#i hope the piercing doesn’t snag?!

[no-see-um-incorrect]

I’m in the mood for David. It feels like a David Shaw kind of day. Here’s some Davey and Angel headcannons  some sweet, some kinda sad.. maybe even spicy.

: after their first date, he went into work with the biggest smile Asher and Milo have seen on him since before his dad passed away. He obviously denied it. And didn’t tell them about angel until the relationship got serious 

: The first time they saw each other shirtless, they both kind of stopped for a minute, and just stared in aw of the other person 

: David will sometimes “thank the universe” for bringing them two together……little does he know he’s actually  thanking someone (💋 A forehead kiss to caelum)

: one time angel got into a small car accident. we’re talking nobody was hurt just minor damage to both cars. But the way David was acting you would think it was life-threatening. He could barely sleep. He would cling to angel for days after.  overall just in the panic zone.

: his D!ck is BIG 

: he has piercings he just doesn’t put them in, unless it’s a special occasion. Both for professionalism and so they don’t snag on things

: Asher called Angel “Pack Queen”(queen, being a gender neutral term in this case) and now on occasion, David will call Angel his queen (he kinda joking. kinda not)

: David likes to gently brag to angel, about how just his presence and name can scare the shit out of people. (take my poor Sam for example)

: angel will have David bend down acting like they’re trying to whisper something in his ear….. when in reality, they’re just trying to look down his shirt (get a peek at the man titties ya know)

: David sometimes gets nightmares about his dad’s accident  and when he wakes up, he’s in a bit of a panic and Angel helps him through it.

“I know baby… I know…”

“there’s nothing you could’ve done Davey”

“our brains make us spiral into 1 million hypotheticals. What we could’ve done, what we could’ve done differently. But…. it was out of your control”

: angel has spent months trying to talk David into getting a pet. But it all comes down to the same thing.

“would it be weird for a werewolf to adopt a dog?

“we’re not getting a dog angel”

“Milo‘s mate needed some help with something so I went over to their house and saw Milo‘s cat aggro….. he’s really sweet and fluffy…”

“angel if you want to get a cat, be my guest, but you’re not going to catch me cleaning its litter box”

Let’s just say they’re still working on an agreement 

: their contact names for each each other

😏Davey💙 & little snot💘 respectfully

: angel will send a suggestive light on clothing (wearing almost nothing but one of David’s hoodies) photo to David while he’s at work…….he knows he can’t leave work…… and so does Angel. So round five minutes later, Angel will get a text.

“You are so DONE When I get home”

: their favorite Disney movie to watch together is Hercules 

: when David was talking to the other pack members about their treatment of Milo. Angel had their ear up to the door. so if Milo doesn’t give sweetheart a play-by-play angel will.

That’s all for right now. Hope you guys enjoyed. Forgive me if there’s any typos, my glasses are STILL BROKEN 



[aidemint]

Bad Luck and Bad Decisions | To Break A Habit

Summary: Hobie gets called back to HQ. Miguel does what Miguel does best. You... have a good day. For the most part.

Word Count: 3.8k

Pairing: Hobie Brown/GN!Reader

Notes: canon-level violence, mentions of blood! read at your own discretion

Masterpost | AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2

Gwen meets Hobie at the mouth of Sector Seven at Spider-HQ—Miguel’s office.

If it had been a normal day she’d show up with iced coffees and a smile, start light conversation during the walk through the control room, laugh as Hobie snags bits and bobs from the walls and keyboards. But this time she’s empty-handed, keeps her head down, doesn’t meet his eyes, doesn’t say anything even when he pulls a circuit out and pockets it.

She seems less of a friend, more of a guard—Hobie doesn’t miss the way she keeps her hands straight and still by her sides as she paces. She looks a lot like the person she was when she first came here.

Hobie’s brow twitches at the thought, fingers curling to press crescent-shaped craters into his palm. Unfortunately there isn’t much time to stew on the notion, as he treks the path through an old portal frame and past dim orange screens, soon approaching a familiar, open-ceiling room.

