moment.

No. Five moments. Frantically wandering hands find their way up your back, fingers digging beneath the tight back of your sultry gown. This dress cost a month’s salary, and he’s about to tear it right- -riiiiip Ruined fabric skates over your hips, fluttering to rest by your ankles. “Apologies,” he mutters unapologetically.

The god’s hands run up your waist, palming your breasts upwards. He stares at them, mouth hanging open. There’s a noise in his throat that’s an inhuman frequency. That could wake the dead and call them to his will. “Loki,” you whine needily, batting your lashes as his darkened eyes rise to meet your own. There is little of your sentimental lover in those eyes tonight. Tonight, he wants to fuck.

He growls again. It grows louder behind the clench of his teeth as his hands fly to his belt, undoing the buckle with uncharacteristic sloppiness. You begin to yank at his tie, loosening his collar and pulling it free. Loki smiles. It’s a cruel, close-lipped smile he saves for very special occasions these days. But his eyes sparkle.

In a flash, you are airborne. Loki has tossed you over the thick wooden end of the bedstead, and you land with a bounce on the mattress.

He chuckles darkly, pacing with aching slowness around the side. Long fingers toy with the porcelain buttons of his shirt. He un-pops one. And then two.

You shiver, the tension building in your body making you shake. “Lokiiii,” you whine again.

He looks through half-lidded eyes, the outline of his thick cock protruding against black suit trousers that are just a touch too tight. As always. You extend one leg, tracing his hard-on with your toes. The god tilts his head, releasing an impatient sigh. “Do not toy with me, woman” he breathes, sucking in air as you push your foot hard against the solid mass. “You’re toying with me, Laufeyson” you coo. It lights a fire behind his eyes. His chin lowers, dark tendrils falling sluttishly over the blades of his cheekbones. “Present yourself, then” he utters, laden with ceremony.

Holding eye-contact for as long as you can, you arrange yourself as instructed. On all fours. Loki groans behind you as you push your ass up, the inevitable slide of his palms over the round, soft flesh making you tremble. He squeezes firmly, and you feel his breath on your skin just for a moment, before his tongue traces the base of your spine. “My woman,” he murmurs against the curve. You hear the hum of a zipper, the gentle clink of metal as he brushes the buckle from its path. A moan of his name ruts from your throat, and the air in front of you shimmers. An ornate mirror melts into existence. It reveals your spread thighs, your breasts heaving and face inches from the mattress as you await Loki's reckoning.

He looms behind you, pushing his hair back with a rake of his fingers. It piles to one side, errant strands hanging and jutting from wild angles.

His shirt hangs open, exposing a sliver of taut milky skin. The bottom is untucked at the front, the back still holding its shape despite the splayed zipper exposing a flash of densely muscled hips.

In his hand he pumps his cock slowly. A bead of pre-cum glistens at the tip. He looks fucking devastating. And in the mirror, his eyes are fixed on yours.

“Say it, darling kvinne.” he orders quietly. “Fuck me, Loki...” you manage breathlessly. Wetness slips between your legs, and you realise with a shameful thrill that you’re humping air. “Fuck you?” he goads. He tuts. The god bites his lip, releasing it slowly with a slurping groan, pleasuring himself leisurely to the image of your desperation. “Not make love to you?” One brow cocks, awaiting your response. Your forehead dips to the mattress, sobbing in frustration as you gather silken bedsheets in your fists. The cool of his belt buckle presses to your ass, fingers curling around the base of your neck. He urges your face gently upwards, meeting your own eyes in the mirror. “Very well." he purrs. "Then fuck...we shall.” The fat head of Loki’s cock nudges against your sopping entrance, squelching. His ragged moan rips air as he squeezes inside, a thick vein which runs from the root of his manhood up the shaft dragging against your plump walls. “F-fuck. ” he curses as you cling on for dear life.

The joy of him filling you is instant, an utter satisfaction the like of which you’ve never known. Loki seats himself to the hilt, the dual sensation of his pubic hair and the leather belt slung around his hips making you clench.

“I warn you,” he gasps on the exhale, “I am unlikely to last. Not after tonight.” All you can managed is garbled praises as he begins to thrust.

Again and again, he bottoms out. His cock pulls against the lip of your pussy, nudging against the sticky entrance before sheathing tight once more. The gratuitously filthy words dripping from his tongue made even filthier by the rich velvet of his voice.

You can’t take your eyes off him in the mirror, chin tipped to the ceiling as he loses himself in your heavenly cunt. Loki’s fingertips dig into your hips, trembling with the effort of containing his strength.

He delves deeper, disgustingly sensual moans and whines escaping his throat as your arousal slips and slides against his cock. His thrusts are sloppy, desperate. The hard mass of his thighs slaps against the back of your own as he bucks, gyrates, consumes you from the centre of his masculinity.

He’s transfixed, staring down as he watches his slippery, throbbing member disappear inside you again and again. A delicate dangle of drool lands on the base of your spine. Loki is so close already. He won't last, he said. And he meant it. Strands of hair stick against his forehead, buffeting against the pants from his lips as he takes you over the side of his bed.

You grip the bedsheets tighter, losing yourself in his lust. The vein in his neck throbs, pulsing with the need to empty himself inside you. “No one,” he gasps as his hips shake at your back end. “No one, f-ucks you-” He lets out a strangled moan, moist cotton-clad stomach moulding to your back, “no-one fucks you but me. ” “N-no-one,” you cry, voice shaking as climax begins to rattle through your core. “Loki...oh, f-fuck, Loki yes..uhh-god, f-fuckk-” You look up, just as his eyes close to the world and his face flushes pink. The god’s neck is straining, the clench of his jaw and the bulge of his throat pushing you over the edge. He straightens, fingertips digging into your hips as climax thunders through him.

Loki’s jaw hangs, brows peaked as you feel the force of his load explode deep inside your cunt. A roar of your name fills the air. Erratic thrusts continue in the mess, milking himself inside your ripe heat that blossoms only for him. “Only for me...” he rumbles breathlessly as your eyes meet in the mirror.

His stomach curls against your back again, one hand sliding up the curve of your breasts, fingers curling around your jaw. A digit slips into your mouth. You suck.

“Only for you.” you echo, muffled against the finger resting on your tongue. And behind you, Loki smiles.

"One down, four to go." he whispers.

Tags (contd in comments) @wavyhairedvixen @lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @buttercupcookies-blog

[miupow]

[ 7:45 pm ] - c. seungcheol

── ★ [ 💭 ] NSFW, MDNI! pure smut, dom!cheol, sub!fem!reader, oral (f. rec), voyeurism + exhibitionism, jeonghan and joshua mention, nasty nasty filth. 700 words

based on a request from my beloved @the-quiet-nerd-guy ♡

“cheol, the door—!” you gasp, hand desperately grasping seungcheol’s hair as he nuzzled your breasts. he blinks his pretty brown eyes up at you, gaze soft as a caress, so lovestruck and innocent for his dirty actions; tired of your teasing, in a second he had pulled you through the door and folded in half on the mattress, his thick arms caging you flush against his chest and his rough hands quick in tearing you out of your clothes. with your body bare and your legs slung over his shoulders, seungcheol presses wet kisses across the flushed peaks of your tits, pink tongue peaking out to tease at your puffy nipples before skating across your hot skin. you tangle your fingers in the hairs at the base of his neck, whimpering desperately as he begins to mark his way down your chest and tummy with pretty purple bruises.

in his rush to get you alone seungcheol had left the door wide open, soft light from the living room shining and illuminating your figures. it was something he was often guilty of, and something you normally wouldn’t mind, but jeonghan and joshua sat just feet away on the couch, blissfully unaware of where seungcheol had dragged you off to and for why. you could hear their muffled voices chatting amongst themselves, too low to understand, and a surprisingly delicious thrill runs hot in your belly from the mischievous smirk seungcheol gives you in response to your whining.

“what about the door, honey?” he croons, deep voice dripping with poisonous honey. One of his big calloused hands sears a path down your trembling stomach to the soft swell of your hips, his pouty lips hot and heavy as they make their way down below your navel. his kisses were always overflowing with a tantalizing possessiveness, a sense of worship that overwhelmed you in the best way. you couldn’t control your pathetic keen of pleasure, tugging urgently at his hair as you throw your head back against the pillows— you desperately wanted to keep quiet, but it was impossible with how seungcheol so effortlessly flooded your body with red hot desire.

“cheol,” you cry out again, your rushed whispers squeaky and broken with arousal. “close the door, they’ll hear—!”

“and i what if i want them to?” seungcheol cuts you off, his head finally dipping down to nose at your soaking cunt, ghost the plush of his lips against your swollen clit. “want them to hear how good i give it to you… you’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? other men listening in on you getting fucked?”

seungcheol’s confession shoots through you like a shockwave, leaves your thighs trembling and your chest heaving— you had not an inkling of an idea that your sweet, gentle and protective boyfriend had such a nasty mind, would ever entertain even the thought of other men in witness to your pleasure… but the idea awakens an all-consuming fire in your belly, one that heats up your skin and drenches your core. “cheol—“ you cry out again, breathless and begging, your thoughts too fragmented to utter anything else except his name.

the long thick fingers that had been caressing over your hip slides down to rub sweet circles against your weeping clit, tease down between your folds to collect your dripping slick. “fuck, i knew you were a slut,” seungcheol hisses, dirty words juxtaposing his loving smile. “would you want them to watch, too? want them to watch you get treated like a whore?” he roughly kisses your clit, slips two of his fingers into your throbbing pussy. your walls clench around them instantly, the stretch nowhere near enough for the rising arousal clouding your senses. “my whore. all mine. let’s let them hear you scream for me, honey.”

his tongue meets his fingers fucking into your messy hole, the wet noises clashing with the ringing in your ears; you wail for release, your hand not tangled in seungcheol’s hair grasping at the bedsheets as your boyfriend begins to eat you out in earnest. you distantly hear the floorboards creak, adjacent to footsteps, and a sickeningly large part of you hopes that it’s jeonghan and joshua.

[andypantsx3]

idk when i will write this (i'm calling dibs on this set up btw) but i have a "there is only one bed" scene living in my head rn, where like shouto & bakugou are on a joint secret mission and somehow you fall into it, some random civilian they've picked up along the way and are forced to drag along for your own safety.

night falls and bakugou's gotten you the last room at some seedy motel that lets you pay all cash, and no one is pleased when the room is dingy and so small that it's taken up entirely by the bed. the one singular bed, that is.

"the brat sleeps in the middle, i'm not cuddling up to your candy cane ass," bakugou tells shouto gruffly.

shouto ignores him, watching you closely instead.

"i will take the floor if it makes you uncomfortable," he offers, the consummate gentleman. he's been the kindest of the two of them, throughout this whole ordeal, the one who'd pulled you out of the way just as you were about to be cremated. something in your heart clenches at the thought of him cold and alone on the dirty carpet.

"it's fine," you tell him, heart in your throat.

a tiny smile quirks his mouth, and bakugou scoffs behind you. you haven't known bakugou long, but you know enough to guess he's rolling his eyes.

it's quiet as everyone readies for bed, bakugou claiming the first shower. shouto takes the time to reorganize his pack and you help him divide up everything in the minibar between the three of you, everyone ravenous after the events of the day.

it's a relief to wash the grime off of you too, finally clean again after days. you're loath to redress in your same filthy clothes, but you have nothing else. you scrub the worst patches of grime off in the sink, resigned to a couple damp spots, before nervously making your way back into the bedroom.

you can smell the cheap hotel shampoo in bakugou's hair as you settle down between the two men, feel the heat of shouto's body next to you, still damp from his shower. there's barely two inches of space between you and either of them, the bed meant for two, not three.

"you better not fuckin' kick in your sleep," bakugou tells you, his voice a low rasp in your ear. you suppress a shiver at how close he is, but even that can't stop the way you roll your eyes in the dark.

"i'll aim towards you," you say, unable to help yourself. you can feel the exhale of his snort on the back of your neck, and you can't quite tell if it's amused or displeased.

shouto is the first to drift off, his quiet breaths growing even and deep and steady. you can just see the faint smudge of his long lashes fanning over his cheeks in the dim. he looks just as beautiful asleep as he does when he's awake, and your own cheeks warm at the idea of sharing a bed with this man. both of these men. bakugou is beautiful too, even if he's obnoxious.

you think bakugou is still awake when you finally manage to drift off too, but you're the first to awaken, the silver-grey fingers of early morning light barely sneaking beneath the drawn curtains.

in the night all three of you have drifted closer—much closer than is proper. you're wedged securely between them both, shouto a long, hot line against your back, bakugou's chest firm against yours. you're so close that you can feel both of their chests rise and fall as they breathe, feel the tickle of shouto's breath against your neck, bakugou's against your temple.

one of shouto's hands is fitted to your hip. you can feel the impression of every single one of those long, elegant fingers warm against your skin. one of bakugou's muscular thighs is wedged between yours, too, your legs tangled. it's hot between the two men—you can feel your skin dampening with the heat of their bodies.

you don't dare move, nerves—and something horrifyingly more pleasant—pooling in your gut. you lay like that for a long time, eyes closed, heart pounding, until bakugou shifts, rolling over and awakening with a groan. once he's reoriented himself, you feel him shove shouto off of you, too, cussing him out in a low, raspy tone, rough from sleep.

the cold where their warm bodies once pressed against you is a physical impression of the absence—and you think you feel the loss of their proximity far more keenly than you should.

[sukunas-wife]

Sealed Pt. 5

first try 😎 (5th really)

1 / 2 / 3 / 4

It didn’t take long to buy what you needed, but your funds were running low. Which led you to believe it was a good time to return to the temple you had opened, immediately after opening the doors there was a line of women and children. It didn’t take long as you started to go through them all, “blessing” pregnant women and healing sick children. Grateful women who couldn’t bear children or didn’t want to lose their children were more than willing to pay any price for healing. You’d been there almost all night when you felt an all too familiar presence. Your back was to the door but you turned looking over your shoulder. There he stood, tall, pale, long black hair and black robes. You turned completely to face him, “You must be Lady Y/n of the Shrine, I’ve heard so many stories of how you… help people, I’m curious of how you do it.”

Kenjaku, those stitches on his forehead would give him away easily to anyone who had common sense. “Sorry men aren’t allowed in the Shrine, with the exception of my husband and son.”

“You have a husband and son?” His face was smiling in disbelief, you didn't trust him even if he and Sukuna had chatted more than a few times he always left an uneasy feeling in your stomach. “Yes but that’s not important , so tell me why you’re really here. I get the feeling you're not leaving so easy.” He hummed, shrugging his shoulders, “I came looking for something. You have it and I might need it. So one sorcerer to another we both know what you have that’s helping you so much, it was awakened when Ryomen Sukuna was reincarnated. Do you know who that is or did you stumble across this little artefact and decide to keep it for yourself.” You watched his hand move from his sleeve holding up one of Sukuna’s fingers. Unamused, you looked away, “Sorry to tell you the only thing I see is a rotting dismembered finger, if you're not here to benefit both of us please leave.” You tried to wave him off but persisted in following you, Morí put himself between the both of you so you didn’t bother to look back at him. “I’ll give you one warning, you give me whatever you took and I’ll leave. But if I have to take it myself-“

He was cut off feeling hot liquid run down his face, your hand held up over your shoulder, “This is your warning, there won’t be a next one.” The sound of his skull cap hitting the floor was disturbing, Morí wanted to gag at the sight of the brain exposed. “That was a mistake.” You turned around your robes ruffled noisily “No! You turning your back when RYOMEN WAS BETRAYED WAS A MISTAKE KENJAKU, your damn lucky you have that binding vow and that he never found out the truth you two faced coward, I used to think you changed bodies so frequently because you actually had a plan. It turns out you're just lowly scum and your intentions were never clear, you’re a coward and when things become difficult in one life you’d just pop someone’s else’s skull open and go for a joy ride until it’s all used up.”

You saw those Fox like eyes light up followed by that unhinged smile, “Well if it isn’t Mrs.Ryomen Sukuna, I heard the rumours you escaped the prison realm, I just couldn’t believe it.” You felt your lip twitch like you were going to bare your teeth, “Believe it, I’m free and don’t think I’m here to support your silly little flip flop grill cheese bullshit plan. I’m also not going to join your little club of misfit cursed wombs and deranged psychopaths. I’m here for Ryomen and my son, if you do anything to hurt either of them I swear on your life Kenjaku I’ll be the one pulling you out of that man’s skull and making sure you never find another life. I have my plans already and I don’t need you.” He seemed displeased, “That’s the problem here Y/n, your wedding vows can’t do a thing to break a binding vow.”

You laughed “That’s the thing Kenny, you two made a binding vow, Tyler’s say there’s this cute little red string tying to Ryomen, you can both push and pull in the same direction as long as the rope never breaks. But, what happens if a third party comes in and manages to cut that string.” Your head tilted with a passive smile, “Get out.”

————-

“Alright Mama-dori, it's time for little Itadori to go out on his own on a mission!” Gojo seemed excited about breaking this news to you. You couldn’t have given him a more bewildered look. “What do you mean on a mission?” Mori was by your side taking the cracking tea cup from your hand before it shattered over the tea table. “Think of it as a field mission … erm Lady Y/n.” Your face didn’t change much while you were staring him down, he could swear he’s seen that look before. “Where’s it going to happen…?”

He gave you a mischievous smile, “Well if I told you how do I know you wouldn’t interfere.” “If you didn't, what makes you think I wouldn’t find Yuji on my own.” Your smug smile didn’t go unnoticed. “Good luck finding us then.”

———

It didn’t take long of you spending your day at home lazing about waiting for Yuji to come back, you weren’t held captive in this dingy little house but you started to wonder if this is what Sukuna felt like now that you understood he was trapped inside of Yuji

“Mooriiiiii”….. “hm.” “MoorIIIIIIII” “I’m sorry?” “MORI.” You finally lifted your head from being laid out on the cushions on the floor, Mori sighed with a sympathetic smile, closing the book he constantly kept your records and plans in. “Yes Lady Y/n?” You rolled over laying your head on the pillow not looking at him anymore, “I miss- Yuji? Or is it your husband this time?” You fell silent huffing and burying your face into the pillow “bof” Mori shook his head with a small smile at your muffled speech. “We’ve talked about this Lady Y/n, if you do want both of them back they really do need to know the truth.” You moved around so the side of your face was on the pillow and you could just barely see Mori looking at you from the tea table, “Do you know how difficult it’s going to be to explain to Sukuna he was reincarnated into his son that he now sees he’s being held hostage in?” Mori’s eyes didn’t leave your face as you watched a ladybug crawl past you, “But he recognizes you even without your cursed presence Lady Y/n…”

Finally you sat up looking at him, “Do you wanna know a secret Morinozuka? Something almost no one else knows?” He seemed uneasy at the thought, hesitating as you continued, “I’ll have to kill you if you ever tell anyone else but do you know why I lived so long? Why don't I age? Look at us Morino, you were a child when I found you all those years ago. You’ve grown, look at me, I have the same face and appearance as the day we met.” You held your hand out to him, he took it in his looking over the back of it, he remembered your hands well. When he was a child you gave him that motherly love of wiping away his tears, he’d take your hand whenever he’d get scared walking in public. He watched you fill out every paper, he admired the way you would heal people, but he always noticed how people’s hands changed with their age, but your hands were the same as the day he met you. “You haven’t aged Lady Y/n but I can’t tell why.”

“I’m a curse Mori, there’s a beautiful story behind how I became a curse” he watched how you smiled looking at your hand, he watched a mark form over your finger, “But that’s a story for another time!” You were quick to get up, “Let’s make something to eat. I doubt Gojo’s not going to feed them so we can eat at least.”

It didn’t take long for You and Mori to throw together a hot pot with meatballs. You were serving Mori who insisted he should be serving you, “oh be quiet Mori I didn’t take care of you for years for you to take care of every little thing I do now, now eat.” He huffed and started to eat watching as you started to serve yourself, it was when you were about to eat your own meal Yuji busted into your new home excited to tell you about everything. Mori caught your food as Yuji tackled you in a hug “Mom you should’ve seen us it was so cool we…” he paused looking at the table where you had set up the pot of broth. “Oh you were eating, sorry.” You watched as he smiled sitting back on his heels rubbing the back of his head with a big shy smile. You couldn’t help but smile at him, “cmon sit I’ll serve you some if you want and you can tell us how your… field test went.” He sat cross legged beside you leaning against your shoulder rambling and stuffing his face telling you about the revolving sushi and this Girl Kugisaki he and Fushiguro met. You laughed hearing how he whined that she sighed after just looking at them. You leaned your head on his and he kept talking, you listened to every word until he eventually fell asleep in your lap.

You looked down at him, your sweet boy, until you saw that eye open up, and a mouth form, it was a soft call and out of character, “Y/n.” You looked at him, Ryomen, “Ryo…” you saw the malicious smile on his face “If this brat trusts you so much I think you could do a little talking and get me out of here don’t you?” He watched and you smiled, shaking your head, crinkling your nose, “Reincarnated not too long ago and you're already making bigger plans…” your smile fell “what the hell was that where are the women and children moving about anyways hm?”

He looked away making a “face” “I don’t know what you're talking about woman, must’ve misheard….” “Mhm.” He looked back at you before looking away, “It’s been lonely you know…” you leaned down pressing a kiss to Sukuna’s “cheek”, he didn’t bother trying to fight you, “I know it’s been lonely you’ve been locked up for centuries Ryo.” He hummed, before looking at you upset “What are you doing HERE Y/n! Why would you surround yourself with these sorcerers and this brat? Who is this brat? WHYS HES SLEEPING ON YOUR LAP!?” Yuji stirred and you rubbed his head, you should send him to sleep in his dorm, “Ryomen-“ you gave him a look, he rolled his eye, “as much as you’d hate to hear this, Yuji Itadori is our so- mm, hmm?” Yuji sat up rubbing his eyes, “What time is it?” He yawned and all you saw was Sukuna squinting at Yuji before disappearing.

“It’s 10:40 Yu,” you started to stand up, “You should go sleep in your dorm so Gojo to Fushigumi don’t freak out if you're missing.”

He laughed, “Fushigumi.” He’s gonna love that one.” He stood up from the ground stretching and yawning before he squeezed you in a hug, “Gnight mom I’ll see you tomorrow.”

————-

“Hm, it’s July… I wonder if Yuji will want to go watch the fireworks later this month…” you yawned leaning against the post on the porch of the little home. The afternoon sun shining on your face, eyes closed, head resting back against the post. Ungratefully one leg was propped up the other was swinging off the porch just barely grazing the grass, the vibrant red of your robes shining bright. The shoji doors were open wide with fly nets set up, futons were airing out for when you wanted to laze about on the porch or in the living room on the floor, Morí had gotten tired of watching you throw all the cushions in a pile just to complain when you were on the floor and the cushions wouldn’t stay still. You heard him hum still scribbling away, you looked over picking up the hand fan laying at your side, “This was my wedding fan, did you bring it?” Morí hummed again “you said bring ALL your precious belongings when we first left the temple I assumed since it was wrapped in fine linen and in a red wooden box it was preserved for a reason. Then I saw a painting in your temple and it all made sense, Lady Y/n.” You waved it around unceremoniously watching the little charms sway around, “Lady Y/n… was Ryomen Sukuna really your husband?”

“Is he really my husband" is what you mean, he still is my husband even after all these years being forced apart…” you paused looking down on the school, “…he’s my husband…surprisingly he was different then to now. I still love him regardless, he gave me his heart and I gave him mine, sure the wedding vows today would probably sound occult but I was his he was mine, it took years to be comfortable by his side and then we he’s our first child, Yuj-” Morí watched the panicked look on your face, when you pulled your sleeve up grabbing your arm where your binding vow has marked you. He watched you squeeze the muscle hissing through gritted teeth, “Yuji.” It sounded like a forced grunt. He watched you cough from trying to bear the pain, it stopped and you let go, you were visibly confused “Lady Y/n what- I don’t know” you cut him off, “that’s never happened before.” You watched as the mark became a lighter colour almost blending into your skin then you understood, “I NEED TO FIND YUJI.”

———

“….s..Go..” You couldn’t get the words out, you wanted to scream at Satoru, you wanted everyone to die and it filled the room the moment he didn’t let you enter and you forced your way in to see your son laying on the cold metal bed. He was stripped bare with a gaping hole in his chest, the woman in a lab coat and Gojo watched you walk right past them. You could still feel a faint lingering of Sukuna’s cursed energy. Your hand moved up slowly taking Yuji's. He was so cold. The hand you squeezed as a child, the tiny chubby hands that wiped your tears “It’s okay mommy!” The hands you held onto walking him to school, you shook your head, tears in your eyes, it’s always these damn sorcerers who are so prideful in what they do they try to play heroes and fix the world. Putting the lives of others at expense even if it means they’ll only save one or two people. Your hand trailed up his arm fingertips brushing over where your binding vow was disappearing. “Some proud jujutsu sorcerer you must be.” You could feel Gojo’s stare, having ignored all his rambling but knowing he was upset.

“My son is dead at the expense of what Satoru Gojo?”

Your hair fell over your face when your tears started to fall, ducking your head down feeling like your chest and shoulders were curling in on you. You placed your hand on his chest and it felt like everything changed. You weren’t in that room, you were standing in an all too familiar place.

“Oh,” you felt the heat in your cheeks rising when you heard Ryomen’s voice, “Well if it isn’t my pretty little wife finally coming to visit me hm?” He was behind you, his left arm lazily wrapped around your waist the right around your shoulder so his hand could hold your jaw, he turned your face to look back and up at him. His eyes were lidded and smiled down at you, “Ryomen…” he moved in closer, his lips ghosting over yours, “y/n.” He closed the gap kissing you, he could feel the way you broke out and smiled against his lips, it made him crack his own smile when you tried to hold back your giggles. You were so happy to be able to see him after so long, “Ryo.” You pulled away and he frowned slightly looking at you, “what- LET GO OF HER-“

All you saw was Sukuna grabbing Yuji’s fist and throwing him and sending him flying into the liquid a distance away. “Oh Yuji..”

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[angelsyd]

The new boy I jjk

masterlist

!! all characters are of age !!

summary: a new student arrives at your school. all the girls are yearning for him and he loves it. but little do you know, he just wants you.

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: smut

word count: 1k

warnings: mature themes, objectification, public s3x, insecurity, choking, degradation, unprotected s3x, daddy k!nk, hair pulling,

note: took a break because i had a pregnancy scare, but we’re all good now ! :D

___

You sat at your desk, it was a usual weekday morning. Your math teacher was rambling on about something to do with statistics. It was too early and boring to pay attention, so you hid your phone and scrolled away. 

A few moments later, there was a knock on the door. Mrs. Yoon called them in and everyone's heads turned towards the unfamiliar man. He was hot. You felt heat rise in your cheeks and quickly turned away, avoiding embarrassment.

Of course, you've seen other good-looking men before, but his guy was so attractive it made you lose any ounce of dignity in your body.

“Ah, you must be our new student,” Mrs. Yoon said “Go on and introduce yourself”

He chewed on the metal ring in his lip before speaking “Hey, my name’s Jungkook” 

She gestured for him to take a seat and continued on with the lesson. You heard two girls behind you whisper about his body. If it wasn't already hard enough to focus in class, it is now.

The past few days you’ve been a mess, searching for a glimpse of him in the hallways, ‘accidentally’ bumping shoulders in the lunch line.

He didn’t seem to pay any mind to you. You had seen him in conversations with other girls, he’d let them run their painted fingers over his inked skin. But for you he couldn’t care less.

It made you angry. You knew you were just as desirable as any of these other girls, so why didn’t he want you?

Next morning you made sure you weren’t going to be invisible to anyone.

You walked the halls in a pair of bootcut jeans that framed your ass perfectly and a long sleeve shirt that was just low enough in the front. It was much different than your usual casual look.

You wanted to look hot and within dress code.

As you roamed you caught the glances of guys trailing behind you. And stink faces from the girls who felt on Jungkook yesterday.

You kept trying to spot him so you could show off, but he wasn’t in sight.

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt a warm breath on your ear.

“you look so sexy”

His voice nearly made you melt. You almost didn’t notice his strong hands dragging you into the supplies closet.

He shut the door, locking it. You worried about if anyone saw you two, but his lips on yours tossed that thought far away.

Jungkook’s lips tasted just as you imagined. Honey and the slight metallic of his piercing. It was intoxicating.

Your back hits the table in the corner of the small room. He grabs your ass and places you on it, standing in between your legs.

He unbuttoned your jeans and yanked them off. A firm hand wrapped around your neck and he whispered in your ear once again.

“you thought dressing like a little slut would get my attention huh?”

You whimpered at his question, lightly embarrassed that he knew your intentions.

“well now you’re getting all of it” he added with a sly smirk on his face.

His fingers moved down to your clit, rubbing it in circles. You moaned loudly at the sudden contact, but he covered your mouth firmly.

You looked up at him with eyes gleaming and rolling in pleasure. Seeing you look so helpless under his touch awakened something primal inside him.

In one swift motion, he turns you around and bends you over the table. You could feel his breath getting heavier as he pulls down his pants.

You look back and see him palming himself through the thin fabric of his underwear. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes and bit his lip.

You could see the outline of his dick and swallow at the thought of it being inside you. The ache in between your legs grew needier as time went on.

You knew he was delaying it just to tease you, wanting you to beg him to fuck you. So you decided to play along and satisfy your desires.

"Please, I need you,"

Your tone was a breathy moan, your best attempt at showing Jungkook how much you want him. His eyebrows raised slightly at your begging and inched closer to your ear.

"Who do you need, baby?"

You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke softly to you. He was waiting for you to break and beg for his length. By the way he acted, you knew exactly what he wanted you to say.

"You daddy"

"Good girl"

He gripped your hips roughly, placing his tip at your dripping entrance. You whimpered at the suspense, and that only made him more excited to feel your tight walls wrapped around his dick.

With one hard thrust, he enters you. You didn't get any time to adjust to his size, so you just grit your teeth and bared it.

The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping together and moans of pleasure. Neither of you seemed to care anymore about others' hearing, you can worry about it later.

You felt his hand graze your back and up to your scalp. He grabbed a fist full of hair and yanked your head back. Sweet moans escaped your mouth at the feeling, euphoria building up in your stomach.

Your walls clenched around his dick, making him suck in a breath. Your back began to arch and you became a quivering mess, cuming all over his shaft.

Jungkook's groans sounded louder and his thrust became sloppier after seeing you burst under him.

He pulled out and you brought yourself to your knees in front of him. He pumped his dick quickly, keeping the tip close to your face.

He groaned and released himself all over your face and breast. You stuck your tongue out, the hot liquid tasted sweet and a little salty.

Once he finished he look down at you, chest heaving. He pulled you off the ground and wrapped his arms around your body.

“I’ve only had my eyes on you”

[anastaaaaaaasia]

The First Queen

Aegon II Targaryen x niece!Reader

Important notice: in this series reader has features of Ser Harwin, including Brown hair and tone of skin.

Next chapter

Prologue

Warnings: mention of blood, children (who knows)

Chaos.

The room was in chaos. Maids ran from one corner to another, midwives bended over the princess's body on the bed. The smell of sweat, blood and milk of the poppy mixed into one stench that was nastier than the smell in the farthest corners of Flea Bottom. The sounds were no better. The rustling of sheets, the maester's stern instructions and the screams of Princess Rhaenyra.

It was a hot summer day in King's Landing, so the windows were wide open. Those inhabitants of the Red Keep who decided to take a walk near the Godswood were unlucky, the windows from the maternity room just looked out there. Few people knew, but at the moment of the most desperate screams, the dragon Syrax also screamed several miles away.

Outside the walls of the room, in the corridors of the red castle, there was also chaos. Maids brought new potions while others ran around looking for new towels. When the door opened and a maid began to carry out bloody sheets in a wicker basket, Ser Laenor staggered and abruptly closed Jace's eyes. Although the boy is only a year old, he could not allow his son to see this picture.

Queen Alicent shrugged when she saw the number of towels and sheets in a bloody color. All of her births were relatively easy and it was unusual and frightening to see this. Any woman in the Seven Kingdoms knew that while men fight on the battlefield in armor and with swords in their hands for gold, fame and new lands, women fight on the birth bed with maesters and midwives, for their lives and the lives of their children.

Alicent was rocking the newly born Aemond at this time; the chubby-cheeked boy was calm enough for his age. One-year-old Heileina was busy with a toy dragon figurine her father had given her. The young princess babbled happily as the toy appeared in her view.

At this time, her father was trying to distract himself from his thoughts. He saw such a picture not so long ago, a couple of years ago. When Viserys met long-awaited son. When he made a decision that still haunts him in the darkness of the night. When he lost his wife Aemma. Just the thought of the possible loss of his daughter brought back all the darkest images and awakened what King Viserys tried so desperately to forget, but never could. The ruler of Westeros decided that if the maesters asked to make a choice in favor of a mother or a child, he would do everything to ensure that Laenor named his wife, no matter what.

Everyone was busy with their own worries, so no one noticed how the young prince, the first son of the king, entered the room after the maid. The boy hid behind the closet when a couple of moments later the room was filled with children's cries. He carefully looked out from behind the furniture and saw that the master was holding a new member of the family. They were covered in mucus and blood. Then Aegon thought how disgusting little children were. He might never even get close to Aemond, who knows, maybe he too suddenly becomes like this. No one wants to be dirty in this mixture, especially the young prince.

Then he looked at his older sister, she was lying there and smiling. Rhaenyra stopped screaming as if she had been eaten by a dragon. Now she was lying and waiting for the first meeting with her child.

“It’s a girl, princess,” said the master. Then he placed the newborn in the hands of the princess. She smiled and stroked her new daughter's cheek. This action caused a sudden burst of laughter from the little girl. And then Aegon looked further than he should have.

A sudden gasp from one of the maids caught the attention of everyone in the room, and Aegon turned to see the maid looking straight at him. Then the young prince realized that he was in trouble. He smiled guiltily and tried to hide his eyes.

“My prince, the birthing room is not a place for men,” said the master and ordered that the boy be taken to his parents.

“But you are here, and you don’t look like a female maester, unless you are hiding something from us,” the prince smiled, and devils danced in his eyes. The princess grinned and interrupted the slightly indignant maester.

“Dear little brother, may I ask, what are you doing here?” Rhaenyra looked at her four-year-old brother. The boy didn’t know what to answer and just stood there, then he shrugged and looked at his sister.

"Do you want to see her?" Rhaenyra broke the silence and pointed to the little girl in her arms. Aegon took a couple of steps to the bed and, with the help of his sister, climbed onto it. Big eyes looked at him, he couldn’t understand what color they were.

Perhaps he had not yet learned its name; playing with the sword was much more interesting than sitting in the chambers with the maester and listening to his boring sayings.

He also saw that her skin was slightly bluish. He remembered that Aemond also had a bluish tint, but after a couple of weeks he became pinker and ruddier. The next feature of her appearance was a pair of brown hairs, which he had never seen in his family. Aegon knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t explain it, and it didn’t matter to him. His nephew, Jace, was also dark-haired, and Aegon had sometimes heard his mother complain about it. He honestly didn't understand why Queen Alicent was worried about his hair color. It's just a color, isn't it?

Aegon wanted to touch reaching up to the girl’s plump cheeks, but suddenly froze, looking at his sister, mentally asking permission. Rhaenyra nodded warmly, and the little prince touched his cheek. It felt like the softest fluff, the newborn smiled her toothless smile and Aegon smiled back. Suddenly the girl squeezed the toddler's finger into her fist and started laughing.

“She seems to like you,” said the princess.

“What is her name?” Aegon asked his sister. Rhaenyra didn't know what to answer. She didn't discuss women's names. Yes, she always wanted to name her sister Visenya, but the wound from the loss of her mother and all her shattered dreams was still fresh. She didn't know what to answer and then looked at the young prince.

“What do you want to call her?”

Aegon thought only for a couple of seconds, because he knew the answer to this question. There was a name he loved and it intrigued him. How melodious it sounds and rolls off the tongue. He heard this name during lessons with the master, he was almost asleep, but when he heard the name he suddenly woke up. It was something from Andal legends.

“Y/N,” Aegon said proudly and smiled, the girl also smiled and drooled a few times. A few got on his hand and the young prince shook them off contemptuously. Rhaenyra just laughed at that.

"Sometimes children do disgusting things," Aegon declared.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Lauren Bacall (To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Key Largo)—"Just put your lips together...and blow" excuse me ma'am i'm briefly going to turn into a kettle. She's the quintessential Femme Fatale who may betray me in the end but I'd let her it'd be worth it

Gloria Grahame (It's a wonderful life, Oklahoma, Human desire, The Cobweb)—I'm just going to link to this Film Comment article by Donald Chase, who makes the argument more eloquently than I can, although I think Grahame's Ado Annie is more than just the 'flirtatious goofus' he offhandedly describes her as. Between that role and Violet Bick in 'It's a Wonderful Life" she's played two of cinemas best irrepressibly horny ladies. That would be legacy enough for our hot vintage queen, but she is also GLORIOUS in 'In a Lonely Place' and consistently pulls focus from her co-star Humphrey Bogart, famously one of the most charismatic leading men of his day. I think she had even more, and hotter, chemistry with him than he ever had with Lauren Bacall, which is saying a lot I know. Anyway, your honor I love her and I want her to win it all.

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Lauren Bacall:

"She is soooo neat. And hot. And everything. That one scene in To Have and Have Not where she says "you know how to whistle don't you? You just put your lips together and blow" altered my brain chemistry during media archaeology class and here we are."

"Lauren Bacall was a major lesbian awakening for me. Every picture of her makes it look like she’s about to destroy you physically and emotionally (why is that so hot, I may need help). She had incredible long running chemistry with her husband, Humphrey Bogart, but was an absolute star in her own right. I’ll never be over my crush on her."

"She's got that confident, no-nonsense air about her. She's a boss babe who knows what she wants and gets it DONE. Staunch liberal Democrat her whole life. Campaigned for RFK. From Wikipedia: "In a 2005 interview with Larry King, Bacall described herself as "anti-Republican... A liberal. The L-word". She added that "being a liberal is the best thing on Earth you can be. You are welcoming to everyone when you're a liberal. You do not have a small mind."" Beautiful hair. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful lips. She's just beauty. LISTEN TO HER VOICE. TELL ME THAT'S NOT THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF."

"HER VOICE. Like yeah, she was absolutely stunning but oh my god, I'm obsessed with her voice"

"A gorgeous lady inside and out. One half of an absolute power couple with Humphrey Bogart, tended to him and other actors suffering from malaria whilst filming the African Queen, generally radiated grace and poise throughout her life. Also her last role was in Family Guy so she needs justice for that"

"The VOICE, the SLINK, the EYES. Woof."

"She was stunning. Tall and beautiful with a distinctive voice and able to carry her own in a male dominated field. She won the heart of millions, including one of Hollywood's most iconic leading men, Humphrey Bogart. Their story was the stuff of legends, and the chemistry between them was apparent in the multiple films they started in together. She personified the film noir dame and yet she also adapted as Hollywood changed. Her career spanned decades, and she was honored multiple times."

Gloria Grahame:

Absolute Hollywood vamp, who had a fine comedic bone. Died far too young and was depicted by Annette Bening in the stellar Film Stars Don't Die in Liverpool

I’ve heard she’s horrendously miscast in Oklahoma (I have not seen it), so if you’re coming in with that framework PLEASE set that aside because gods does this woman shine in a NOIR!! She plays the battered woman more than a full on fatale, but she manages to bring interesting nuance to characters who are written as mere sultry divergences! Also: she’s sultry and an EXCELLENT divergence

She could do sexy, sweet and sinister in the same breath. She was crazy talented and had that lisp that melts me every time.

[genshinluvr]

Burning Desire 4

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader (Al Haitham x Isekai'd!Reader)

Summary: Awaken from your slumber due to the burning pit in your stomach, you decide to take a shower early morning, hoping it will cool you off. After your shower, you leave your bedroom to see a shirtless Al Haitham reading a book at your desk. You weren't sure why Al Haitham is in your bedroom, but he has his reasons for visiting you.

Note: I've been busy dealing with some things outside of my fanfics, and I haven't been able to type as much as I would like. Therefore, Al Haitham's smut is a bit shorter than the previous routes in the Burning Desire smut series. Again, the smut routes aren't supposed to be as long as the first "chapter" of the series and Crave. It's pure smut and has no plot, so some smut will be shorter depending on how it flows. As previously stated in my previous smut-fics, I tried to keep the story as gender-neutral as possible. All of my smuts do lean towards female!reader/AFAB!reader with gender-neutral pronouns. As usual, minors DO NOT INTERACT! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Horribly written smut, as per usual ✨ slight masturbation/groping (?), orgasm denial, mating press, fingering, handjob, cervix fucking, slight choking, doggy style, slight overstimulation, slight voyeurism

Word Count: 4.1k

Burning Desire "chapters"/routes: [1], [2], [3], [4]

You tried to sleep, but the burning pit in your stomach was unbearable. You’re worn out from getting dicked down by Scaramouche and Tighnari, and you can use some sleep. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t look like that’s going to be happening any time soon. You would fall asleep for a few hours but wake up to the unbearable throbbing between your legs. You need someone to drill their cock into you, or else you will go crazy. 

The first thing you did when you wake up for the umpteenth time in the middle of the night is to masturbate. It provided a small amount of relief, but the same feeling will come back. The same burning desire will hit you like a sumpter beast, causing you to writhe around on your bed despite having your fingers buried deep in your entrance and cumming multiple times. Okay, well, ‘multiple times’ is a bit of an exaggeration— three times is the correct number.

Archons, you even went as far as taking a cold shower at four in the morning while everyone was still sleeping in their beds. You’re hoping the men who have a keen sense of hearing and smell don’t wake up to your activities. That would be even more embarrassing. The shower lasts almost two hours— your body’s really hot, and the cold water raining down on you feels so nice that it nearly makes you forget that you inhaled a large amount of aphrodisiac. 

You step out of your bathroom, hair still drenched from your shower. You stop in your tracks when you see the Scribe sitting at your desk, reading a book. You blink at Al Haitham and peek at the clock in your bedroom. It’s almost six in the morning, and yet the gray-haired man is in your bedroom, wearing nothing but gray silk pajama pants.

You rub your eyes and gingerly sit on your bed. “Al Haitham? What are you doing up around this time?” You ask, getting under your blanket.

You squeeze your eyes shut briefly when the ache between your legs spikes up when you press your thighs together. You’re hoping that Al Haitham either leaves your room soon or he buries his cock inside you until you wake up everyone in the abode. Your mind is constantly racing ever since you breathe in the aphrodisiac, and you can never get peace of mind. Al Haitham closes his book, turning to face you and spreading his legs wide open. You gulp and look away, running your hands through your damp hair to distract yourself from looking at the faint tent forming in his pajama pants. 

Al Haitham rests his arm on the armrest, staring at you intently in the darkness of your room. Light peeking through the blackout curtains of your room, illuminating your bedroom. You gulp and hug your knees to your chest, waiting for Al Haitham to say something. Al Haitham sighs and leans back in his seat; you can see his muscles ripple and flex whenever he moves. Archons, he is so handsome. 