Blue light bears down on tilted towers and slanted bars, layered atop each other to carry the walls of the place on their backs. In the center of it all, a muscled figure elevated on a floating platform, a galaxy of tangerine screens surrounding his hunched figure.

A glare sharpens Hobie’s eye, narrowing the edges as Miguel O’Hara turns around to face him.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” the latter quips with the tilt of his head. “Earth-40081 seems plenty interesting.”

“It is,” Hobie remarks right back. “Bloody shame you can’t experience it yourself.” The clench of Miguel’s jaw tweaks the left end of his mouth upward.

“You can fill me in on it, then. Like you were supposed to.” Miguel pauses as his stare flickers from him to Gwen, though it remains every bit as piercing. “You can go.”

Perhaps some part of Hobie hopes that she’d stay—stand by his side as some semblance of the support he’d once given her fresh-faced, past counterpart. He remembers the time he offered an arm to wrap around her, a shoulder to cry on, a room to live in without fear. But it only takes one look at the glance she casts him, sideways and long and walled-off, for him to know better. Much better.

Gwen Stacy spares him guilt—every bit of it in the shredded, desperate mess it is—then walks away.

A fire begins to burn in the column of Hobie’s throat the moment the heels of her shoes—his shoes—disappear beyond the walls of the chamber.

“What’d you pull me in here for?” It’s less of a question, more of a demand, spoken low, searing across empty air. “Comin’ on me with a two and eight.”

Miguel provides no reaction to the provocation, expression unmoving as he steps down from his platform to stand on even ground. “I think you need to know something about Earth-40081,” he says, stilling with his hands on his hips.

“Thought you wanted me to tell you about it,” Hobie halfway scoffs as he crosses his arms in tandem.

A small sigh hunches Miguel’s shoulders. “I’m not even going to try to argue with you, I just need you to listen.” Silence from the latter, though reluctant and accompanied by judgment, is enough indication of compliance for the former to continue. “Earth-40081’s period of bad luck isn’t just because of the anomaly.”

The statement catches something in the air, pulls a cord, twists a latch. Hobie’s brow furrows in sudden attention as the motion threads through him, as he receives the news. Something stirs in his chest, a pinball striking dials all the way up to his head. Explain, his gaze seems to say, with no attempt to disguise how pointed it becomes.

Miguel obliges—“The thing about Earth-40081,” he starts grimly, “is that it’s more delicate than the other dimensions. It runs on a linear line, a consistent path that everyone follows without deviation. It works like a routine, bound to a set of rules.”

A breath, a break elapses for a moment. Silence stews thick in the atmosphere in the time it takes, dragging comfort in conversation thin as it swirls. The back of Hobie’s head tingles with a suspicion he doesn’t want to pay attention to, especially with how Miguel’s expression seems to confirm it.

Unfortunately, O’Hara can’t read his thoughts. “One of these rules is the prohibition of the existence of the supernatural—which includes superpowered people,” the former continues, making room for the slightest downward tilt of his chin. “That’s the reason why 40081’s Peter Parker never developed powers after getting bit. And the rules are strict. If the dimension senses properties that go against it, it starts affecting the normal—the canon. Whether it be you or an anomaly, the longer interference continues, things are just going to get worse.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The query comes from Hobie just as the image of you flashes across his mind. It’s useless asking, really—he knows why, remembering how you confided in him, spilt all the details of your out-of-the-ordinary encounters with your environment. But when he asks himself the reason such a thing tumbled from his lips, he thinks back to how warm you were in his arms; he thinks about how vacant it feels just standing here. He wonders what it would be like to have never had you at all.

Miguel seems to somewhat share the sentiment. “I know what you’ve been doing.” A flicker of something bright red passes by his iris, but it doesn’t glow like anger. He stifles a grunt as he rolls his shoulder, fatigue in what looks like recollection catching up with him. “With your friend.”