“I wanted to check up on you. I didn’t think you’d be awake so early,” says Al Haitham, crossing his arms over his chest.

Archons. The way his biceps flexes when he crosses his arms over his chest. You gulp and lie down, not taking your eyes off the gray-haired Scribe. Why is Al Haitham acting so casual with you when he knows you’re having inner turmoil. You want to skin yourself alive for feeling this way. The intense need for someone to be buried balls deep inside your entrance until you’re crying and begging for them to give you a break.

You nod, trying to act casual. “My bedroom was hot, and I was sweating in my sleep. I didn’t want to lay in a puddle of sweat, so I went to take a shower,” you lie.

Al Haitham hums, nodding slowly. You curl up into a ball, waiting for Al Haitham to leave your room. Judging by the way he’s sitting on the chair near your desk, you don’t think he will be leaving your bedroom any time soon. Al Haitham suddenly stands up, stretching his arms in the air and yawning. You blink and quickly look at the tent in his pants before looking away before Al Haitham can catch you in the act. You pretend to look at the clock, gesturing to it.

“I think you should go to bed. It’s still early in the morning,” you say, pulling your blanket up to your chin and closing your eyes. 

Al Haitham raises his eyebrows at you. “Oh? You want me to leave already? I thought you would want me to help you with your problem,” Al Haitham says nonchalantly, walking toward your bed.

You crack an eye open and nearly jump out of your skin when you see how close he is to you. Al Haitham kneels on your bed and towers over you, caging you against your bed with his arms on both sides of your head while you look up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Al Haitham tilts his head, cocking an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to respond. 

You clear your throat, snuggling deep into your blanket to distract yourself from Al Haitham’s stare and the dampness pooling in your underwear. Al Haitham is so freaking breathless— the veins on his arms are driving you crazy. He’s so handsome, and he knows it. Al Haitham clears his throat, grabbing you by the chin to have you look into his eyes. 

“Are you going to answer my question or not?” Al Haitham asks.

You nod sheepishly, making Al Haitham look at you skeptically. 

“Is that a yes to the question I just asked or the previous question?”

You stare at Al Haitham and rub the back of your neck. “I do want you to help me, but it’s embarrassing, and it’s too early in the morning to be having sex,” you mutter.

Al Haitham clicks his tongue and releases your chin, now sitting at the edge of your bed. You sit up and rest your chin on your knees, staring at the gray-haired man before you. Al Haitham leans back and runs his fingers through his bedhead. Archons, his bedhead is too cute. For someone who’s aching to get railed, you act like a prude— despite having two men fucking a couple of orgasms from you.

Al Haitham strokes his chin. “You don’t have to worry about waking the others if you can keep your volume to a minimum,” Al Haitham comments, grabbing at his aching cock through his silk pajamas.

You gulp and watch Al Haitham stroke and squeeze his cock. Heat rushes to your cheeks when you realize Al Haitham is staring at you, waiting for you to respond. How are you going to keep your volume at a minimal volume when you have something thick or long pistoning into your entrance?

“But there are people in the abode that have a keen sense of hearing, Al Haitham,” you whine.

Al Haitham squeezes the base of his cock through his pajama pants, grunting quietly when you whine his name. You cover your face, trying to get the image of Al Haitham hovering over you out of your head. Al Haitham releases his dick and crawls over you, pinning you down on your bed.

“So? What are they going to do about it, hmm? I am helping you, aren’t I?” Al Haitham mutters, brushing the tip of his nose against your cheek before peppering kisses on your cheek.

Al Haitham is not wrong about that. The aphrodisiac is still in your system, and it doesn’t seem like it’s not going away any time soon. Plus, the aphrodisiac is just the same as it was when the symptoms kicked in. You don’t think you can handle the thought of Al Haitham plowing into you while the others are asleep and when Gorou and Tighnari can wake up to the littlest sounds coming from you.

You close your eyes, wrapping your arms around Al Haitham’s shoulders as he kisses down your neck, lightly nibbling and biting your neck. You shiver and dig your nails into his back as Al Haitham latches his lips into your collarbone, lightly sucking on it. 

Al Haitham murmurs against your neck, “If you want me to stop, let me know, and I’ll stop.”

You run your fingers through Al Haitham’s hair, tilting your head to the side to give him some room to suck on your neck.

You let out a shaky sigh when he sucks on your neck. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper, tugging on his hair.

Al Haitham smirks against your neck and stops sucking on your neck. Al Haitham grabs your blanket and rips it off your body, leaving you only in your oversized t-shirt. You hear a sharp intake of breath from Al Haitham when he sees that you’re not wearing anything underneath the large t-shirt.

“You naughty little thing,” Al Haitham whispers, shaking his head with a smirk.

You whine and hide your face with one hand while attempting to pull your shirt down to cover your exposed groin with the other. Al Haitham clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval. Al Haitham grabs you by your wrist and pins them over your head with one hand while lifting your shirt until your chest is exposed. 

Al Haitham spreads your legs with his knees before kneeling between your legs. Al Haitham releases your shirt and lifts your leg. Al Haitham swipes his index and middle finger up your wet entrance, making you jolt with surprise. You tremble beneath Al Haitham as he continues to coat his fingers in your slick, muttering about how wet you are for him. 

“Al Haitham, please…” You trail off, gazing at him through your lashes.

Al Haitham plunges his middle and ring finger into your entrance. You tense up and let out a choked gasp. You tried to cover your mouth to muffle your moans, but you couldn’t free yourself from Al Haitham’s iron grip. You wrap your legs around his waist as he pulls his fingers out from your entrance before slamming them back into your gummy walls, making you writhe and arch your back beneath him. 

Archons, you’re so wet that every time Al Haitham thrusts his fingers into your sopping-wet cavern, you and Al Haitham would hear squelching, and your juices would coat the inside of your thighs. Al Haitham groans, feeling how tight you are around his fingers. Your back arches every time Al Haitham’s long fingers jab a particular spot inside you, causing you to choke out a moan and clench around his fingers.

“Al Haitham…” You whimper, attempting to free yourself from his iron grip.

Al Haitham suddenly pulls his fingers out. You nearly whine at the feeling of emptiness. Al Haitham releases your wrists before grabbing your shirt collar with both hands, tearing your shirt in half. You watch Al Haitham toss your shirt to the side carelessly before taking his pajama pants, leaving him only in his black boxers. 

You can see his bulge clear as day— the tent in his boxers is bigger than it was before. Al Haitham cages you against your bed with his arms before pressing his lips against yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, pressing your bare entrance against Al Haitham’s pulsating cock. The only thing that is getting in the way of you feeling Al Haitham’s cock is his boxers.

Al Haitham breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against your shoulders, breathing heavily. Al Haitham begins grinding his clothed cock against your entrance. You panted, eyes rolling to the back of your head when his cock rubbed up against your swollen bundle of nerves. You clench around nothing, biting on your lips to muffle your gasps. Al Haitham blindly reaches down to his boxers and begins taking his underwear off and tossing them to the ground beside your bed. You sigh in relief when you feel his hot cock press against your entrance. You peek down to see Al Haitham’s cock— the bulbous tip is red with need, pre-cum beading at the tip. 

Al Haitham slowly ruts his cock against your entrance, coating the base of his cock in your essence. You reach down to grab his cock by the base, gently squeezing them. Al Haitham hisses and squeezes his eyes shut. You gently stroke his cock before rubbing the mushroom tip of his cock with your thumb, spreading his pre-cum around. 

“You’re incredibly sensitive, Al Haitham,” you murmur, giving his cock a light squeeze.

Al Haitham hisses again before burying his face into the crook of your neck, panting heavily against your neck as you continue to stroke his cock. You stoke his throbbing dick slowly, making sure to lightly squeeze the tip and rub the tip of your thumb over the mushroom tip. Al Haitham releases a guttural moan and bucks into your hands, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when you tighten your grip around his red cock. 

You continue pumping Al Haitham’s throbbing member until Al Haitham lets out a choked moan. Al Haitham grabs your wrist and forcibly removes your hand from his dick. Al Haitham gulps, pinning your hand to your side as he tries to catch his breath. 

You press your lips into a thin line. “I almost made Al Haitham cum.” You can’t help but feel proud of yourself for being able to (almost) have Al Haitham cum with just your hands.

Al Haitham looks at you and slowly stands, brushing his messy hair from his face. Al Haitham grabs you by the waist and pulls you down. You squeal and gasp when Al Haitham slaps your already aching entrance. Al Haitham grabs your engorged bundle of nerves and pinches them hard. You grit your teeth and curl your toes, legs shaking as Al Haitham rubs the nub at a fierce pace. 

You grab Al Haitham’s wrists, attempting to get him to stop before he makes you cum. “Stop, stop, stop, stop! I’m going to cum if you don’t stop!” You whine as you flail your legs around.

The tight knot forms at the bottom of your abdomen, getting incredibly tighter while Al Haitham continues to pinch, twist, and rub your swollen, aching nub. You shudder and tense up, preparing yourself for your impending orgasm. When the tight knot in your lower abdomen is about to snap and unleash the floodgates, Al Haitham releases your throbbing nub.

You look at Al Haitham, eyes wide and chest heaving with heavy breaths. “Al Haitham! Why’d you stop!?” you whine softly, grabbing his wrist and shaking his arm.

Al Haitham spreads your legs and slaps your sopping-wet entrance, making you involuntarily clench around nothing. You rest your head on your pillow and close your eyes, trying to catch your breath while Al Haitham coats the underside of his cock with your slick. You gasp softly when you feel Al Haitham’s hot cock rubs against your puffy entrance.

You’re not sure if you’re feeling extra needy because of the aphrodisiac or if it’s because Al Haitham denied you of your orgasm. Maybe it’s both. Al Haitham lifts your legs by the thighs, having your calves rest on his shoulders as he lines the tip of his cock at your entrance. Archons, this isn’t going to be the first time getting railed by your boyfriends, but for some reason, you can’t help but feel nervous about it. Sensing your anxiousness, Al Haitham kisses the back of your calves and gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze. You smile at Al Haitham and swallow your saliva. You grip Al Haitham’s thighs, gently digging your nails into his flesh. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and brace yourself. Al Haitham rubs the bulbous tip of his dick against your fluttery entrance before slowly entering your drenched hole. Your jaws drop, letting out a string of moans when Al Haitham’s mushroom tip breaches your entrance. You unintentionally clench your thighs around his waist, tensing below Al Haitham the more he sinks his cock into your gummy walls with a semi-loud moan.

You whimper when Al Haitham’s thick cock stretches you out. You squeeze your thighs around Al Haitham’s waist, causing him to stop halfway in your hot cavern. Al Haitham pants, balling his hands into fists beside your head. Al Haitham closes his eyes, relishing the feeling of your gummy walls clamping around his throbbing dick.

Al Haitham leans over you, his chest pressing against your face while he buries his face into your pillow. “Try to relax for me, baby. Please,” Al Haitham rasps, reaching down to grab your hand.

You whimper, holding Al Haitham’s hands and interlocking your fingers with his. “I-I’m trying,” you whisper, eyebrows furrowing while trying to relax and adjust to Al Haitham’s size.

Al Haitham nudges his nose against yours, his lips ghosting over yours. Al Haitham presses his lips against yours, swallowing your moans and whimpers when he sinks further into your heat. You wrap your legs around Al Haitham’s slim waist, heels digging into his ass cheeks. Al Haitham grunts into your mouth, balls deep inside your entrance. 

Al Haitham stretching your hole is painful— you could’ve sworn that if Al Haitham was any thicker than he already is, he’d stretch you out so much that your entrance would rip to shreds. You can literally feel the skin stretch to accommodate his girth. You wrap your arm around Al Haitham’s shoulders while squeezing Al Haitham’s hand with the other. 

Al Haitham gently thrusts forward to test the waters. You clench around Al Haitham’s cock, panting into his mouth. Al Haitham pulls away from the kiss and kisses your jawline while pressing his chest against yours, refusing to release your hand. Your thighs are shaking as you try your best to relax and not tense up each time Al Haitham thrusts lightly into you.

Al Haitham can feel you tremble while peppering kisses on your jaws and neck. He gently massages your inner thighs, closing his eyes while trying to adjust to the tightness of your entrance.

You unclench your legs around Al Haitham’s waist and signal him to start. Al Haitham pushes himself off you and kneels between your legs, lifting your legs up, and begins thrusting into your drenched entrance at a steady pace. You pant, eyes rolling to the back of your head every time Al Haitham thrusts in and out of your hole. The veiny base of Al Haitham’s cock rubs against the gummy walls of your warm, tight cavern, sending you to Celestia and back. 

“Fuck, Al Haitham,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut each time Al Haitham buries his cock into you. 

Al Haitham chokes out a moan, hugging your legs to his chest while thrusting. Al Haitham lifts your legs up until your ass is hanging above the bed. Al Haitham leans forward, folding you in half until your feet are above your head. You grunt when you feel the muscles of your thighs strain under the pressure. Al Haitham kisses the back of your calves, pulling his cock out until only the tip remains.

Al Haitham plunges only the tip of his cock in and out of your entrance, making you wince and shudder at the strange feeling. If you could describe how it feels, it feels like Al Haitham is almost scooping your insides out. It’s hard for you to put your finger on it— it’s the best way you can describe it, and it feels strange. You don’t think anyone has ever fucked you with just the tip of their cock.

Al Haitham continues to plunge the tip of his dick into your entrance repeatedly. You tense up, whimper, and clamp your thighs together. Without warning, Al Haitham thrusts his cock all the way into your drooling hole. Al Haitham chokes a moan and collapses on top of you when your gummy walls clench around his member. 

Al Haitham props himself up on his forearms and begins pumping his cock in and out of your entrance. Your thigh muscles strain under Al Haitham’s weight, making you whimper and grunt at the feeling. Al Haitham hooks one leg over his shoulder while wrapping the other around his waist without stopping or slowing down. Al Haitham grabs your throat with one hand before aggressively pressing his lips against yours, quickening his pace.

You bite Al Haitham’s lips, making him growl and slam his dick into you so hard that you see stars dancing behind your vision. Al Haitham swallows your wails as you try to keep your voice down. Much to your dismay, a familiar feeling starts building up in your lower abdomen as Al Haitham continues to abuse your hole with his thick cock sooner than you thought.

You break the kiss, panting and squealing as Al Haitham drills his cock deep into you. “Al Haitham! I’m going to cum,” you whine, weakly punching his shoulders.

Al Haitham slides his hands down from your throat to your groin and slaps your puffy entrance, making sure to hit your bundle of nerves. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, tightening your leg around Al Haitham’s waist. Al Haitham starts rubbing your engorged nub aggressively, making sure to piston his cock into your g-spot. 

Al Haitham leans down and bites your neck hard, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when your gummy walls squeeze his cock so tightly that thick ropes of hot cum spurt into you. You whimper cum around his cock, back arching, chest pressing against Al Haitham’s heaving chest, eyes rolling to the back of your head as stars spin and dance behind your eyelids. You go limp and lay beneath Al Haitham in a daze, trying to catch your breath as your groin continues to pulse.

Al Haitham pulls his cock out from your now-sullied entrance before getting off your bed. You peek at Al Haitham to see him standing at the foot of your bed. Al Haitham slicks his hair back before grabbing your ankles and pulling you toward the edge of your bed. You’re too tired to fight back. Instead, you let Al Haitham do as he pleases. Al Haitham spreads your legs, watching his and your mixed cum spill from your pulsing hole. Al Haitham flips you over on your stomach and bends you over with your ass in the air.

“Another round?” You mumble, rubbing your eyes.

Al Haitham grunts in response before slamming his cock back inside. You squeal and grip your bedsheets hard, burying your face into your mattress as Al Haitham pistons his cock into your entrance. Al Haitham spreads your cheeks, watching his and your cum coat his dick and spill onto your bedsheets. The only thing Al Haitham hears are the sounds of your moans and whimpers. Something in the corner of Al Haitham’s eyes distracts him for a moment. Al Haitham looks up to see your bedroom door cracked open and a shadow standing at the doorway. The shadowy figure watches Al Haitham pistons his cock in and out of your sulled, pulsating entrance. Al Haitham smirks at the person, grabs a handful of your hair, and pulls you back toward his chest. You groan and close your eyes, wrapping your arm around his neck while digging your nails into your thighs. Your gummy walls pulse around Al Haitham’s cock as you whimper and writhe in Al Haitham’s grasp. Al Haitham doesn’t take his eyes off the shadowy figure, making sure to give the unknown person a show.

Al Haitham hisses when you clench around his cock, taking his attention away from the unknown person at the door and down at you. You choke out a wail, cumming around Al Haitham’s cock for the second time before going limp while Al Haitham proceeds to pump and grind his cock into your entrance. 

‘I can do this all day,’ Al Haitham pants, filling your hole with cum.

Al Haitham pulls his cock out of your battered entrance, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Al Haitham glances at the door, only to see that the door is now shut. You curl up in a ball and groan when the mixture of your and Al Haitham’s cum spills out of you. 

You rub your eyes, muttering, “Now I know how creampuffs feel.”

Al Haitham snorts and lays beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest, and pulling a blanket over your body. Al Haitham kisses the side of your head and squeezes you lightly. You moan quietly when you feel cum leaking from your hole as the burning pit in your stomach remains ravenous. 

Note: I won't be posting next week because I decided that it would be a perfect time to take a break from writing and posting for this upcoming week. Not only have I been busy, but I haven't had the motivation to write/continue fanfics because of how exhausted I have been lately. But fear not, I will post the week after my break! I'm thinking about continuing Tragic Outcomes, but we'll have to wait and see about that 🤔 Anyway! Ready to vote for the next route in Burning Desire? Remember to vote for who you want to be in the next fic and read the instructions carefully— which should be simple enough, I hope. Vote for the next route [HERE]! Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @ins4nebish, @skyyyyackerman, @w1s-t3r1a, @urlocalheizousimp, @crinklypink, @downbadforurmom, @jadedist, @kaoyamamegami, @vynniis, @4-34-am, @iamcherryblossomsbitch, @starrry-angel, @raidenshogunsboobasword, @worldhardtibbysoft, @sagekun, @imnothungry-45, @lucifarts-boxers, @ieathairs, @akemiixx01, @probablynoposts, @mortallyshamelessfella, @odevote118, @sunlightstarr, @hispasian-otaku, @toobytub, @toshikochan, @firesunflames, @nightlysunn, @vox34, @skyyyyackerman, @undecidingfate, @nightlysunn, @aethersclothes (Taglist for Burning Desire has been fixed and updated— sorry for the inconvenience ;v; )

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

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Black & Red (Shanks X F!Reader X Mihawk) SMUT

Anonymous request (I got chu)

Just a simple day at the beach drinking turns into something way more hot and steamy than expected.

A long fic, have fun babes

Warning ⚠️: age-gap, threesome, groping, double penetration, deep throating, maybe some others that I forgot idk its sex ya know the type of shit youre signing up for.

“Shaaaanks, come on! It’s too early to drink, we’ll be up all night again”.

“Don’t worry about it so much sweetheart! It’ll be fun!”.

That’s the last coherent conversation I remember before getting shit faced and passing out on a beach with Shanks. No matter how many times I tell myself ‘you gotta stop doing this, I don’t care how hot he is I can’t be drinking this much’ but do I ever listen? No of course not! Have you see him? That man is so hot and fine, all I can do is easily submit to anything he asks. I mean it's not the first time he's easily made me submit to something, which ended in a lot of hookups or alleyway deepthroating. Hehe...

I awaken from my slumber as I feel myself being shaken. “Wakey wakey sweetheart”. I hear an all too familiar and soothing voice. I groan and snuggle more into his chest. “Nooo. You made me drink and gave me a hangover”. I mumble. “Does it make you feel better knowing that I have one too?”. He asks, running his fingers through my hair.

“A little”.

~

I yawn as I walk back to the cove the crew was camping at, coming back from some private business time…I had to pee. I see the crew already partying and drinking again. Seriously? “Hey! (Y/n)!”. I look towards Shanks, seeing him drinking with an unfamiliar man with a large sword sitting next to him, a long coat and a large hat. “Have you ever heard of the 7 warlords?”. Shanks asks me, the man turning to look at me. “Uh yeah…I’ve heard of them…”. I answer nervously, I think I already know where this is going before he can even finish. “This is Mihawk! An old buddy of mine! He’s one of the warlords”. He explains, using his free hand to usher me over.

I walk over to the two men, Shanks pulling me over to sit on his lap. "Come on (Y/n), don't be shy now and say hi!". He tells me, as if I'm a child. Sir, I'm 20. I turn to look at the warlord, man is he an attractive man. "Hello". I greet him. "Hello, young lady". He greets back. I turn to look up at Shanks, tugging on his shirt to draw his attention to me. "So what's this about? Why are we partying again?". I ask him, tilting my head slightly. He smile and laughs. "Ya know that Luffy kid I told you about? He finally got his first wanted poster!". He answers happily.

I remember him talking about that Luffy kid. Shanks told me how he met him years ago, the dumb little kid who cut his cheek and ate the gum gum fruit. He isn't any younger than me, the more I think about that the more it kinda makes me feel weird. Still, I'd like to meet him one day.

"Huh, look at him". I mutter under my breath, but I know Shanks heard me. As if the conversation is forgotten about, Shanks now holding out a filled cup of booz to me. "Enough yappin! Take a sip, dear". He orders me. 'Uh, I really don't wanna drink'. I take the cup from him, taking a sip from it. "Atta girl". He coos, his hand now sitting on my hip, rubbing up and down with his thumb. I feel a shiver runs down my spine, the feeling of his hand running straight to my core. He knows exactly what he's doing, he knows how to get my body going.

'God, I hate him'.

~

My breath quickens as I feel a jolt run through my body, whimpers slipping through my lips no matter how hard I try to hide them. "Ssshhh, not so loud baby". Shanks whispers into my ear, his finger not stopping it's abuse on my clit. I throw my head back into his board shoulder. "Sh-Shanks, pleeeease~". I whimper out. "Hm? Please what? Need me to fuck you already?". He asks in a deep tone, his hot breath down my neck. "I-hhh I!". I stumble on my words, needing him to give me just a second to cum. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Shanks". I feel my body freeze, but Shanks doesn't stop. "Oh, hey Mihawk". He pulls his hand away, my legs giving out and I collapse to the forest floor.

"What's up? You leaving already?". Shanks asks the other man. "I was thinking that, yes". Mihawk confirms. "Oh come on, you just got here. Why not have a little fun with (Y/n) and I? I don't mind sharing that pretty face". He offers the man. 'HUH!?'. I turn my head behind me, looking over to the men. I look over to Mihawk, seeing that he's already looking at me dead in the eyes with a hungry look. "You're too open with sharing your toys, Shanks". He comments, taking his sword off his back and setting it against a nearby tree. The two men walk over to me, Mihawk standing in front of me as I feel Shanks crouch behind me. "You don't mind, do you sweetheart?". Shanks asks me, pulling me back so my back is against his hard chest, using his hand to rub my chin. "N-No". I stutter out nervously, looking up into Mihawks almost glowing eyes.

Shanks chuckles as his hand goes down to my shirt, pulling it up to expose my bare chest. "Good girl~". He hums into my ear, nuzzling into my neck. I shiver and shut my eyes as Shanks's cold hand goes down to my chest, groping and grabbing at my tit. I let out a soft moan, feeling him twist and play with my nipple. Shanks's head rises once again, nibbling on my ear lobe. "Come on baby, show the war lord what that mouth of yours can do". He orders. I hum with a nod, finally opening my eyes to look up at the warlord.

I break eye contact to see a growing bulge in his pants, only half hard. I grab the hem of his pants, slowly pulling them down. His half hard shaft rises up slightly, hanging straight out from his body. I reach up and grab him by the base, Mihawk letting out a very quiet groan. I lean forward and close my lips over his tip, licking his tip. I look back up to look into Mihawks eyes, slowly moving my head back and forth as she stares down at me. "Oh don't try and ease me into, unless Shanks hasn’t taught you properly”. He comments in an unimpressive tone.

Shanks chuckles from behind me, his hand sneaking up to the back of my head. “She can take it, I have her working that throat of hers every night like the slut she is”. He responds, gripping my head and moving my head for me. I moan into Mohawks cock as Shanks moves my head for me, shoving me down on his cock more. I cough as I feel myself getting shoved deep down, feeling him deep down my throat. Shanks moves his hand away, but I keep the pace he set and continue to deep throat his cock. “That’s better”. Mihawk compliments. “Yeah, she’s a good girl, aren’t ya sweetheart”. Shanks chuckles, sliding his hand down my back. My body jolts when I feel Shanks’s hand back in my panties, running his finger through my wet folds.

My body shivers as I feel Shanks use a free finger to poke it in and out of my aching pussy, causing me to just need more friction. My body was already so close to being filled, but now we're back to square one. My body is tingling painfully, needing release finally. I start to moan painfully onto Mihawks cock, breathing through my nose quickens as tears build up in my eyes. I try to move my body, needing more than just the tip of Shanks's fingers inside me. "Shanks, your pet is getting restless". Mihawk tells the red head. Shanks chuckles. "I can tell, she's trying to suck my fingers in". He confirms. Mihawk then grips the back of my head aggressively, speeding up his pace and slamming down into my throat. "Don't worry dear, you can get fucked as much as you want once I'm finished". He tells me, his penis tip punching the back of my throat.

Shanks chuckles again. "Look at you, you'll get all the cock you want. I bet a whore like you is loving this". He whispers into my ear. "I can't wait to see you drenched with cum". He adds in a deeper tone, licking up my neck. "Take it, take Mihawks cum, take all the cum like I trained you to". I shut my eyes as tears spill from my eyes, struggling terribly to breath. My body feels like it's going to explode, ready to gush all over Shanks's hand. With a few twitches of his cock, Mihawk slams all the way down my throat his warm cum fills up my throat. I cough on the cum, gulping it down. Mihawk slowly pulls out his dick, sucking on the left to leave not a single drop. "Good slut". Shanks compliments. "You did train her good, I commend you that Shanks". Mihawk tells him. "Wait till you feel her pussy, perfection". Shanks respond.

Shanks pulls his hand away from me as I let out an annoyed whimper, pushing my body slightly to let my body fall to the ground on my hands and knees. I breath heavily as I try to catch my breath, my body shaking and loosing its mind from not be able to cum again. A cold hand on my ass makes me jump, I look lazily over my shoulder to see Mihawk kneeling behind me. I turn to look in front of me, looking up to see Shanks looking down at me with a smirk. He gently grabs my chin, rubbing it with his thumb as his smirk turns into a loving smile. "You're such a good girl, if I wasn't clingy I'd let people pay for them to fuck you. You're perfect mouth, pussy, ass, everything. Other men wish they could get one night with a goddess like you". He praises, his words going straight to my core. The mental image of getting fucked and covered in cum while Shanks watches, full bukaki as he just sits happily.

"Would you like that? Or would you rather some weak desperate men pay to watch me fuck you, show them how to really please a woman". He adds. That hit my core harder, Shanks cucking a guy. Some poor bastard watching Shanks fill and fuck my pussy full of cock and cum. I feel a warm tip rub against my folds, rubbing at my tip and poking at my hole. "Go ahead Mihawk, I wanna see the faces she makes when being filled by another man". He tells the other man. Then without warning, Mihawk easily slides his cock fully inside me. A whimpered moan escapes my lips, my legs shaking at the feeling of being filled finally. "Now isn't that a pretty face". Shanks points out, palming himself through his pants. "Sh-Shanks~". I whimper out, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "I need...yoooooou". I moan out, craving more. I struggle to keep my body steady as Mihawk ruthlessly pounds into my body, slamming deep inside me. It feels weird to have another cock inside me, being so used to Shanks monster in his pants. Mihawks length is kind of refreshing, feeling his tip slamming into my curvix.

Shanks chuckles as he looks down at my wanting face, eyes begging for something from him. "You really have been a whore all along, being stuffed with cock and still needing more". He hums. He sits up more, pulling his pants down and his cock smashing me in the face. "Go on then, take the cock you so desperately need". He tells me. He slides his cock into my mouth, my body quickly jolting back and forth. I moan onto Shanks's cock, breathing rapidly through my nose. I can't breath, my body is shaking so much. 'FUCK, I'M GONNA CUM AND WE'VE JUST STARTED! FUCK BUT I NEED TO CUM!'. I give in, moaning loudly as my body finally releases as my body shakes violently. Mihawk hisses, pounding faster. "What's wrong buddy? She cum and squeeze ya?". Shanks asks him. "Indeed, she's trying to strangle me". He responds, causing Shanks to laugh.

"Props to you, I would have cum at her clenching like that". He chuckles. "You're just weak". Mihawk comments. I'm surprised I can still comprehend what they're saying, my whole body is weak and my head is fuzzy. I can't go on, cumming and still being fucked is driving my body crazy. I can tell that I'm finally giving out, because now I can't hear properly what the two are saying. Everything stops, feeling arms wrap under my legs and I get hoisted up with Shanks's cock popping out my mouth. I feel my back press against Mihawks chest, him holding me out spread legged. I see Shanks standing in front of me, he strokes my cheek loving me. "Sh-Shanks...". I pant out. He pulls his hand away, letting me lean my head against Mihawks shoulder.

My body jolts, fulling waking up at the feeling of Shanks sliding into my insides. I pant at the pain, reaching to grip hard onto Shanks shoulder. "That's it, you can take it". Shanks reassures me in a soft tone. My body relaxes, feeling the two men filling and stretching me out. My body felt so stuffed, I thought I was going to rip in half. The feeling didn't get any better when the two started to thrust in sync, thankfully going slow on me. Every breath was a loud moan, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Their pace speeds up, my mouth drooling from them massing up my insides. The feeling is indescribable, being fucked hard and stuffed to the brink of ripping. I felt like I was gonna pass out, I don't even know if I could cum again.

Their paces speed up, going full speed in and out my pussy. I cry and scream out my moans, digging my nails so hard against Shanks's shoulders that I wouldn't be surprised if there was blood. I could feel my freedom apporting, feeling the two older men twitching and their thrusts growing sloppy to out of sync. Next minute, Shanks lets out a groan as he finally cums. He sits and stays there panting, staying inside me. Soon enough, Mihawk cums again for a second time. The two pull out of me, Mihawk moving me to be laying in his arms. I feel like I'm on the verge of passing out, my brain fuzzy and hazy. A warm hand strokes my face softly, a soft kiss on my forehead. "Good job baby, you can rest". Shanks soft voice luls me to sleep, I finally pass out in Mihawks arms.

[bonus]

The two older men walk out the forest and back onto the beach, the other pirates noticing the passed out younger girl in Mihawks arms. "Is she okay?". Benn asks. "Did something happen?". Yasopp asks. Shanks waves them off. "Don't worry she's all fine, just a little shaken up". He reassures. "Why? Did something happen?". Benn asks. Mihawk chimes in. "Just some scary monster".

[lady-ashfade]

What ever it takes. Pt3

Yandere Alicent & Aemond x Sister/daughter reader. Miniseries.

What ever it takes. Part Two. Part three. Alternate ending.

Plot: After you arrived home your mother was there to greet you when you awaken. A sweet Reunion between your mother and brother, and you. They finally had you back in their grasps. 

Is this the ending of the mini series? Kinda. There will be one more to this about what could have happened. But don’t fear! More mini series like this to come: with more characters and more scenarios. Want more yandere Alicent and Aemond? You can request more.

Words: 656

Taglist: @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @second-try-stevie @a-dorkier-book-keeper @rosaryos @girl-with-an-orange-cat

Warnings: Torture, Yandere tendencies, also fluffy in a way. Kinda hate it but it’s okay.

Slowly waking from your rest you could feel the light grip on your hand. Your eyes began to open as the light hit your eyes and you recognized where you were immediately. You were home, finally in your bed again. You looked over and saw your mother looking down at papers in her lap and her hand still on yours. How long has she been there?

In truth she hasn’t left your side since you had come back and she refused to do anything but. “Mother?” Your raspy voice called out to her and she turned her head. She looked surprised but relived, and overjoyed that you were awake. “My sweet girl.” She quickly stood up and leaned over to embrace you softly.

“I’m so glad your alive.” She kissed your forehead. “What happened? The last thing I remember is aemond..” you didn’t remember what aemond had done to the man. “Aemond brought you home.” She pulled back and sat on the bed next to you and started to brush your hair.

“I was so scared of losing you,” her lip quivers, “I got blinded when I heard you were missing. I can not- I will not go through that again.” She vowed. You smiled at her, “I’m okay mother, you need not to worry anymore.” But she did. She will always worry about you- Her little daughter will always be threatened by the harsh world.

She hummed and continued to brush your hair and stare at you lovingly. “You know I love you?” She asks in a more serious tone. “Of course I do mother. And I love you.” She felt pride hearing those words again. “Good because I want you to remember that always? What ever happens remember that I love you deeply.” Her tone darken and it put you off a bit. 

The door to your room opened and you saw your brother walk in and his eye met yours. “Oh thank the sevens.” He jogged to your side and kissed your head. Alicent moved back and let him reunite with you, she was happy to watch.

“How are you feeling?” He asked and you just shrugged. “Tired but better then I had before. I heard you brought me home, so thank you.” He just grabbed your hand and kissed it. “I will always save you my darling. No harm will ever come to you again.” 

You looked at him and saw a expression you didn’t know how to read but you let it pass. But he was probably just letting out every emotion he felt. “Do you think I could have lemon cakes?” The question made them laugh and nod.

“You can have anything you want.” Alicent and aemond stayed with you until you feel back asleep then they took there leave. 

“Please- I swear we didn’t know it was the princess.” A man whimpers in pain as his side sting from the hot iron. “Do you think we would truly believe that?” Aemond asked looking at him and Alicent waved her fingers, the torturer put the hot iron back onto his skin causing him to scream at her command.

This wasn’t the only method they used. They had found seven men left, they used so many things to make them pay for their darling. They cut out their tongues, some fingers and legs, one was cut open alive. They wanted blood to be payed and they got it- They made sure of it themselves.

Alicent smiled as the man screamed in pain, feeling happy she could avenge her daughter. “I think that is enough for tonight and we can pick this back up on the morning.” Aemond follows his mother out.

“You must help y/n recover. Let her know your love and then we will announce the engagement.” She spoke while taking her arm in his. “She will stay with us here forever. She’ll never leave our side again.”

“She’ll be ours forever.”

[alphajocklover]

Hey bro, I have a bit of a strange situation going on. You see, I’m a big nerd, like playing dnd, good at math, into card games nerds. And I never really questioned it. But recently, I’ve found myself wanting to be more active, I’ve been wanting to become something I am not, a big strong guy. And it all stared when I rediscovered the Xmen through the show and upcoming movie. Could you, I mean, would you mind helping me become like my ideal man, Wolverine?

I want to be the small hunky and hairy beats he is, oozing with libido and sex appeal.

It's a little strange, but I’ve been getting a lot of superhero requests recently! Not that I’m complaining, I love writing about superheros. They’re interesting characters who have long histories and decades of lore to use. Plus they’re usually hot as fuck. And Wolverine is one of the hottest. Muscular, with a thick layer of hair, and gruff as can be. He’s traditionally a loner, but he has a certain rough charm to him. There’s a reason he’s been a part of almost every superhero team at one time or another. People can’t get enough of the guy. It could be his inventive power set, his ability to change with the times and still remain interesting and relevant. Or it could be that he’s an incredibly manly hunk whose animalistic nature makes people weak in the knees. He’s everything you ever wanted to be, or at least everything you’ve wanted to be since you saw those new X-Men cartoons. When you watched them, something awakened in you. And now… you’re becoming just like him.

You’re not becoming him, if that’s what you’re thinking. Whatever is happening to you can’t give you claws like Wolverine or coat your skeleton in adamantium. I mean, in our world adamantium doesn’t really exist, and even though some transformation methods could turn you into a perfect replica of wolverine or add onto the periodic table, this one won’t do that. It’s more fun to be a stud without the responsibility of being a superhero anyways, especially since one of his main powers is to survive incredibly painful situations. Now you get all the pleasure, none of the pain, and an absolutely studly body.

One common fun fact that people like to bring up about Wolverine is the fact that he’s… while he’s short. Really short. Since Hugh Jackman is over 6 feet tall, people tend to forget that in the comics Wolverine is a complete shortstack, standing at 5’3”. So, I’m afraid to say that you’re going to shrink quite a bit. Luckily, being shorter just makes your new muscles look even bigger and better. Your biceps are enormous, your pecs are amazing, and your abs are almost inhuman. That, plus a heavy layer of manly, thick hair, and you look like you walked right off the pages of a comic book. Or out of a very suggestive movie. Of course you don’t want to just look like Wolverine. You want to be like Wolverine. Which means a few… adjustments to your personality.

That might seem daunting or scary at first, the idea that your personality is going to change. But you won’t feel that way very long. Nothing is going to faze you anymore. Just like Wolverine You’re tough as nails and you act like it. Literally nothing throws you. You’re a certified badass. Yes, you have a sensitive side like the real Wolverine, but most people aren’t gonna see that. Most people, from your manly new friends to the girls you hook up with, are going to see the manly man, the strong warrior, the beast.

There are some small differences between you and Wolverine of course. The main one being that the guy in the comics doesn’t hook up with people very often. Too busy saving the world. And when he does get a love interest, the feelings between them are pretty serious. You don’t have the same patterns. You’re the type of guy who has a new girl every night and is constantly looking for more pussy. You can’t help it, with a massive cock and an even bigger libido. You’re the best at what you do, and what you do is fuck.

**Hey guys! Hope I did Wolverine justice. He’s a super hot character and I had a lot of fun writing a tf inspired by him. Hope you enjoyed!**

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Five-Finger Discount (Dean/Reader)

Title: Five-Finger Discount

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Dean x Female Reader

Summary: It's supposed to be a simple case. A little undercover. A little burglary. A little spell. Dash of salt and burn. No muss, no fuss. So, why the hell are you getting these uncontrollable thoughts about Dean's... hands?

Word Count: 10,300

Tags: Hand & Finger Kink, Dean Winchester is a Scoundrel, Dean gets a Manicure, Fluff and Humor, Shameless Smut of the Finger Variety, Dean Winchester Talks Dirty

Notes: Because Jensen just can’t keep his hands to himself. See notes on AO3 for the offender/crime in question.

A persistent tapping on your bedroom door awakens you. It could be late evening or early morning in the windowless bunker.

Before you can check your phone for the actual time, Dean’s voice calls your name from the other side of the door.

You groan. Whatever time it is, it’s not ‘wakey wakey eggs and bakey’ time. “What?”

“Got word from Sam. He’s figured out what’s been killing the inmates in NSP.”

You sit up and feel for the lamp switch. After a turn and snick , you mumble, “Let there be light.” Your voice raises in answer to Dean. “That’s great.”

“Well, not that great.” The conversation is still happening through the closed door. “Sam figures it’s a ghost of a prisoner that died behind bars in 1870.”

“Why not great? Did you want more of a challenge? Ghosts are a milk run.”

You can hear the dramatic sigh, picture the tilt back and forth of his head, and the way his mouth mimics either you or Sam when the sarcasm leans on the excessive. Which is kind of ironic coming from the King of Snark. “Can I come in? You decent?”

“Yes.”

It’s definitely the middle of the night when you get a look at him. Dean’s hair is mussed. There are cheek and chin creases from scuba pillow diving when he sleeps on his stomach. “You got something formal to wear?”

“Huh?”

“A gown, dress, something promish or wedding worthy?”

“Promish?” That question reply to his question earns you a broad stance with hands on hips like a superhero as Dean stares you down. You twirl both hands around to remind him of the non-existent storage space in the bunker. Which should not be a thing in such a huge fortress where men dressed in three piece suits on the daily. “Sure. I have a whole rack of them hanging in my walk-in closet.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, smart ass. Well, we’re gonna have to go do this thing in less than twenty-four hours that needs you in a dress and me in a tux.”

You suck in your lips and try not to laugh at how pissed Dean appears at the thought.

“It’s a charity fundraiser in Lincoln,” he continues. “We have to act like a couple of out-of-state spenders with deep pockets to get our hands on the Hand of Glory that belonged to this ghost.”

“What about Sam? I bet he’d look much better in a dress than I would.”

Dean shrugs. “He’s got the hair for it. But we can’t risk somebody making him.”

Of course. The one time Sam goes investigating on his own. He posed as an FBI agent and poked around too many people. 

You and Dean are going to have to go shopping. The all-out kind. Max out a stolen credit card at the mall kind.

Dean is gonna be miserable. You can’t wait. Grumpy Dean, for some reason, is very entertaining.

“How about you in the dress and me in the tux?” you offer.

“I don’t have the legs for it.” Dean shakes his head. “Get a few more hours of sleep. Gonna be a busy day.”

You’ve been around Sam and Dean for a long time. Long enough to have gotten a little numb and even blase regarding certain things.

The dangers of a hunt. The stench of death. The amount of blood a beheaded vamp body can ooze.

As you tick the tasks off for the heist with a trip to a dress shop earlier and currently helping Dean pick out a tux, another thing you’ve become indifferent to smacks you right in the goddamn face.

The hotness of the Winchester brothers.

You were talking with the owner of the suit store when Dean parted the curtains of the fitting booth he’d been in for five minutes.

And there it was, dressed to the nines, cutting a fine figure in a black tuxedo. 

The plain as day fact of how unfucking-believably gorgeous Dean Winchester is.

Stephen, well-dressed and highly animated, claps hands in front of his face. “Oh. Wow, that is, it’s like you stepped right off the cover of GQ magazine,” he gushes at Dean. “Turn around, turn around.”

Dean blushes, spins on his heels, and averts your and Stephen’s gaze. You’re glad because you can feel the warmth racing over your own cheeks.

“Sir, that is screaming perfection. I don’t even think it needs to be taken in. It’s like a second skin.” You’d think Stephen was buttering him up for a sale if he was overexaggerating. But, he wasn’t.

“Well, good, cause it’s not like we’ve got time for a tailor,” Dean huffs. Then, you hear, “You’re awfully quiet. What do you think?”

“I-yeah-it’ll do.”

After Dean swipes the key card, he steps aside and lets you pass the threshold first.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

The suite is swanky. No motels for you on this trip. You’ve got to keep up appearances, after all.

Windows that meet the ceiling give you a sweet view of downtown Lincoln. It’s not the New York skyline, but everything looks impressive from a higher vantage.

Dean pushes the squeaky luggage cart. The door clicks closed solidly behind him. “Alright. We got a few hours to get ourselves presentable. Then we head on over to the Sheldon Museum of Art.” He hangs the garment bags containing his tux and your dress in the closet. The duffle bags each get a chuck onto the king-size bed.

You nod at the reminder. Sam will be at the fundraiser as well. Between the ruse of you and Dean as the wealthy Mitchums from Kansas and Sam’s Agent Dion, you’re confident the case will be resolved before another not-so-innocent victim dies. “Too bad we can’t really enjoy a stay at a place like this.”

“Eh, overpriced. I can’t wait to get home to the bunker. It’s a lot nicer.” He rolls the cart back toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few.”

He’s gone before you can quibble with Dean over your and his idea of luxury. But yours does have windows, excessive amounts of pillows, and room service.