Your laugh rings in Hobie’s ears, sweet and soundly. “What about the mission?”

“You finish the mission you were assigned, then you need to get out and stay out. Then things will go back to normal. It’s the best outcome.” Miguel’s jaw tightens, the tips of his talons unsheathing with the effort. His voice dips low, as worn as it’s ever been, gaze downcast to follow it. “You know that I’ve tried, Hobie.”

Maybe once Hobie would have something to say in the face of it before, a retort for respite, but it’s different this time. Grief claws at Miguel’s visage, teeth sunk far into the depths of him. It’s imperceptible to any untrained eye, but Hobie can make out the print of the smallest, tenderest hand that still lays steady upon his heart, staying with him during the day and haunting him throughout the night.

Despite it, Hobie tells himself in soundless reckoning that he’ll find a way, just as he always has.

But his silence feels like betrayal—once more is it taken as compliance.

“Hope can only sustain us for so long.” Miguel shifts to move back towards his platform, back now facing Hobie. “Then we move back to reality.”

You like to tell yourself there’s a positive to every negative.

The past week was highly irregular, spilled drinks, soiled clothes, angry customers and all, but you got a cute date and a kiss out of the effort, so it wasn’t a total loss. You keep reminding yourself of the sweetness of Hobie’s taste, the feel of his lips, the delicacy of his hold throughout all the moments of anger or disappointment that now seem to make themselves a new part of your routine; you remind yourself that things will get better because that’s the way things are, that for every bump in the road there’s a reward to reap at the end.

Perhaps you thought holding your ideology steadfast wasn’t for nothing today. It was normal—what you were used to, at the very least. You caught your train on time, managed to be punctual and pay attention in class, even got a drink on the house from your favorite spot.

Work was better than all the other shifts you’d taken in the past week. The shop’s daily regulars were tipped better today, wearing kind, pitying smiles. You assumed the purpose of the gesture tied into them witnessing how the customer the other day had made a hissy fit. You’d gotten over the outburst early on, but the extra cash sure helped seal the scars better.

Hours of calmly juicing fruits and veggies and making quinoa bowls turned the sky dark and soon enough you find yourself making one final sweep of the shop and clocking out your closing shift.

“See you!” your coworker bids with a wave, turning in the direction of their block.

A snick of a lock and a returned goodbye has you treading away from them and towards the path to your apartment, a sigh of relief pushing past your lips. The ache in your legs is the only thing keeping you from resolute peace, but the prospect of sinking down into your couch back home numbs the pain, if only by a little. Gratitude pricks at you when you recount the day, legs on autopilot as you walk—for the worries of adopting a bad routine that awoke you this morning, you’re glad that they were somewhat put to rest.

All that’s left is to get back safe, wash up, and melt into your mattress with the hope that tomorrow will herald the same kind of luck.

The notion keeps you complacent for the road you walk down an emptier avenue, lampposts sprinkled down the side to provide ample lighting for any person active at this hour. Perhaps you’d normally see other late workers coming home from their shifts, dragging their feet, some even having the spare energy to muster a greeting, to which you’d return, just as exhausted. But today, it’s only you that treads the concrete, dimly lit underneath dirty yellow in the city that never sleeps. Today, there is no company to address, no comparison to be made.

Today, you are strangely alone—or so your weary vacuity brings you to believe.

One step forward into the space just beyond a flickering streetlight brings about two things: a wince at the crick in your right ankle, and the click of hard metal right behind your head.

You—mind, body, blood, and soul—still.

“It’s loaded. Hand over your bag.” The demand is dark and deep, muffled by fabric but nonetheless whetted as it cuts you.

Fear is a rather merciful word to describe what runs through you in the absence of your tangible pulse. There’s no room to think or move or do much else, what space the sensation takes up. Gooseflesh raises across the back of your neck when you feel the rounded front of a pistol barrel press against your skull. It’s colder than the clamminess that envelops your hands, chills your spine straight.

“I’m not going to ask again. And if you scream, I’m shooting. Give me your bag.”