Dean returns to find you’ve commandeered the entire vanity counter with makeup. He chuckles. “Never seen you put any of this crap on before. Do you even know how?”

“Asshole.” You thwack his tummy, but clenched stomach muscles anticipated the retaliation. “I’ll wear makeup for this case out of necessity. I don’t believe in going into debt to keep up with the latest beauty trend. This stuff costs a fortune.”

Dean picks up a packet of press-on nails and looks at the price tag. “Well, hopefully, it’s all worth it.”

As Dean inspects your haul, you notice the dirt under his own nails. “Your hands,” you state.

“Huh?” Dean’s brow furrows. He puts down the box and stares at his fingers.

“Those aren’t the hands of a millionaire.”

He smiles. “I’ve got a great rags to riches story I can use. You see, one day I was shootin’ at some food, and up for the ground came a bubblin’...”

“Ooor, you can look the part.” You cut off his recounting of how the Beverly Hillbillies came to be and sweep a hand in his direction. “Hurry up and shower. I’ll do your nails.”

His eyes bug out. “Do my nails?”

“Relax. Just gonna tidy them up. No polish. Although there’s nothing wrong with a little color on a guy’s nails. But maybe not for this event. We don’t need you to stand out too much.” You think about how he looked in that tux and realize how much he will stand out already at least in your mind. He’s still blinking at you, processing what’s about to happen. “Well, hurry up, Jeb. That oil ain’t gonna find itself.”

You gulp at the sight of a freshly scrubbed, washed, towel-dried Dean. It shouldn’t be affecting you like this. You’ve seen him just out of a shower with his white t-shirt and sweatpants when you’ve been hunting on the road.

Maybe it’s the change of scenery. No motel. No mildew smells. No obnoxiously loud wallpaper to mask the soot and stains. No revving engines or wheels peeling right outside the door. None of the things that usually overwhelm and distract your senses.

His entire face is scrunched up in confused awe. Tools are neatly lined atop a towel on the small island by the kitchenette. Not the usual gun-cleaning ones, though. You clear your throat and pat the breakfast stool beside your seated frame.

“Is this gonna hurt?” he asks.

“Just a little detailing is all.”

He sits and eyes you warily.

A gimme gesture requests his left hand. He provides it, resting his fingers over the bridge of support yours creates. You try not to flinch in surprise at the warmth and weight. It’s not like you’ve never touched him before. But, you’ve never had the opportunity for contact to linger.

You lean down and in, lifting his fingers in inspection and deciding your plan of attack. Damn. They’re, well, you wonder how you haven’t noticed how big they are. His entire hand dwarfs yours in comparison. Dean’s a big dude. He is not as tall as Sam, but considering they’re both over six feet, you shouldn’t be surprised that his digits are substantial. You picture Sam’s hands in your mind’s eye in the usual situations. Tapping away on a keyboard. Flipping through their dad’s journal pages or some gigantic volume of lore in the bunker. Those fingers are long, but their slender and taut, proportionate to Sam’s body type and size. Jolly Green Giant size.

Dean’s? Well, it’s not that they don’t match Dean. They’re beefy, thick, and solid. All the things Dean is. But they’re more like a jumbo sausage sandwich than a hot dog that’s a little too big for the bun. Even the width of his palm seems way above average.

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s question calls out and you wonder how long you’ve been staring at his freaking hands.

“Nothing,” you mumble.

You get to work, using a nail brush that’s been soaking in a bowl of warm, sudsy water. A sturdy grip wraps around two of Dean’s fingers - it’s all you can comfortably manage - and the bristles scrub back and forth in quick passes.

Dean chortles. His fingers pull back slightly. The look on his face is one of surprise. You grin and ask, “Did that tickle?”

He snorts. “What? No. I’m not ticklish.”

“Mm-hmm.” You tug his fingers toward the brush. “Hold still then.” You continue the process. Dip the brush in the water bowl. Play Dean’s fingers like a washboard. And you delight in how his jaw clenches and body squirms. He does an adorable shimmy shake that starts at the shoulders and ends with an ass cha-cha. But you only let the torture go on for a minute or two. “Okay. Give them another wash. Then we’ll clip ‘em, file and buff, and these nails will scream private prep school and ivy league polo.”

He rises. “As long as there’s no more brushing.” He punctuates how serious he is about that with one of those fingers right at your mouth.

You swallow the urge to bite that finger.

For someone who was uncertain about the thought of a manicure earlier, Dean is back in a hurry to continue the process. You exaggeratedly shake the nail brush out of the soapy water bowl and softball it into the stainless steel sink a yard away. It clangs about like a noon bell. You raise both hands, “I’m unarmed.”

He snickers, “Not so sure.” He skirts his gaze over the remaining items. “Sharp and stabby things.”

“You have used clippers before. You’re not an actual Cro-Magnon that drags knuckles on the ground and runs nails along some flint.” You grab one stool and carry it to the other side of the island, settling into position for the next step. “Sit and stop acting like a baby.”

“Damn,” he murmurs, following orders and taking his seat from before.

“Hands,” you request.

He harrumphs and splays his fingers atop the terry towel, like a cat stretching and digging in with their claws. His hands are creamy colored and speckled pink from the washing and scrubbing. Ten digits tap along the cloth in wait. And you stare, longer than you should.

What in the holy hell is going on? They’re fingers for chrissakes. The same fingers you’ve seen on Dean all the time, day after day in the bunker or in the car or on a hunt. It’s not like he got a hand transplant or something.

“Come on, Madge.” Dean snaps two of those fingers together. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me I was soaking in it.”

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “Softens hands while you do the dishes?” He adds to the dramatics and unhinges his jaw. “Come on, we’re the same age. You gotta remember that commercial? Palmolive?”

“Oh, right.” You feign recollection, inhale to steady yourself and grab his left hand. It’s down to business time. “I’ve only lost five of my last six clients. Nothing to worry about.”

“Quite the comedian,” he razzes back.

“I am. Apparently you could learn a thing or two from me. The first? A punchline isn’t funny if you have to explain it.”

“Yeah, well…” He begins.

“Maybe come at me with ‘your face is a punchline’?” you suggest.

His lids blink in confusion. “It’s not, though.”

For some reason that shuts you both up.

You spend the next minutes manipulating each of Dean’s fingers, one by one in your palm as you clip. Tick, tick, tick. You give the nails a nice straight edge and round out the sides. His nails are stumpy, boxy and twice the width of yours. His skin is calloused, toughened in the spots you expect. From the thousands of hours he’s gripped Baby’s steering wheel, handled a shotgun, cranked a wrench, slid into the trigger of his Colt. But they are soft in other spots. The patterns of lines criss crossing and connecting like a terrain map enthrall you.

He’s quiet. Watching you work. You’ve forgotten to be mouthy for this bit. It’s hard to focus on anything but this and his breathing. You’ve forgotten the basic steps of inhaling and exhaling.

It’s when you’ve moved on to filing that Dean remembers how to word. “You’re good at this.”

“I should be,” you croak out then clear your throat. “I did my older sister’s nails all the time growing up.”

“Hm, I guess Sammy didn’t get the little brother memo about doing my nails.”

I grin up at him. “Maybe you should have had him watch that Palmolive commercial.”

His laugh is soft. His eyes gleam with that hint of mischief he dons when there is no imminent threat. When life is as close to normal as possible. You wonder what it would be like to take those hands and place them around your waist. Guide him to hold you steady, secure.

He opens his mouth, stops to lick his top lip.

It’s taking everything in your power to not catapult over the island and slam your lips against his.

He finally speaks. “We should get ready.”

And your daydreaming dissipates just like that.   

Two hours later, you and Sam wait outside the St. Charbel Chapel in Calvary Catholic Cemetery. It’s the closest church and holy ground from the museum Sam had found in his research.

A fire truck zooms down a nearby street, siren wailing.

You wait for Dean. 

Things had not gone according to plan.

At the fundraiser, Sam got cornered near the crudités by a Lancaster County Sheriff’s Office deputy. From what you overheard, Sam’s cover had been blown. He was in imminent danger of being arrested by Deputy Dickens for impersonating a federal agent. Dean was off in one of the acquisition storage rooms searching for the Hand of Glory.

You all were SOL.

You did what any hunter interested in self-preservation would do. Walked over to the nearest fire alarm and inconspicuously pulled the lever. Alarms went off. In the chaos of disgruntled partygoers filing out of the building, Sam dropped the deputy to the ground with a combo shoulder check and leg sweep. You were down on the floor in a flash, asking the lawman if he was alright. Before he could reply, you held a handkerchief doused with your travel-size bottle of chloroform to his mouth and nose. A clutch could only hold so much—such an inconvenience.

Sam pushed the passed-out deputy under the appetizer station’s floor-length tablecloth. You both did a hurried power walk past the crowd gathered in front of the museum. Sam tried his best to slow down his stride enough for you to keep up wearing heels. At least you only had four blocks to cover to end up at the cemetery, the agreed-upon meetup location.

You pace in wait. “He’ll be here,” Sam states with conviction.

You never want to leave a man behind. Especially not Dean.

Sure enough, Dean’s shadowed figure jogs up the cemetery walk in the dark minutes later. You recognize his panting first.

Sam shines a light in Dean’s direction. He’s a bit disheveled from whatever he had to do to skip out of the museum undetected. The hair, styled in a neat part earlier, is now askew.

“Guessing I have you two to thank for having to hop out a bathroom window and into thorny rose bushes.”

You shrug. “Sam was about to get handcuffed.”

Dean ponders for a moment. “Context is important to determine whether that’s good or bad for Sam.”

“Dean, come on, did you get it?” Sam asks with an impatient wave of his hand.

Dean pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and flaps it open with a wrist snap. He pulls out a gnarled, desiccated object under his jacket's lapel. “I did get it, using my five-finger discount.”

The burning ritual had at least gone smoother than the rest of the evening. Sam dropped the two of you around the back of the hotel in his rental car. You both had left Baby in the connected garage and taken a cab to the museum. 

“See you all at the bunker.” He smiles, energized, and pumped from a successful hunt. He’s glowing and adorable. You realize you have gotta dial back the internal ogling of your hunting partners and quick or it’s gonna get all kinds of uncomfortable in your head.

“See ya, Sammy.” Dean grins and salutes.

“Don’t take too long to get out of town.” Sam advises, flicks his bangs out of his eye line with a shampoo commercial head whip, then peels off with a wave.

The key card lets you sneak in through the poolside.

The ride up the elevator starts quiet. You spend the time zoning out and staring at the tapered triangle of shoulder and back that makes up Dean’s tuxedo jacket.

So, dialing back the ogling is going great.

“You looked really good tonight,” Dean murmurs. You catch his gaze in the door’s reflective surface. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “you still look really good. I never got the chance to tell ya earlier.”

The attention straightens your posture. You adjust the spaghetti strap of your little black dress. “Thanks.” It’s all you can think of to respond. You tear your focus away from the eye crinkles, now the newest sexy thing you’ve failed to notice. It’s safer to inspect the corners of the floor for dust. The small enclosed space heats due to Dean Winchester occupying it.

The elevator dings and you hold in a sigh of relief. You exit first, then halt so he leads. You trail behind him in silence to the room. He opens the door. Your steps scoot past his body.

“Got time to change?” Hopeful, you’re already rifling through your duffel for your jeans and flannel.

“Sam’s right. We should probably bolt.”

You groan.

“Let’s put some miles between us and Lincoln.” It’s not really a suggestion.

“Fine.” You give in, knowing he’s right.

You aren’t tired on the drive back. The sense of accomplishment after a successful case turns most hunters into live wires, you included. 

You and Dean have been chatting about the hunt. The lackluster food at the fundraiser. Sam’s impressive Latin skills. An apparent millionaire whose breath stunk like a month old convenience store burrito. And you knew what one of those smelled like from unfortunate firsthand experience. The conversation switches to some repairs that need to be done around the bunker. A casserole recipe on Pinterest you want to try. Who’s going to get the treat of washing all the MOL classic cars in the garage. The topics pogo all over the place. You love these moments with the brothers. 

You’re an hour and some change out from Lincoln, halfway to Lebanon, when Dean has an idea.

His finger wags at a mile marker. “There’s a decent bar in Bruning. Wanna grab a drink to celebrate?”

You stare at his unbuttoned tux jacket, then your dress. “Like this?”

“Sure. Why not?” It’s not really a question as he takes the exit.

You drew the line at wearing heels in the bar. Dean grabbed your worn cowboy boots from Baby’s trunk. He leaned against the car beside your open passenger door. You tugged on boots, leaned forward, giving any passersby a free show down the front of your dress. Arms folded, Dean scowled and puffed out his chest to any male who dared to glance in your direction.

A minute later you both entered the bar and did the usual routine without speaking. Head to respective bathrooms. Clean up and make yourselves respectable looking. But as you blotted your foundation and appreciated the staying power of your makeup in the mirror - okay, maybe that setting spray was worth the price - you considered who you were making yourself respectable for?

It’s not like either one of you were expecting to get lucky tonight. The bunker was less than two hours away. No one was gonna pick up a local and take them back to their motel room.

You applied a fresh coat of red berry lipstick.

So, that left only you and Dean freshening up for… each other?

You scoffed at the ridiculous idea, ran fingers through your hair.

A drink. One drink. To celebrate a job well done.

“That’s all it is,” you mumble.

You’ve played darts for an hour. Dean’s on his third whiskey. You’ve downed four fruity rum concoctions, mainly because you loved hearing Dean order the drink. 

Entertainment was the least he could do after beating you for the sixth time.

The waitress stops at your high top and grabs the empty plates and glasses. “What else can I get you two?”

Dean clutches a dart, deep in focus, squinting at the target board. “You wanna nother Bahama Mama?”

You suppress a giggle and smile at the waitress. “Just more water. Thanks.”

“We should probably load up on the grease before we head home.” Dean peers at the waitress over a shoulder. “Maybe some fries, darlin’, to go along with one last shot of whiskey?”

“Sure thing, sugar.” She smiles, then waits for Dean to turn around before eyeing his backside in approval. With a grin, she taps your bare forearm. “Lucky you,” she whispers.

You are lucky. But not for the reason the waitress thinks. Being around Sam and Dean means safety and security. The eye candy is merely a bonus. One you are debating if you should indulge in more often or continue to restrict your caloric intake.

After all, there’s nothing wrong with appreciating a work of art.

Dean had flung his necktie in Baby’s backseat and unbuttoned his collar during the drive. The casual way he now wore the tux was even more attractive. “Probably a good idea if you lay off the alcohol. It’s definitely affecting your game tonight.” He grins.

You lean your heavy weighted head against a palm for support. “Yeah, must b’it,” you slur, more than you like. Your gaze zones in on his fingers gripping the dart. Those damn fingers have been a distraction all night. He has to be unaware he’s sabotaging any ability to focus. Dean is an outright flirt with his targets. You’ve seen him lay on the charm thick and sticky the same way he slaps peanut butter and jelly on white bread. Subtlety has never been his thing.

Speaking of targets. The dart launches out of his hand and lands dead center. “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout.” Dean performs the ka-ching motion for what feels like the hundredth time that night. Normally, it’s annoying, but you battle your lids open to stare at his clenched fist in awe. Again. He slides onto the bar stool and inspects you with a concerned smile. “You usually drink me under the table. Sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.” You hum. 

The waitress whizzes by and deposits Dean’s shot and a basket of fries. Dean’s voice floats in the air expressing his thanks to, you think he says, Linda. Then a pointed order hits you right in the face. “Hey, eat something. I ain’t carrying you to the car like some swoony duchess on those shows you binge.”

“They’ve got carriages, not cars.” You blink over and over and straighten up. A handful of fries fill your mouth. Your brain hasn’t caught up in time to tell you to shut up and chew. “Yud make a ghood ake.”

“What?” Dean smiles at you like he’s happened across his favorite Scooby-Doo episode while channel surfing.

You gulp down the gluey mashed goodness. “You’d make a good rake.”

“What’s that? Some kind of man servant? I was a handmaiden once.” He indulges in some of the fries before you eat them all. Those fingers push them past his lips.

“No. A rake’s-” You huff at the gall when he attentively licks the grease off his thumb. His tongue is quite, um, “Nimble.”

He frowns, obviously confused. “A rake’s nimble?”

You shake out the cobwebs in your brain, tripping you up with a collision of thoughts. “A rake’s a ladies’ man,” you mutter.

His spine stiffens, shoulders pop back in pride. “I do try to please the ladies every chance I get.”

“We are all well aware.” More fries thankfully save you from saying anything that may humiliate.

“Guess those aren’t your favorite characters. You probably like the stuffy types that are all serious, with their noses up in the air or stuck in a book.”

You shrug. “Nah, I go for the rogues.”

One of Dean’s brows quirk up. “The dangerous type?” One side of his mouth lifts as well.

“Yeah, a scoundrel. You know, the one you can’t quite figure out. They’ve got this bad reputation or some sordid past. But, they go after what they want. Take what they want.” You hum again and close your eyes. You can still see Dean’s grin in your mind’s eye.

“Too bad I don’t fit the bill.”

You freeze. Eyes still closed. He didn’t just… did he?

“I mean. It’d be all kinds of wrong. Me going for something I wanted, damn the consequences.”

You inhale and grip the curve of the table top. You open your eyes to find him sipping at his whiskey. “Don’t fuck with me,” you whisper.

He gives you a toe curling smile now. The glass clinks onto the table. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m not your type.”

“I-wh-” It’s too late. You’ve never been on the receiving end of what is most definitely Dean Winchester flirting. “What makes you think that?”

He leans in. His breath meets your inhale and you take in all the spice and warmth. “I wouldn’t do a thing to mess this up. Not unless, you know, I knew.”

You nod, dumbstruck. “Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, yeah.” A whoosh of fatigue makes your head spin.

Dean smiles. “We live together, hunt together. Packed like sardines together twenty-four seven sometimes. Wouldn’t want to mess any of that up. Unless I knew, you know?”

“Knew what?” Your chin drops to your chest despite your best efforts. The weight of your body gets ready to do a face plant on the table top. You squish your lids shut tight and groan in horror at the inevitable.

But, Dean is there to save you. Again. His fingers swoop in to cradle your jaw and lift up your head. The embarrassment and alcohol finally overtake you. As you fade, you hear, “Maybe I’ll tell you when you’ll remember the answer.”

You woke up in your bed, back at the bunker. Again, with no idea if it was morning or night. No idea how much time had passed since…

You spring upright to sit. And, yeah, that was a mistake. Your head pounds. Your mouth is dry and tacky. Your stomach feels like it got turned upside down. Not that much time has passed since…

You groan and lay back down, slow and gentle. You piece the last snippets of memory together.

You stare up at the ceiling, grateful for the darkness. You want it to suck you up whole.

Did you pass out in the middle of Dean hitting on you? Did Dean end up swooping you up and putting you in the Impala? Driving you home passed out in the back seat - or God forbid the front passenger seat with you lolling about, mouth probably open and drooling - then carrying you throughout the bunker to your bedroom? Did he…?

You pat your chest and feel the spaghetti straps and silky fabric of your little black dress. You sigh. He had taken pity on you and only stripped you of your cowboy boots.

There’s a soft tap on your bedroom door.

“Oh no.” You pull the blanket over your head, mortified. You don’t think you can face him.

But it’s not Dean that says your name. It’s Sam.

“You alright? I heard you… uh… moaning.”

“Yeah,” you squeak. “Hungover.”

You think you hear Sam snicker. “Dean said you outpaced him by a mile. In darts and drinks.”

That makes you pause to recall. No, you definitely don’t think any of that’s accurate.

“He made some breakfast before he went out, if you’re hungry.”

Great, he can’t bear to face you, either. “Thanks, Sam.”

“If you’re up for it later, I could use some assistance researching.”

You take a measured breath to quell the nausea. “I’ll let you know.”

You’d chewed some aspirin and drank glass after glass of water from the sink in your room and somehow passed out for a few more hours.

You drag yourself out of bed around noon and shower in an effort to resemble something close to human. The stomach growls lead you to the bunker kitchen. At first, you smile at the plate of pancakes Dean covered with a clean kitchen towel for you. A frown follows at the odd shape of them. They aren’t his usual silver dollar pancakes stacked six high.

You tilt your head, attempting to figure out what Buttermilk Banksy was trying to create. The two pancakes, side by side on a large plate, obviously started out as circles. But then, four long tendrils were added along the top of each and a little offshoot one on the side. A turkey? Why the hell would Dean make turkeys? It wasn’t anywhere near Thanksgiving time.

“‘Bout time, sleepy head.” Dean’s voice wafts in from the doorway. He strolls in without a care in the world. There’s no hesitancy to lock eyes with you. Which is good. That has to mean you didn’t make more of a fool of yourself than you remember. He tugs on the fridge door. “Do you want something else or those pancakes enough?” He’s asking the interior of the refrigerator more than you, his head circling the shelves. “Was gonna pile on the grease but thought you might need to take it easy after last night.”

“No, this is great. Thank you.” You keep your voice low, hoping he’ll get the hint and not make too much noise.

He seems to, clicking the door shut softly after grabbing a cold slice of pizza. “Oh, I thought we’d do a movie night in the Dean cave. I bought angus ground beef for burgers. I’ll make some potato wedges. Grabbed your favorite microwave popcorn, movie theater butter.”

The menu, miraculously, doesn’t make your stomach lurch into panicked somersaults. “None of that sounds Sam approved.”

“He’s got that author signing book store thing in Stockton tonight.”

Oh, right. You’d forgotten for a moment how excited Sam was to listen to some guy read a chapter from his book on the evils of the Federalist Society.

“Think you’ll be up for it?” Dean asks, brows raised hopeful.

You smile. “I think I will.”

“Good.” He captures a third of the pizza slice in one bite. After four chews and a swallow he finishes with, “I’ll go easy on you.” The grin he flashes catches you off guard. It’s that one that if Sam saw it, he’d suspect you and Dean had a secret.

Problem was, you didn’t know what the secret was.

“We got weapons to clean in an hour. No matter what Sam says about research.” Dean taps the door sill on the way out of the kitchen. “Meet you in the library. Don’t be late.” He disappears.

You stare down at your breakfast, which is now technically lunch, and a queasy feeling erupts. But not from the hangover or the thought of eating.

The pancakes Dean made. You think you know what the shapes are now.

A pair of hands.

Time in the library with Sam and Dean is pure torture. 

You’re sat equidistant between the two of them, in the middle of one of the long massive wooden tables. Sam is on one end, flipping through page after page of a volume on corporal punishment. He’s trying to work out an easy cheat sheet - a work flow chart - that you all can use in the future. If you can identify what crime someone was charged with committing way back when, you’d have a better idea of the dismembered mummified appendage to track.

Dean occupies the other head of the table. A worn cloth laid out in front of him, all manner of weapons lined in a neat row atop it, awaiting his hands.

His hands. God, you hope the pancakes were merely a cheeky, inside joke on Dean’s part. Maybe it was a reminder about your insistence on the manicure. Or the friggin’ Palmolive commercial that, thanks Dean, you can’t get out of your head either. Because now all you can think about is Dean’s massive fingers dipped in a teeny tiny glass bowl filled with sudsy dish detergent. 

Between Sam’s page turns and Dean’s clink of weapons your brain can’t settle or calm down. You’re also trying to appease both hunters. You’re reading through a book on your right and sharpening a machete on your left. 

“That jugglin’ act might leave you with more than a paper cut if you aren’t careful,” Dean chides.

You swallow down the urge to quip something back. It’s only when the whetstone clears the curve of the machete and halts at the tip that you tear your gaze from the task and stare at Dean. “I can handle it.”

He smirks. “Oh, I’m sure you can HANDle it.” He shrugs. “Just wouldn’t want you to lose a FINGER.”

“How about you quit distracting her? She’s doing you a favor.” Sam’s brows lift pointedly at Dean. “And besides, why do you insist on cleaning weapons here when you could literally be doing it anywhere else in the bunker?”

Dean curls up the fakest smile at Sam. “Cause I love your company.” 

The boys settle after a few more grunts and scoffs at each other. You plunge nose deep into lore and wish the pages were waves pulling you out to sea. 

There’s no way Dean’s emphasis on “hand” and “finger” were accidental. Dean’s pretty intuitive. But you are a pretty good actor in your own right when you need to be. However, there’s still a chance that you said or did something when you were too intoxicated to remember.

It’s not helping that Dean’s performing his weapon cleaning like a goddamn seduction. Mr. Hand Model takes apart the sawed off, cleans the inside of and around the barrel, reassembles, and clicks all the pieces back into place. His nails look perfect, shiny and slick with the gun oil. His beefy fingers curl around the wood and steel in a way that makes you want to trade places with the firearm.

You somehow endure for 45 minutes. Last night’s indulgences are blamed in an excuse to head back to your bedroom. As you preemptively wish Sam an enjoyable outing later, Dean reminds you to rest up for dinner and a movie.

Ugh. You know how Dean gets when he won’t let something go that he finds hilarious. This could go on for a while.

It’s a trap. It’s gotta be.

Dean’s lowering your defenses with good food and good company.

It all started in the kitchen where dinner was served. He wasn’t kidding about the burgers. He made quarter pound medium rare works of art with cheese and all the toppings. The bun was Texas Toasted out. The guy even used the air fryer to produce ridiculously addicting potato wedges with a spicy paprika and chili powder coating.

Then, it was Dean cave time. No beer in sight, you were given pop to drink, with an offhanded “no repeat performance of last night” remark. You slid down the couch, groaning, pulling the hoodie over your face for dramatic effect. He grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting between you on the couch and added, “You know, so you don’t pass out midway through the movie.”

You inhale the buttery goodness beside you and relax, popping back up in your seat. A swig of sugar wakes up your lethargic post-meal brain and settles the nerves that Dean is up to something. “So, what masterpiece do you have for us tonight?” you query.

He presses a button on one remote and the lights dim. Another remote in hand, another button press, and the television screen blares with an all too familiar soundtrack.

“The Empire Strikes Back.” You nod. “Good choice.”

“It’s your favorite one,” Dean reminds you.

“Yeah. Yoda. Duh.”

Dean chuckles.

Things fall into that easy going movie commentary that you and Dean are so fond of doing. It drives Sam crazy when he's watching stuff with the two of you. You’re spouting behind the scenes facts you know you’ve told Dean a half a dozen times already (like how the puppeteer who’s voicing Yoda also voices your favorite muppet, Fozzie Bear). Dean adds his own sound effects when the AT-ATs are firing, points out every Wilhelm scream, and helps Harrison Ford out by quoting all of Solo’s lines.

Leia is fixing some equipment on the Falcon and you comment, “I like the braid updo more than the cinnamon rolls.”

“Eh, I don’t know. The combo of beauty and baked goods is pretty hard to beat.”

Solo walks in and tries to help. Leia pushes him away. You sigh. “Here they go.”

Dean turns to you and raises an eyebrow. In perfect sync with Solo’s dialogue he utters, “Hey Your Worship, I’m only trying to help.”

You eye roll. “Would you please stop calling me that?” If it's a quote battle Dean wants, it’s on. If Sam were here, he’d be so done with the both of you right now.

“Sure, Leia.”

A huff for good measure. “You make it so difficult sometimes.”

Dean leans in. “I do, I really do. You could be a little nicer, though. Come on, admit it. Sometimes you think I’m all right.”

Wait. Wait. Oh no. You don’t have to be looking at the screen to know what happens next. Leia hurts her HAND trying to turn a lever. You clam up at all the fucking context this scene now holds for you and Dean. You can’t say the next lines. Because you know that Solo grabs Leia’s HAND as she says, “Occasionally, maybe… when you aren’t acting like a scoundrel.”

That’s when last night’s rum-infested confessions cut to the front of the memory queue. You adore scoundrels, rogues.

Dean doesn’t miss a beat, though. He even gazes down at one of your HANDS. He continues the performance. “Scoundrel?” Face half cast in shadow, his lids widen, irises still manage to catch the light and entrance you. “Scoundrel?” A huge grin emerges. “I like the sound of that.”

Solo is massaging Leia’s HAND the whole time.

Leia whispers, “Stop that.”

Dean replies, “Stop what?” Though he’s not questioning the screen. He’s locked eyes with you. Daring you to break away first.

Leia answers, even softer. “Stop that. My hands are dirty.”

Dean tilts his head, uncaring. “My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid?” Oh, Leia, Don’t egg him on.

“You’re trembling,” Dean’s voice is softer. He’s edging closer, but there’s only so much distance he can cover with the popcorn bowl in the way.

You decide now’s as good a time as any to try and act your way out of a paper bag. “I’m not trembling.” You coat your response with steel.

Dean is only encouraged by your participation. “You like me because I’m a scoundrel. There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

You ponder for a moment. “I happen to like nice men.”

“I’m nice men.” Dean offers with complete sincerity.

You scoff. “No, you’re not. You’re…”

The music swells. Solo and Leia kiss.

But, you and Dean just stare at each other, for what feels like an eternity. You know C3PO is gonna interrupt the lovebirds at any moment. It’s the only lifeline you have, so you wait for the robot with the worst timing in history to save you from embarrassment.

“Guys?” Sam’s voice calls from the hallway.

You snap, stick straight, your back pressed against the seat. Sam must have come in through the garage.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, Sammy. Come on in. Back so soon?”

The door flings open. Warm ceiling lights from the hall halo Sam’s figure. “You know how they say, never meet your heroes? Totally valid advice tonight.” Sam stumbles into the room, all lanky limbs, and sinks into the cushy side chair. He runs fingers through his hair, his profile scrutinizing the screen. “Jedi?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously, dude, how are we related?”

The three of you watch the rest of the movie without much commentary.

And you and Dean do not quote any other lines.

You cleaned up the dinner mess, alone, in the kitchen. You insisted it was the least you could do and Dean didn’t put up much resistance.

You find Dean’s bedroom door open on your way to your own for the night. You stop in the doorway to thank him again.

He’s putting away some shirts in his dresser, back turned. He looks comfy, cozy, showered, and perfect. You compose yourself in a split second when he senses you and cocks his head to the door. “Hey, everything okay?”

It’s his usual question, always assuming something needs fixing or solving. But, you sense extra concern in the tone this time.

You nod, wanting to ease the tide of Dean Winchester’s worry. “Thank you. Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah, even with Chewbacca?”

You chuckle. “Be nice.”

He waves you in as he wraps up his laundry. You oblige and sit by the tiny corner table. “Yeah, you’re right. Solo actually wouldn’t mind Chewy hanging out with him and Leia.”

You smile. Apparently, it’s Star Wars character dissection time. “So, if Sam’s not Chewbacca…”

The drawer squeaks closed. “Luke.”

“Han doesn’t mind Luke. Annoyed, sometimes. But, everyone annoys Han at one point or another.”

Dean sits at the edge of the bed, facing you. He stretches, hands entwined and arms raised overhead. A white t-shirt hugs his form here and there. You get a glimpse of perky nipples pressing against fabric. “Luke was competition. Before the brother-sister bombshell,” Dean states.

“Yeah, guess so.”

“But, the three of them, they made a good team,” Dean continues.

You nod, deliberate and slow.

“It only takes one person to start getting feelings for another one in the trio and then the whole galaxy is in jeopardy.” Dean taps the pads of his fingers together.

You sigh. You didn’t want to have to rat yourself out. But, Dean’s got a point. So, how do you go about telling him you’re finding him unbelievably attractive all of a sudden? And how do you ease his apparent worry? What, you’ll do your best to keep it in check? It won’t interfere with the work you do?

“We’re a good team, right? You, me, Sammy?” Dean cuts through the silence with the questions. He scrubs at the nape of his neck.

“I-I’d like to think so. But, you’re right, Dean. It can throw the whole balance off in a good working relationship if someone starts to catch feelings that aren’t reciprocated.”

His eyebrows form a distraught mountain peak. “So, it’s true?”

He looks so unhappy at the possibility, but you’ve gotta be an adult about it. “It just started happening during the last case.” You shrug. “But, I don’t have any intention of acting on them.” A hand raises. “Don’t worry.”

His lips purse tight. Nostrils flare. He’s deep in thought. Finally, he says, “But, you won’t know if you don’t act on it.” He nods more to convince himself now. “You should talk to Sam about how you feel.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Hey, I gave it a ‘good ole high school dropout that earned his GED’ try. We have established that I am not your type.”

“Wha-?”

“I’ll be fine with the two of you being a thing. I want to see you and Sam happy. If that means you both, together, that’s great.”

Your hands circle in front of you. “Whoa, whoa. Back up a minute.” Suddenly, your heart is racing.

“What?” He’s got that vacant puppy dog expression, every muscle in his face relaxed, wide open eyes.

You steady your breathing. “What made you think you were my type?” You can’t help the question. You only hope it doesn’t sound belittling or sarcastic. Right now, it’s your last defense of self-protection and attempt at fact finding. You gotta know if you are misinterpreting the revelation that Dean may in fact be upset if you and Sam were an item. Because… he wants you two to be an item?!

“You were acting… weird… ever since Lincoln and the manicure.” He twiddles his fingers. “I was picking up signals that weren’t there, I guess.” He shakes his head and mumbles. “Or, I probably was looking too hard to find something that wasn’t there. Like those times you tell me I’m sniffing around the wrong dog’s butt.”

You squish your lids at how crass you can be. It’s giving you less reasons to think he could find you attractive in any capacity. “Okay, but why was that so important to know?”

His arms extend from side to side. He’s getting riled up and more than a little miffed. But, you know that might work in your favor. His mouth tends to run on autopilot and the truth comes flying out. “Our, I don’t know, petri dish of co-existing in this jack-in-the-box wouldn’t get fucked up. I wouldn’t go off half-cocked and do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while unless I knew, for sure, that you felt the same way I did.” His hands retract and fall in his lap. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at his socked feet. “But, you don’t.”

You’ve got actual fucking butterflies beating their wings like bongo drums in your stomach. “What have you wanted to do for a while?”

His eyes track up to you. He’s inspecting you, hard. That’s doing nothing to quell the excitement inside. “What’s the point in telling you that now?”

“Because, maybe… you’re wrong and… you are my type.”

Dean’s lids lift a quarter of an inch. It’s a minute, micro reaction. But you catch it.

“Maybe I’ve been ignoring it for a while, because, like you. I didn’t want to mess things up. I love Sam.” You swallow, ready to bare all. “But, I haven’t been thinking about what his hands could do to me,” you whisper.

Dean inhales, sharp and quick through his nose at that confession. He exhales, adding, “Don’t fuck with me.”

You can’t do anything but grin in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a goddamn idiot. “I should have said that to you numerous times today. The pancakes. The gun cleaning. Freakin’ Han massaging Leia’s HAND!”

His lids widen. “Hey, it was me testing my theory. Like when we gotta douse someone with holy water to make sure they aren’t possessed. All but the movie, though. Swear I did not remember that scene until a few seconds before it started happening.” He sits up, rubs palms on his sweatpant clad thighs. “Well, okay, I didn’t remember the hand thing, but I wanted to see how you reacted to like THE best scoundrel ever.” Now, he’s grinning. “Been thinkin’ about my hands, huh?”

You roll your eyes merely to play along. “Alright, don’t get a big head.”

He cocks his head like a devilish rogue. “No need for a big head when I’ve got big hands.”

The giggle escapes before you can lasso it.

Dean slides his gaze up your seated frame. It’s a filthy, seedy expression. And hot as fuck. He stops to stare at your mouth, then licks his own. When his eyes meet yours, he commands, “Come on over and show me what you’ve been thinking of.” He pats his thighs. “I’ve got a nice warm seat for ya.”

He’s kidding, right? He wants you to sit on his lap. As if you’d even consider it.

And, yeah, you aren’t considering it. There’s no time for consideration when your legs have already propelled you out of the seat. You give his bedroom door a swing in a passing thought about closing it for privacy.

You can see the look of surprise on Dean’s face as you march over to the bed. But it’s mixed with want and eagerness. He opens his arms in welcome.

Warmth prickles your cheeks at the forwardness you display in accepting the invitation. One knee props up on the bed beside him. You anchor hands onto his shoulders, feel those fingers fan and lock onto your waist, and you bring the rest of your body up to straddle his lap.

You sigh, staring down at that kid in a candy store grin of his, and marvel at how very right it all feels. You settle, your ass firmly atop his thighs. The heat of him is immediate.

“Been wanting you like this,” he whispers, his nose brushing the skin exposed around your collar. A hand molds to the side of your neck, holding you in place. You shiver at the lips skirting upwards along the channel of your throat. “Now who’s ticklish?” It’s meant to tease, but his voice has lost that hint of mirth. It’s deeper, daring you to deny his observation as anything other than fact. “Maybe you aren’t ready for my hands. All.” A kiss at the juncture where your lobe meets your jaw. “Over.” A peck at the tip of your chin. He threads his fingers into the base of your hairline. He eases your head with a smooth tilt down. You lock eyes with his green ones once again. “You.”

The only response you can give is to connect your lips to his. Feeling the pliant, soft give of his mouth against yours. Then his insistent lean up and forward, forcing you to stand your ground while seated on his lap. You have to demonstrate your want is equal to his.

And you want. You so want.

Whatever you’re doing, his approving moan eggs you to continue. With each swipe and dip and dive of your lips, your mouth opens a bit more. The access encourages Dean’s tongue to taste. He laps at you gently, swirls around just enough that your core begins to ache. He pulls away and you groan. You’re drunk with desire, heavy and heady. 

Your lids blink open slow and sleepy. Thankfully you find Dean’s looking as blissed out as you feel. He’s inspecting your reaction through a hazy gaze. His hand captures the side of your face. Five pressure points sink into your skin. His eyes flicker to your mouth to watch his thumb outline the curve of your lip. The pad tugs and drags at your skin.

It’s only a second of wordless communication between the two of you. He asks with a lifting of his lids. You agree with an affirmative blink.

His thumb delves into your mouth, up to the first knuckle. You wrap your lips around. Suck with the gentlest of pressure.

His mouth lifts into a slight smile. “Good girl,” he whispers.

And, fuck if that doesn’t open your floodgates. You’re slick and ready.

Dean’s other hand runs along the waistband of your yoga pants. “You been thinking about my hands all over you…” His thumb glides under the fabric of your panties. “Taking you apart, piece by piece.” He delves farther down, until he taps the top of your mound. His jaw clenches at your gasp of anticipation. His thumb hooks under your tongue against the floor of your mouth to express just how in command he is right now. “You gonna do what I say, Your Worship?”

You nod. You’ll don a pair of cinnamon buns if he tells you to right now.

He smirks, cocky and full of confidence. “The better I make you feel down here...” He works his thumb between your folds and presses against your clit. You squirm in his lap. “The better you suck with that beautiful mouth, yeah?”

You nod again. He releases the pressure in your mouth, circles your bundle of nerves. He slips and slides while his fingers splay over your stomach to anchor in place. You latch onto his thumb again and suck on it like a straw

“Pretty sure this isn’t as wet as you’re gonna get,” he comments like a fucking weatherman. After only a few seconds, he sighs and shakes his head. “Too many fucking clothes.”

You’ve only sparred with Dean a handful of times. Every time, he’s bested you with graceful movements and quick action. He disengages from you for what must have only been seconds, spinning you around in his grasp and pinning your back to the mattress. He’s whipping off your t-shirt, pants, and underwear. Leaving you in only your bra.

He leers over you, hands running up the underside of your thighs. He kneels onto the bed, all of his clothes still on, to wedge against your ass. All of you is on proper display for him. And he takes it all in.

“Right, Gorgeous. Where were we?” One hand rides its way up your chest back to your mouth. You accept his index finger between your lips this time. His other hand resumes playing with your clit. “Hm. Much better.” 

A gasp escapes from your mouth. Your tongue ejects his finger so you can point out, “Who’s the one with too many fucking clothes on now?”

“All good things come to those who wait, darlin’.” He settles further, criss crossing over top of your flesh. His legs sandwich your right thigh while he strums your pussy. The hope of what else is to come pokes into your side through his sweatpants. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, slipping his finger into your mouth again. The pull of his left hand guides you to lean your head toward the right. He settles his beefy forearm onto the mattress above your shoulder.

His chest pins you down in a kinky wrestling move. Teeth snag your ear lobe. He applies pressure to the swollen flesh over a ridge of bone, then uses a flicking motion that makes your thigh twitch in delight.

You're sloppy with your technique of licks and sucks as he feeds you another digit. But, really, how is any gal supposed to mind their manners with Dean Winchester fingering her? You groan, helpless, as he explores your folds, finds your entrance with two tips. “I know you got a thing for my hands,” his hot breath tunnels into your ear canal, “but, if you want, I can fill you up real good with something else.”

You can’t reply with any actual words, only moans of agreement. The erection pressing into your hip bone sure does feel substantial. If it’s anything like his fingers - two fingers are currently surfing around your tongue and rubbing against your palate - he’ll have no problem filling you up.

To ground yourself in the reality of the situation, you snatch at the hem of his shirt and tug. Your pelvis tilts up at the slow insertion of one of his other fingers down below. “Damn,” he pants into your ear. “How long’s it been since someone took care of you, all nice and proper? So- so tight and wet.” He hums. “And warm.” A languid slide out with one finger, only to be accompanied with another when he pushes back inside. “Feel so good. Gonna feel even better around my cock after I make you come… Princess.”

You will not ever admit to the fact that you squealed with Dean’s fingers in your mouth. That you convulsed after only seconds of him playing with your clit and stretching open your hole.

Fireworks continue to skyrocket in your head. Your body tipped into the oversensitive zone. You’re aware of every bit of him plastered against you. He’s made you slick with arousal and sweat. Layers of fabric cling to skin. You should be suffocating with him laying atop you, but he feels like a weighted blanket. Warm, secure. Dean’s fingers don’t retract from your mouth or pussy. They are frozen in place. Your teeth nibble one set. Your muscles spasm around the other. 

He hasn’t moved. Hot breath huffs hard into the crook of your neck with an occasional sharp inhale and hold. You close your eyes. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you could fall asleep like this.

“Was that… too much?” He deep-throat whispers in your ear now. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

“N-mph-,” you chortle around his fingers.

“Shit, sorry.” He pulls his hand away from your mouth, the other slowly out of your hot core. Matching sighs release from you both.

“No,” you heave, and his chest rises up and off. “It was… awesome.”

He’s in your face now, all green eyes and pink lips, a veil of freckles along the bridge of his nose and forehead. “Yeah?”

You squint, trying to focus on all the glorious aspects. He’s studying you. You get the feeling he’s really not sure. “Why is the ladies man doubting himself all of sudden?” you tease, rocking to shuffle him out of the daze.

A shrug. “It’s you. I don’t always read you right.”

You lean your head back into his memory foam in an attempt to make full eye contact. “I don’t know how many ways you can misread giving me a mindblowing orgasm.”

He blinks, cautious. “Is what I did going to… you know… change things between us?”

“Oh.” You stop, dart your gaze to the ceiling past his shoulder for dramatic effect. “Oh, absolutely. I mean,” you pause, “how could it not?” You shake your head and feel his entire body go rigid. “It’s gonna be so awkward and uncomfortable around here.” 

When you dare to look at him, there’s a hint of something you don’t see often on Dean’s face. You think it might be fear.

You can’t bear it any longer. “I mean, I can already imagine the disgusted look on Sam’s face when we start making out right in front of him.”

Within seconds, the expression turns to one of relief and amusement, accompanied by the charming cockiness that’s gonna turn you to goo at the most inopportune moments from here on out. “Well, we don’t have to tell him right away. It might be fun to, you know, sneak around right under his nose.” He relaxes, sinks into you again. “I could have you all sorts of ways, in all sorts of places, doing our best not to get caught.”

You smile. “Don’t want to tell your brother you’ve stolen my heart with that five-finger discount of yours?”

He chuckles, rolls his eyes, then cups the heat of your folds again. “I mean, I sucked at Biology, but pretty sure this ain’t your heart, darlin’.”

“You’re wrong, you know?”

He blinks, all sass and spectacle, “This IS your heart?” He squeezes.

You peck his lips, roll your eyes, and curl arms around his waist. “No. Solo’s got nothing on you. YOU are the best scoundrel.”

A breathtaking kiss makes you all lightheaded. When he finally pulls away and allows you to exhale, he lifts one side of his mouth into a confident grin. “I know.”

THE END

[delightfulcollectivetyphoon]

req: hiii :'3 i just saw that u opened reqs which is so cool1!! and i saw the heavy kink stuff... finally someone who understands me!! do you think you could write a klars fic where kirk keeps biting lars and hearing him whine until kirk takes a bite out of him?? eek ive been wanting a fic like this 4ever!!! byebye thank you!!!

omfg this is hot ESPECIALLY cuz we all know lars whimpers. a lot.

look me in the fucking eyes and tell me that man is a dom. WITHOUT LAUGHING. CAN'T FUCKING DO IT CAN YOU??

also i feel like load!era kirk would be super into biting and hickies and stuff like that so thats the pairing

rtl!lars ulrich x load!kirk hammett

cws: biting, teensy bit of blood, dry humping, lars cums in his pants 🤭, daddy kink, somnophilia, blowjob, boot humping, praise, anal sex, no beta we die like men

The front door creaked open, silhouetting Kirk against the carpet of his apartment. The light from the hallway faded as he stepped into the living rooms, being careful to close the door quietly before flopping down onto the couch. He reached over to the lamp sitting on the table beside him and was startled to see Lars fast asleep in the recliner opposite him. The warm, soft light from the lamp gave Lars a sort of glow, highlighting his hair and skin. Once he had taken off his jacket, he crept over to the recliner and leaned down to pick the young man up before he froze.

"Umf, fuck... yes, yes..." Lars whispered.

Krik grinned to himself, not realizing that Lars was in fact having one of the filthiest dreams of his life. Kirk's arm was hitched right under Lars' knees when Lars moaned out.

"Daddy, yes...right there, please!"

It was at this time Kirk realized just what kind of dream his boyfriend was having. He felt his cheeks flush and his pants get tighter. He picked Lars up and carried him to the couch, trying his best to keep him asleep. Once Lars' head was safely propped up against a cushion, Kirk crawled over Lars, becoming face level with him, before leaning down to nip at his neck, enough so he could feel it, but gentle enough so it wouldn't wake him. Lars whimpered at the contact and leaned slightly into it. Kirk smiled against his skin and continued to mark his skin with indents and bruises. Before long, he was softly rutting against Lars, grinding their hard-ons together through their jeans. Lars only got more vocal, his whispers and whimpers turning into yells, before his eyes snapped open and he bucked his hips up straight into Kirk. The older man's pace was brutal, his cock throbbing and staining the front of his jeans with precum. He was so infatuated with the way Lars' jeans grew tighter and tighter, watching his dick twitch beneath the denim, that he didn't notice Lars awaken. The boy let out a moan, gripping onto Kirk's arm, making him quicken his pace.

"Hey baby," he grunted, focused on his thrusts.

Lars dug his nails into his forearm at the raspiness of his voice.

"Fuck...Daddy please, I need to c-cum."

"My baby gonna cum in his pants like a fucking teenager? Huh?"

"Please... I'll do anything!"

With those words, Kirk stopped, earning a whine from Lars, before standing up and grabbing Lars' forearm, forcing him to his feet, before sitting down on the sofa and signaling for Lars to get on his knees.

"If you wanna cum, you have to earn it. My pretty baby is gonna hump my boot in his jeans while he sucks me off."

Lars groaned, earning him a glare from Kirk. The older man leaned forward, grabbing his lover's throat in an iron grip.

"Watch it. Brats don't get to cum. Besides, you said anything." He gave him a light tap on the cheek before pulling away, relaxing against the back of the sofa, waiting for Lars to make a move.

Kirk set his boot in between Lars' knees. Lars slowly sunk onto his boot, rubbing against it gently, eyes rolling back at the pressure. Once he had gained his composure, his hands crept up Kirk's thighs, teasing his bulge. He unbuttoned his pants before unzipping them with his teeth, making Kirk groan and grasp at his hair. Once his boxers had slid down his shaft, Lars took the head into his mouth, tasting his precum, before taking Kirk by surprise and sinking down half his length.

"Oh, fuck! Pretty boy's gonna fuck with me, huh? I'll fuck with you right back."

He tapped his boot against the ground aggressively, earning a yell from Lars. He kept riding it, desperate for release.

"That's right baby, fuck, take it...." he panted, fucking his throat. Lars's hair had been pulled back into a ponytail while Kirk mouth-fucked him. Lars managed to pull off before moaning,

"Please, please I needa cum so bad, please Daddy, I'll be a good boy!"

"Shit! Cum for me baby, want to see your fucked-out face."

Lars came, and he came hard. His hips stuttered as he groaned, clinging to Kirk's leg like a lifeline. Cum seeped through the denim, landing on Kirk's boot. His eyes rolled back, and his mouth hung open. When he finally came down from his high, he looked Kirk wearily in the eye, and feeling guilty for not making him finish, reached a hand out to jack him off. Kirk clamped down on his wrist before he was even past his thigh.

"Nuh-uh sweetheart, I gotta better job for you."

================================================

Half an hour later, Kirk was sitting on that very same couch with Lars straddling his hips, fucking himself on the older man's cock. Kirk's face was buried in the brunette's neck, biting and licking whatever he could reach. Lars' hands clamped down on his shoulders, nearly drawing blood. He had cum three times so far, oversensitive and exhausted. But Kirk kept him there, refusing to let him leave. His hands never left his hips, except to run up and down his sides or to give him a light smack on the ass.

Lars' soft "uh uh uh"s mixed beautifully with Kirk's growls and praise, filling each other's ears with an odd type of music. As Lars neared his fourth orgasm, Kirk dug deeper into his skin, his canines poking into his neck. Lars' hands found their way into Kirk's hair, keeping him smothered in his neck, begging him to go deeper. They came at the same time as Kirk's teeth finally broke skin, Lars screaming at the intensity of the orgasm, Kirk moaning out at the metallic taste flooding his mouth. Kirk stayed latched to the wound, nearly sucking his lover dry, as Lars cockwarmed him, too tired to lift himself up. Once Kirk found his way out of Lars; neck, the brunette had fallen asleep on his shoulder, arms still wrapped around his neck.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 16

Falls the Shadow

Rating: M - Minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 3.9k

Warnings and tags: SMUT; hand job; service kink; command kink; fluff; bonding; angst; flawed characters; smoking/drug use (depending on how you HC death sticks); DJ chose violence after seeing one too many shitty fanon takes about Gregor; remember how I said Chapter 9 was the last of the heavy angst? I lied, I'm sorry.

Suggested Listening:

Summary: The strike team makes their final preparations for Balmorra; some difficult conversations are had.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

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Between the essence and the descent falls the Shadow

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Riyo awakened slowly, feeling blissfully relaxed and wonderfully safe. The gentle light of a Coruscant dawn spilled through the window, bathing the room in a golden haze. Her back pressed against something solid and warm, and soft breath fanned against her bare shoulder. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, and it tightened ever so subtly as she took a slow, deep inhale and shifted her body. Echo’s scent surrounded her, and she took a moment to revel in his nearness.

He stirred, and his lips grazed across the sensitive skin just where her shoulder curved up to her neck—right where he’d bitten her only a few hours earlier. She let out a small, content sigh and rolled back against him until their bodies were pressed fully against each other, his thighs tucked in behind her knees. He’d taken off his prosthetic legs the night before, and she felt a deep sense of happiness that he felt safe enough with her to put himself in that vulnerable position. His hand flattened over her belly, large and strong, and she couldn’t repress a smile when she remembered exactly how that clever hand had touched her the night before. 

“You’re not a morning person, are you?” Echo grumbled quietly.

“Afraid so,” Riyo confessed. “Is that a deal-breaker?”

“Nobody’s perfect,” he said, shifting their positions so her head rested on the shoulder of his scomp-arm. “Besides, I’m in too deep to end it now.”

She sucked in a small breath. “Are you?”

“Mmm,” he said, stroking his hand down the curves of her waist and hip and pressing a gentle kiss behind her ear.

She rolled over to face him, gazing into his beautiful, sleepy eyes. His face was soft, and his mouth curved in a small smile that made her want to kiss him all over, so she did. She covered him in tiny, light kisses, her lips just brushing over his skin, as she swept her hands over the hard, wiry muscles of his torso, and lower. She brushed against his cock and found it rigid and hot, and she pushed back the blankets so she could see him as he rolled onto his back.

She began to tease him gently and soon discovered a strand of her long, lilac hair had somehow gotten wrapped around his shaft. She pulled it away carefully, and he hissed and thrust his pelvis away from the mattress.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked.

“No, it felt amazing. Do it again,” he said.

He probably didn’t intend it as an order, but Riyo’s breath kicked up, and she looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. She brushed her fingertips over him with the lightest touch imaginable, and he groaned quietly.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I just—”

He looked at her inquisitively.

“I liked it when you told me what to do,” she admitted. “When you—commanded me.”

“Did you?” he asked, a hint of speculation in his eyes. She nodded, and he smiled. “Lie down next to me. Rest your head on my shoulder again.”

She obeyed.

“Now touch me again, just like you did before. Nice and soft.”

She licked her lips and reached for his cock, barely touching his skin, circling it with her fingertips, drawing the faintest lines up and down his shaft. 

“That’s it,” he rumbled. “Keep going.”

She did as she was told, tilting her face up to look into his eyes. His gaze was riveted on her small lazuline hand as she caressed his cock with utmost tenderness. 

“A little harder,” he said.

She took him in a loose hold, stroking up, down; twisting her wrist slowly. His breath hitched, and he pressed his lips into her hair. She traced a fingernail lightly down the underside of his cock, and he moaned as his head fell backward onto the pillow.

“Harder,” he grunted. “And a little faster.”

She squeezed and began to work him at a steady pace, feeling a rush of slickness between her thighs at Echo’s commanding tone. She loved knowing that she was giving him exactly what he wanted—that even though he was giving the orders, she was the one taking him to pieces with agonizing precision, just the way he liked. His breath became ragged in her ear, and she shifted to straddle his thigh, desperate to find relief for her aching cunt.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Squeeze it harder.”

She tightened her grip and increased her speed. He wrapped his scomp-arm around her back and pulled her tight up against him. She rolled her hips, feeling the familiar tension begin to gather in her core muscles. He thrust into her hand, panting and moaning.

“Squeeze me as hard as you can,” he ordered, his voice tense.

She wrung his cock in her hand until she was sure it must be agonizing, working fast and hard as the muscles in her forearm began to cramp. Abruptly, Echo reached up and pulled her into a kiss, latching his mouth onto hers as a groan wrenched from his chest. His body convulsed, and she felt the hot spurt of his release jet into her palm, coating her skin in thick, glossy pearls of cum. Pleasure flooded her mind, nearly as intense as a physical orgasm as she felt him come apart in her hand. She continued to stroke him lazily as his cock softened, until his body relaxed back into the mattress and he loosened his grip on her. His breath came loud and rough, and an expression of utter bliss settled on his face. 

She gave a satisfied little smile as she raised her hand to admire the shiny fluid covering her palm and fingers. 

“Kriff me,” he panted. “You’re amazing.”

“What’s the plan?” Echo asked as he surveyed the retired mining vessel on which their entire mission depended. “New hyperdrive and weapons?”

Cerra had called it vintage; Echo thought she was being too kind. Antique seemed more appropriate. Or scrapheap.

“The hyperdrive will have to wait until I can steal—I mean, source one,” Cerra replied. Echo smirked as Rex narrowed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “This one isn’t the fastest, but it’s in good shape, and for this mission, sublight speed and maneuverability are more important. I figure I’ll upgrade the ion engine and the maneuvering thrusters while you install forward cannons.”

“Makes sense,” Echo said. “Shields?”

“It already has a pretty impressive shield generator onboard, probably to protect it from asteroid impacts,” Cerra said. “We can recalibrate it for plasma weapons. Should be able to withstand anything a standard Gozanti-class cruiser can throw at you.”

“What can I do to help?” Rex asked.

“Try to convince Echo that this plan is insane,” Cerra said in a sardonic tone.

Rex shrugged. “That’s why he’s the ARC trooper.”

The upgrades and calibrations took several days. As Echo and Cerra worked, Fireball and Nemec bickered good-naturedly about what they should name the ship. 

“Jango’s Revenge,” Fireball suggested.

“Not bad,” Echo called from his position at the front of the ship.

“Bit on the nose, no?” Nemec objected. “Might as well hang up a sign that says ‘Clone Deserters Inside.’”

“Then you probably also don’t like Kamino’s Fury?” Fireball asked.

“Immediately no,” Nemec said.

“What’s your brilliant idea, then?” Fireball retorted. “Shippy McShipface?”

“Miner Blues,” Nemec said. “Get it? Because—”

“No puns!” Cerra declared from where she dangled beneath the ship, suspended by a work harness.

“Killjoy,” Nemec muttered.

“Did you call me?” Echo asked.

“What about Remora?” Fireball suggested.

“What does that mean?” Nemec asked.

“It’s a creature Commander Gree told me about once,” Fireball said. “He always used to read all about different animals from around the galaxy. Remoras latch onto bigger fish, like the leech vessel latches onto the main ship.”

“Clever,” Cerra called. “I like it.”

“You’re just siding with Fireball because he’s your favorite,” Nemec said.

“Guilty as charged,” Cerra said dramatically, flipping upside down in her harness so Fireball could see her as she blew a kiss at him. He ducked his head with a bashful smile, and she cackled as she hoisted herself back up and continued her work.

“I like it, too,” Echo said.

“It is pretty good,” Nemec admitted begrudgingly.

“What’s pretty good?” Gregor asked as he and Rex strolled into the shop, back from whatever Force-forsaken errand they had been running.

“We’re naming the ship,” Fireball said.

“Oooh,��� Gregor replied. “I was thinking something like—”

“No puns!” Cerra and Echo yelled in unison. “Jinx—Double jinx!”

“Now what happens?” Nemec asked, looking from Cerra to Echo and back again, but they both refused to respond, each determined to win.

“With neither of them allowed to talk? I’ll finally get some peace and quiet,” Rex sighed.

Once the major upgrades were complete, Cerra turned her attention to the smaller repairs and maintenance tasks that were inevitable on a vessel as old as the Remora. As she worked, she had plenty of time to listen to Echo and Gregor hammering out the logistics of the Balmorra mission. As they refined the details of their plan of attack, Cerra grew more anxious. Everything relied on precise timing, and if a single thing went wrong, the entire operation could end in a bloody catastrophe. 

She tried to take comfort in the fact that Gregor would remain on the Remora, but the closer they came to zero hour, the more she began to imagine the many ways the mission could fail. Her anxiety came to a head when Rex was abruptly called away to meet one of his endless mysterious contacts, meaning that he would not be accompanying them on the mission.

It was the night before the strike team was scheduled to depart. Fireball and Nemec had gone on a munitions run, and Echo was in the shower after a long day of cleaning the Remora’s life support conduits. Gregor sat on the sofa, inspecting a crate of grenades as he pulled out a few last-minute additions for his personal arsenal. Cerra flopped down next to him, and he immediately abandoned his task, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and tugging her against him.

“Sticking with EMPs?” she asked.

He nodded. “And maybe a few smoke bombs. No thermal detonators. Wouldn’t want to blow a hole in the ship and launch us all out into space.”

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“Nah. This is a picnic compared to what I used to do in the war.” His thumb traced lazy circles on her shoulder.

“If it’s so easy, maybe I should be the one piloting,” she said, and his hand abruptly stilled.

“No.”

She tilted her face up to look at him. His jaw was set firmly, and his eyes held an uncharacteristic hardness.

“Why not?” she asked.

“It’s too dangerous,” he said.

“But you just said it was a picnic,” she argued.

“For me,” he said, pulling away and turning to face her. “Do you have any idea what kinds of missions they sent me on in the war?”

“Of course, I do,” she said, incensed.

“Then you should know I can handle this,” he replied curtly.

“I know you can,” she said. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Cerra!” he said, raising his voice. “I am a grown man. I know what I am doing.”

“I know that, but—”

“There is no ‘but,’” he said, rising abruptly from the sofa. “You need to stop treating me like I’m some weak, defenseless child!”

Cerra’s jaw dropped in shock. “That’s not—I don’t—”

“Do you think I don’t know that you’ve been trying to get Rex to bench me?” he snapped as he began to pace. “I’m not a fool.”

Cerra leapt up from the sofa. “I never said—”

“You didn’t have to!” he yelled. “It’s obvious that you don’t think I am competent!”

“That’s not true!” she exclaimed. “That’s not why—”

“Then why?” His voice was loud and angry, and something snapped in Cerra’s brain.

“Because I can’t lose you like I lost Fives!” she shouted. “Fuck! I can’t go through that again!”

“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, gazing intently into her eyes.

“I—I mean you’re my best friend, and it would break my heart if anything happened to you,” she stammered. “What did you think I meant?”

He stared at her a moment longer before his face hardened. “Right. And how do you think it felt when you ignored me and went waltzing off to Raada?”

“That was different,” she objected.

“How?” he asked. “Because you think I’m helpless?”

“No!” she exclaimed.

“That I need to be protected?” he continued without letting her get another word in. “That I’m not capable of making my own decisions?”

“You know I don’t—”

“Stop!” he shouted. “Just stop, Cerra. What was it you said about Raada? It’s not your call.”

He stormed out of the garage, and she heard the engine of the speeder bike start up and fade into the distance. Cerra dropped to the sofa and cradled her head in her hands, wondering how the kriff that had gone so spectacularly wrong. She jerked her head up as she heard a soft sound behind her, whirling to see Echo standing just outside the fresher, and from his expression, he’d heard everything.

She sprang off the sofa and stalked out of the garage, slapping the control panel to close the door behind her. It slid shut quietly, and she wished it were a hinged door so she could have the satisfaction of slamming it. The landing platform wasn’t the ideal location for brooding, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. She found a rolled-up tarp and kicked it open, then flopped down on top of it. It wasn’t the cleanest, but it was a damned sight better than the filthy platform. She pulled a pack of death sticks out of her pocket and lit one, lying on her back as she took a deep inhale.

If there was one good thing about the deafening roar of Coruscant’s underworld traffic, it was that it was loud enough to drown out her thoughts. She willed her mind to empty as she stared up into the spiraling lights of the skylanes. She always loved watching the traffic. It was her favorite way to unwind after a mission—except usually Gregor was out here with her, sharing a bottle of spotchka and making her laugh until nothing hurt except her cheeks.

The door hissed open, and she rolled her eyes. 

What do I have to do to get some gods-kriffing-damned privacy around here? she thought irritably.

Heavy, metallic footsteps approached. Echo crouched down beside her. She didn’t look away from the traffic.

“You know those things will kill you,” he said conversationally. “It’s right in the name.”

She exhaled a slow, steady stream of smoke before she answered. “I’m sure a blaster will get me first.”

“Fair enough,” he said, sitting next to her on the tarp. She held out the half-empty pack of death sticks in a wordless offer, and he silently waved it away before leaning back to look up at the skylanes. “Better not let Rex catch you with them.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about Rex,” she said, forcing her eyes to unfocus so the lights blended into an endless, eddying stream.

An awkward silence descended between them. Echo shifted uncomfortably next to her. 

“You should have one,” she said. “It would give you an excuse to cover why you’re really out here.”

Echo laughed shortly. “Straight to the point, eh?”

She shrugged. “Diplomacy is for politicians. No offense.”

“None taken,” Echo said mildly. “Riyo would be flattered.”

“She should be. She’s a good egg. I’m happy for you two.”

“I didn’t realize you cared,” Echo said.

“Damn. Don’t hold back.” 

“I can’t figure you out, Cerra.”

“Nothing to figure,” she said.

“I know that’s not true,” he said. “You and Gregor—”

“That’s none of your karking business,” she snapped.

He paused for a moment, then quietly said, “Fives would want you to be happy.” 

Hot, fierce anger coursed through her, and she took a long, steadying drag of smoke before she answered. “So, what, I should just get over it?”

“I didn’t say that,” he protested. “I would never say that. Do you think I just got over it? I learned to live with it, Cerra, and it karking hurts, but I’m not the one lying out here on a filthy kriffin’ tarp, self-destructing and pushing everyone away whenever they get too close. Losing Fives taught me that it’s even more important to stick with the people who care about you.”

She let out a short, bitter laugh. “Fives was murdered by the people who were supposed to care about him.”

Echo blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

Her eyes snapped to him, an expression of bleak and utter devastation settling over her features. “Rex never told you, did he?”

“Told me what?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Fuck,” she said. “That is just kriffing like him, not to say anything because he thinks he can protect you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. “What happened to Fives?”

She took a deep breath, trying not to say anything she would regret. “What exactly did Rex tell you?”

“He—he said…” Echo trailed off. He stared into her eyes, and his jaw firmed. “Tell me what happened.”

She spoke slowly, her voice low and trembling with suppressed rage and grief as she told him everything: Tup, the executed Jedi, the malfunctioning chip, Fives’s investigation, the chancellor’s accusations, Fives’s final conversation with Kix, and what came after.

“He was confused and terrified, and they hunted him down and executed him like a rabid hound,” she said hoarsely. “His own brothers.”

Echo’s eyes were wide and horrified. “Who? Who was it?”

Cerra paused, realizing how dangerously close she was to sabotaging Echo’s relationship with Riyo. If he found out that the senator had been in love with the man who’d executed his twin, who knew how he would react? As far as she knew, Cerra was the only person in the galaxy who knew about the connection. She couldn’t betray Riyo’s trust like that. She would take the knowledge to her grave.

“I don’t know,” she lied. “Some Corrie.”

She ignored the quiet inner voice that pointed out she was making exactly the same choice as Rex did when he withheld information to try to protect his people. She didn’t care. She’d rather be a hypocrite than an oathbreaker.

“What the kriff?” he rasped. “Why didn’t Rex tell me this before?”

Cerra shook her head. “We didn’t know the full story until all the inhibitor chips activated at the end of the war. By then… we were just trying to stay alive.”

“Is that why you deserted?” Echo asked.

She glanced at him sharply. “Rex told you, did he?”

Echo shook his head. “It wasn’t too difficult to figure it out, once I knew you’d served.”

Cerra’s hand shook as she lit another death stick. “No. That’s not when I deserted.”

Echo waited quietly for her to continue, and dread swirled in her stomach in anticipation of his reaction. What would he do when he discovered that she’d abandoned her post—not after the disastrous end of the war, but before any of them even had a hint of the carnage to come?

She took a long drag and exhaled slowly. “I left after the battle of Coruscant.”

Echo was silent for a moment, and Cerra held her breath as she waited for the inevitable contempt and recrimination. No matter what he said, it couldn’t be worse than what her family had put her through, or the shame she had heaped upon herself since that fateful day. 

“Why?”

She swallowed thickly. In all the time that had passed, nobody had ever asked that question, though she had had plenty of time to ruminate on it.

When she didn’t respond after a moment, Echo asked, “Rex said you don’t know how to back down from a fight. So… what happened?”

“Kix,” she whispered.

Echo frowned. “The medic? I didn’t realize you knew him that well.”

“He and Fives were good friends after Umbara,” Cerra said. “Kix was helping me investigate Fives’s death. He was so close to figuring it out…”

“Was he killed, too?” Echo asked, his voice hard and forbidding.

“MIA,” she replied. “Just… gone. After that, I just—I couldn’t—” She paused to take a few deep breaths before continuing. “I knew that something was wrong, something big. Tup, Fives, Kix—everyone who started investigating the chips either ended up dead or disappeared. And I realized that everything I believed in—everything I’d spent my life fighting for—it was a lie. So I ran.”

“You abandoned your post,” he said in a neutral voice.

“Like you abandoned the Batch?” she asked nastily.

He reared back as if she’d slapped him. “What the kark is wrong with you, Cerra? I didn’t abandon them. They’re just on a different path.”

She launched to her feet and strode to the edge of the platform, flicking her death stick butt into the abyss. She was being massively unfair, and she knew it, which only made her angrier. Her fists clenched, inadvertently crumpling the pack of death sticks. With a ragged scream of frustration, she flung it into the abyss. She swayed dangerously close to the edge, and Echo’s strong hand closed around her wrist and yanked her to safety. 

She jerked away from him, glaring furiously. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Because you’re my sister!” he snapped.

Her jaw dropped.

“What?” she asked, stunned. Echo took a step toward her, and she backed up automatically. 

“I heard what you said that night at 79’s,” he said. His voice was rough. “I know you and Fives were married. He was my brother, Cerra, my twin. And that makes you my sister, whether you like it or not.”

She stammered incoherently, not knowing what to say or how to react. It had never even occurred to her that Echo would think of her as family—or even want to. He stepped closer to her again, and this time, she didn’t pull away.

“Family doesn’t just stand back and watch each other drown without doing anything to help,” he said.

“Mine did.” Her voice cracked on the words.

“Well, I’m not kriffing going to,” he said.

Her head ached, and her throat felt like it was closing on itself. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a broken, hoarse croak. There was so much pain in the sound that Echo’s eyes immediately softened, and he reached for her hand slowly, giving her plenty of time to retreat. She let him take her hand, and she realized he’d never touched her before that night.

“You have to let him go,” he said quietly.

“How?” she whispered, unable to force her voice to project.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Maybe we can figure it out together.”

Tears blurred her vision, and finally, finally, she allowed them to fall. She stepped close to Echo, and he wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face against his shoulder and sobbed. She wept for Fives, and for Echo, and for herself, and for everyone and everything that she had lost, and Echo held her until neither of them had any tears left to shed.

Next chapter

[godlytemperance]

npmd headcanons because my brain is rotted <3 <3

heehee hoohoo i am rotating the entirety of hatchetfield in my brain

im updating this as i think of more stuff so bear with me if this gets stupidly long

richie has audhd. i know this because he is me i am him we are EACH OTHER /j

ruth and richie met in the anime section of barnes and noble in middle school and nearly screamed when they realized they were going to the same high school later on

steph is lactose intolerant and is not brave about it ever. tries to share a hot chocolate with pete and spends the next three hours miserable

grace is doomed to kill in every timeline but it can be prevented by her best friends keeping her too occupied with mundane nonsense for her to find a gun

richie has so much tboy cringe energy. that man kins sasuke you cannot tell me i'm wrong

i have hit them all with my transgender and gay beam >:3c they're the friend group that hit their gender and sexuality realizations in waves. someone's egg cracked first (richie) and it set off a chain reaction

pete is genderfluid and usually presents masc (he/they)

bi with no strong preference either way

only recently began to dabble with femininity in his gender presentation

steph is gnc transmasc (he/she, used interchangeably)

bi with a masc preference

no matter who you are, if you have a crush on steph, you're gay. them's the rules pal

richie is transmasc (he/it)

aroace spectrum! he's demi on both ends, fluctuates pretty often.

somehow incredibly perceptive to romance unless it directly involves him, then he's as dense as a brick

ruth is a girlthing because she's swag like that (she/it/they)

pan with a fem preference

her preferred type is pathetic mascs and intimidating fems

grace is fem-presenting nonbinary (she/they)

formerly closeted lesbian

had the WORST case of comphet until she realized she didn't necessarily have to be attracted to MEN to be attracted to masculinity :3

max is transfem (she/he)

she's a butch lesbian!!! she doesn't feel pressured to be hyper-feminine after realizing she's trans, because she's already pretty happy with her outward presentation

saw all her new friends going through their various gender and sexuality realizations and is just "i hope this doesn't awaken anything in me :)" (it did)

OH also paul is richie's uncle! richie's dad is paul's older brother. they don't interact much but it is literally Autism to Autism

if the group were to fall victim to any of the Lords in Black, it'd probably be as follows:

max - wiggly. rage hatred biting nightmare nightmare >:3

steph - nibbly. he's got the closest ties to the CotSC and also we need more nibbly rep

pete - tinky. duh. probs gets trapped in the box in timelines where steph dies before him and he desperately wants to bring her back

richie - blinky. idk it's just vibes to me. he seems like the kind of guy to go nuts for eye symbolism

ruth - pokey. she's a theater kid and i think that pokey would have a field day shoving her into the fucked up and evil spotlight

grace - all of them. they take turns babysitting her in various timelines. she is their favorite child

richie 100% uses anime terminology to describe normal ass situations. he calls steph a tsundere once and steph has to act like her world wasn't just shifted two inches to the left for the rest of the day

oh also in redemption timelines they have movie / bingewatch nights!! they cycle between everyone's favorite shows or films. it's the best part of their week every single time

max was cast as a leading role the one and only time she ever auditioned for theater and it freaked her out so much that she declined the role

richie's hair is Like That because he tried to get the cool anime spiky hairstyle to work for him (it didn't) (he doesn't realize this until college)

pete was a greek mythology girlie i just know this. something about him screams "i read percy jackson way too much as a kid"

after grace realizes she doesn't have to be a "perfect" christian, she swears like a sailor

also grace hand embroiders all her clothes as a hobby! (this is semi-canon, since she has embroidered strawberries on the cuffs of her jeans in the show)

the first time steph smoked ouid, he made the mistake of using cbd oil and a pipe at the same time. man was in SPACE

all of them are poly with each other but at different levels:

steph and pete are Dating dating. so are max and grace. wholesome yaoi VS toxic yuri

ruth and steph are almost definitely "best friends" in the historical sense

richie and ruth are qpp. if they were both 100% straight they'd probably be the most annoying couple in the world

pete and richie kiss sometimes but its genuinely platonic for them. just bros being bros (they are so deeply in love and neither of them realize it until years later)

ruth and pete are friends to ??? to lovers to friends who cuddle sometimes

richie and steph are polar opposites but they love each other to death. black cat and orange cat kind of relationship

max and grace barely intersect with the nerds but they still consider all four of them to be part of their weird situationship

(grace definitely experimented with all four of them, with max's permission. just to be Sure. y'know.)

max is doing her best to make amends with the nerds but it is very slow going. she has gotten to casual fistbump level with them though!

the nerds usually just look at max and grace from the sidelines like they're watching two wild beasts circling each other in their enclosure. their flirting is NOT rated pg and it still baffles them how the local prude and the highschool football star managed to get together

richie unintentionally dropped the fact that he has a fursuit - a timberwolf, because i'm projecting - and ended up helping everyone design their fursonas. pete is a traditional chimera (goat, snake, and lion), steph is a plain black cat, ruth is a flemish giant rabbit (she did research), grace is a sheep, and max is a checkered-tail nighthawk.

any time that the group gets spam calls, all they have to do is hand the phone to ruth and they get taken off the lists the moment she speaks. ruth was frustrated by it at first but it became a game of "how many companies can i inconvenience before they stop calling hatchetfield numbers entirely"

steph braided pete's hair once and he damn near proposed on the spot

ruth knows how to sew (from doing tech) and helps teach max how to mend her clothes! max ends up being really good at it! she goes on to teach the entire football team how to fix their uniforms and ruth ends up being the honorary team favorite for at least a year

im taking jon matteson's "richie should have blue hair in a movie version of NPMD" and fucking sprinting with it. he dyes his hair at least once a year and it's a wildly different color every time

ruth is the kind of gal to love games with lots of violence because it makes her feel like a badass vigilante (she can barely do a push-up in real life) (just like me)

steph is deeply afraid of large bodies of water. major L on his part seeing as he lives on a fucking island

bouncing off of the above hc, pete's afraid of planes. these two can't travel out of hatchetfield without one of them nearly shaking out of their own skin

max doesn't actually like football that much. she's REALLY good at it, yeah, but she'd prefer to play most other sports even if she isn't good at them! she likes the challenge of doing something she won't automatically win!

grace probably writes lists of things to keep everything in order. she's got lists of all her favorite foods, a checklist of daily chores, etc etc (it's also because she's got undiagnosed autism and she functions better when she has a Routine)

no matter what, pete will always stop and talk to the homeless man downtown. he doesn't really know why, though. (ted wishes he could say something to pete, but he never does. best to keep him at arms length.)

ruth really really really reeaaaally wants to cosplay but she's nervous that she'll be deemed as the "cringy weirdo" by other con-goers. she eventually admits this to richie, who rallies the group into a group cosplay for moral support

it takes a lot of convincing for them to find a fandom they all want to cosplay from. they settled on FNAF, specifically security breach bc it's Timely (they go to the con in 2022)

pete is glamrock freddy, steph is monty, ruth is glamrock chica, and max is roxy!

richie was glamrock bonnie and he gets so mad when the official design comes out a year later bc it was completely different than what he imagined

grace eventually agrees to dress up as vanessa (she never played the games) (she thinks FNAF is a real animatronic restaurant) (everyone they meet thinks she's method acting)

they end up crashing at ruth's place absolutely DRAINED. they all have imprints on their arms from carrying around an absurd amount of merch. pete nearly started a fistfight in the parking lot with a bakugo cosplayer. max nearly finished it.

they all agreed that it was one of the best things they've ever done and also to Never Do It Again

richie had a brief phase where he was obsessed with black butler and he regrets it to this day

grace and max both have scary dog energy but in different directions. max (post-transition) looks really intimidating at first glance but she's got golden retriever energy. grace will stare at you with the scariest fucking eyes if you're mean to retail employees

steph has always wanted a pet, but her dad never allowed it. when he moves out and gets an apartment with the nerds, they all agree to rescue a pair of bonded cats for his birthday. steph doesn't stop crying for at least an hour

steph and pete named one of the cats, while ruth and richie picked the other one's name.

Mittens is the Lautski baby, a black and white girlie who is incapable of mischief. she's like the disney ideal of a cat. she's a cuddle monster and will be so sad if you have to get up and do things without her

ruth and richie are the proud coparents of Sir Jotaro Gooberton (the Third). he is the most stupid tabby you will ever meet in your life and he has made the crime rate in the household go up tenfold.

a very common Lautski date night is going to the candle section of walmart and just sniffing every single one of those bad boys until they get a headache

[heroesoath]

SINDAY HEADCANON ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

in alphabetical order under the cut because i'm not a heathen.

ALEX

Alex takes orders really well, tell him what you want and he will comply with a little smile or smirk and he'll get to work! And I need it to be known that there is a REASON Lorna and Madelyne keep letting him back in and it's 100% because he's good at using his mouth, and his jaw almost always has some stubble so it's great for sensations and stimulation.

Alex is hot, I mean that literally, his powers makes energy and plasma store inside his body so he runs hot. If it's winter? He adds an extra layer of comfort during sex since he's just a blonde weighted blanket.

Likes being pegged, look at his Goblin Prince era.

When it comes to men he's a versatile king, he can be a submissive bottom or a eager top, best of both worlds - Hannah Montana.

When he was younger he did have issues of using his powers during intimate moments but it was ONLY when he was solo. He's far too terrified of his own abilities and how dangerous they are to ever accidentally use them in bed now. He keeps that control no matter what. ( Eyes might glow blue though )

*PULL HIS HAIR* He will moan and it's a delightful sound.

He likes fucking in the X-Jet lol ( it's leftovers from Alex and Lorna's time in space where their most favorite pastime was banging because there wasn't anything else to do idhfjks did )

Weird asf but he enjoys when people tear clothes from him, especially his uniform.

CLINT

Alex might be good at taking orders, but Clint is the ORAL KING. Bobbi makes numerous remarks about how long Clint can hold his breath, that man eats pussy / sucks dick like a ROCKSTAR.

Clint grew up in the circus and because of that he's very bendy, he can do lots of different positions, like go crazy babes.

Not sinful, but he's strangely good at after-care, he'll make coffee/tea, order pizza, clean up. A mess in real life does not translate to post sex, man has a reputation.

Because he is deaf, he prefers positions where he can see his partner's face. He wants to see them enjoying themselves since he can't hear them. On the other end, Clint is loud as he has no control of his volume so feel free to gag him!

Clint has very strong fingers from his archery so do with that info what you wish.

Enjoys being tied up.

DANI

Reminder that my Dani is a lesbian.

She's a dominant top, reading everything about her even from the early days of New Mutants, this woman will not take orders from anyone. She takes charge, she knows what's she's capable of and that's the tea.

She will unironically call someone good girl in bed and I hope this awakens something in all the sapphics out there.

She can and will make sex toys with her powers. You think those psionic arrows were all she can make?? Nah.

Because of her powers she can also make it seem like they are at any location. Wanna bang on the beach but can't fly there? No problem. Five class Paris suite?? Just relax and let Dani work her mirages.

Despite her top energy, Dani is a supreme cuddler, she enjoys showing affection and that translates into sex. Lots of kissing, lots of desperate grabbing, lots of face caressing.

JAMIE

Jamie has more control of his powers now, but he does sometimes lose control, so if the sex is intense don't be surprised if another Jamie pops out fugdvhfjd So if your muse is into a sudden threesome with two Jamies then you're golden.

He really is just a walking orgy so if you're super freaky just ask and he'll pop out a few duplicates and they can all have fun.

From his detective era, he does love sex on a desk. He "Thinks it's so NOIR."

JEAN

Already alluded to this today, but sex in the sky is so real. She can keep you both afloat with very little effort ( though if she gets with someone who flies she'd love to give some control up )

Jean's eyes glow pink during sex. She has enough control that she doesn't fling things around, but the room may shake a bit.

Her favorite lingerie is black, a call back to her Black Queen moment. She also wears a lot of backless dresses.

KISS HER NECK, MAKE HER FEEL DESIRED. She'll never admit this, but Scott cheating on her has left a scar. Jean wants to feel loved and desired, that she's enough.

She can be dominant or submissive, a versatile queen.

Because Jean is a cosmic entity at times, she loves powerful lovers, if they can be like two stars colliding into a big bang she'd be ultra satisfied.

She likes riding, yee haw.

Jean can cook breakfast and bake a bit, but she's not a great cook, so expect her to offer to go out for food after. A little date after a bang is just as valid as cooking in the kitchen! She's also just fine with coffee, cuddling and leftovers.

Woman is loud. Like she'll shout a name so loud the cosmos will hear because she's fire and life incarnate.

Random, but in my verse where Jean is still the White Phoenix of the Crown, the nexus of life, death and rebirth itself, I once read a fic where she brought someone into the White Hot Room just so she could bang because she wanted to feel human again and . . . idk that's a plot right there.

JOHN

MAGIC IN BED. John will do some absolute unhinged shit in bed via spells, sometimes even on accident.

Submissive. This man is not dominant in the slightest, he will if he finds like a submissive demon, he might TRY, but more often than not he's a pillow princess who curses and is loud.

He does love a power bottom though, ride him!

Probably uses such utter insane names in bed, he's NASTY, A FREAK, ROLL HIM INTO A BALL AND SLAP HIM AGAINST A WALL LIKE ONE OF THOSE STICKY HAND TOYS.

Sex for spells? Hot. Draw incantations on his chest and fuck him like it's a ritual.

JULIAN

Unlike Jean, Julian has less control over his powers so he absolutely lifts and throws objects with his mind if he's really into what's happening. His eyes glow green, the room is a lava lamp.

Because of his lack of hands, he uses his telekinesis for grabbing, psychic massages, and those psychic massages happen anywhere. Ever been fingers by someone's mind? He'll do it. Telekinesis sex is INTERESTING.

Julian loves chests, he's a boob man, whether it be women's or men's.

He has daddy/mommy issues, everyone who has followed me on his solo blog knows this. He's into it I fear.

Call him good boy to make his toes curl. He likes praise in general.

He might pretend to be someone casual, but in reality Julian might be one of my muses who gets attached the hardest? It makes it so his heart is easier broken, but he loves feeling a connection, he loves feeling loved and wanted on an intimate level.

Still enjoys casual sex, but the above is for those he's feeling HARD.

When he's with a man he's such a bottom. Fuck him and put him in his place lmao

KISS HIS STUMPS!! When he doesn't use the prosthetics after becoming comfortable with you, if you kiss where his hands used to be he's going to melt and the sex will be even better, I promise.

Women should always it on his face. ( And men lowkey ), but he loves performing oral.

If you're anti mutant you're not getting any. He's the most radical of my muses, humans more often annoy him than anything.

MARC

The three men all fuck differently, I'll need to do some #soulsearching to really find the differences, but I bet Marc fucks like the world is ending and his dog tags swing from around his neck.

Steven is the romantic one, candlelit tub time, roses and shit. He's a rich man with a desire for passion.

Jake is more of a mystery but he might just be a mixture of how Marc and Steven fuck, he's more of a casual / friends with benefits kind of guy though. Comes with his job as a cab driver.

Marc 100% fucks in the suit.

Do not call them by the wrong name. You will know who you're with based on their personalities, but it's an instant turn off if you get it wrong.

Marc is a daddy, I said what I said.

All of them eat women and men out like it's a meal and they are a starved victorian child F*UYDGHFUIO

PIOTR

He big, he will make that bed SLAM if he gets into it.

Despite the above, he is very careful. Piotr is a gentle man and will only get more rough with permission, but if someone wants it that way? He'll oblige.

He loves painting people when they are naked. It's not sexual at first, but if someone gets turned on by his skills and his gaze and his working artist hands then SO BE IT.

He's submissive by nature, but will absolutely be dominant if the mood call for it.

Same goes for being top/bottom, shorter men topping him?? A win.

Manhandling comes with the whole package, Piotr is strong, and he's just bigger than 90% of other people. But hey, if you just want to be picked up and banged?? He can do it.

The Steel form . . . might come out, but he's extremely reluctant. He never wants to hurt anyone, but if you ask for it, then it'll happen.

He's super about communication tbh, I'm noticing it as I write this down, he's just all about it and being a soft spoken king.

SURPRISE ANOTHER ORAL KING

He loves mapping lover's bodies with his mouth and hands

His pecs jiggle, grab them FUYDHFKJDHDH

His ass jiggles, grab it.

His (censored) -- I'm not finishing that

He likes sex in nature, in water, stuff like that. Anything that can give him artistic muse.

ZATANNA

MAGIC IN BED! But less freaky than John.

When you get her going and she starts speaking backwards you know you're doing a good job.

THE FISHNETS STAY ON

She dominates John Constantine, but in pretty much every other relationship she's a submissive queen.

Enjoys being tied up, enjoys giving herself over to another person and letting them take control since she always feels like she needs to be in control in other aspects of her life.

A romantic at heart, she loves inviting people to her giant bubble bath. Lots of sensual moments actually, she wants massages.

Bite her.

She also enjoys air sex, whether it's just her floating from her arousal or full on flying.