Curses don’t come easy—no words do, really. All you can focus on is the thought of how hot steel can get in the time it takes to fire a bullet, how warm the wound would be in the same place where such bitter metal bites. There’s this—terror—and then the conceptions of the smallest shred of hope that hasn’t drained from you yet—flashes of red, black, and blue carved in the shape of a spider.

The gun does not shake like you do, however. A ragged gasp tears through your chest when the weapon is shoved into you.

“Give me. Your fucking bag.”

Your vision blurs with tears as you feel a hand try to pry your arm away from what it clutches so desperately against your side. In a blink, your resistance has you wrestling with the figure behind you, against your better judgment, against the looming kiss of death to the bend of your head. Digits clamp over your mouth, smear oil against your lips to prevent them from parting, a knee delivers a swift impact to your ribs, an elbow gives your back a sickening crack—but pain means there’s a chance, pain lets you know your breath still tremors through your lungs. Nails dig into your cheeks as they moisten and burn but you grip whatever you can and pull.

Hobie, you plead silently.

“Fucking bitch!” Steel batters the back of your skull and fuzz appears where the clear road once was. A variation of the phrase spits from behind you when your teeth catch fingers that aren’t yours and bite down hard, also earning you the taste of blood on your upper lip as a palm slams back toward you.

Help! you think you scream in the flurry of pain and ache and cloudiness. Help me!

Hope fuels the invocation, whatever supply you’ve dug from the depths of yourself now untucked and bared in exchange for your life. For a moment, it seems like someone hears—a change in the wind, a rustle in the bushes—and your weakness loosens you. But when your bag comes away, the friction in the motion tearing skin from your arm, nothing gives back to the void you bore as you collapse, bloody, bruised, and blind.

Then there is silence. Silence without reason to rise, so you just lay there, waiting for the world to swallow you whole.

It takes a few minutes to realize that, after a while, a different presence has arrived, and you are not alone in the street.

Bergamot, plum, and sandalwood envelop the air around you as a gentle hold wraps you in an embrace. Your eyes only crack open to let out fresh tears, watercolor fractals painting the background in rhinestones. A sob—a sound—sears, serrated, through the length of your torso, from your quivering heart to your trembling gut.

The touch that graces you brushes all your points of hurt, familiar loving pressing the memories of affliction in such kindness it shakes you. It makes you forget you’re on the ground, bleeding from nose to chin, sitting in suffering with a pounding head and an empty bank of promise.

Somewhere along the line your lips find the feel of worn leather and smooth plastic, buried in buttons and a comforting bend of the body. Your fingers meet the edge of a shoulder, the curve of a chest, and latch on with reckless abandon, indifferent to the way spiked adornments dig into your skin.

When your cries subside into choked, stuttering breaths, you grip tighter. “Don’t leave,” rasps the heavy whisper that spouts from you. “Don’t leave me.”

There’s no new tension in Hobie’s hold when he receives the request. If anything, it only becomes softer—impossibly so, feather-light in binding the breaking bits of you together.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s alright.”

It’s enough to convince you for now, sniffling into the warmth of his collar.

After the affirmation, the trip to your apartment is wordless. Hobie doesn’t swing—he walks, arms supporting your figure as he carries you back the entire way. It’s a trail you’ve tread a hundred times but somehow when you think of trekking it alone again, consolation seems so distant.

At your apartment complex, you tell Hobie the code to your door, let him inside so he can set you on your couch. He pulls up a cushion for you to rest your head on and manages to find a first aid kit tucked away in the lower cabinet of your bathroom.

The first question comes after all the cracked and dried bits of blood and snot are rubbed off your face. “Do you want to talk?” he asks, voice hushed and tender.

A beat passes as you blink. “Got mugged,” you reply after, meeting his eye when his thumb caresses the crescent-shaped marks on your cheek. “Didn’t see their face but they had a gun and threatened to shoot. I fought a bit, but…” You bite the inside of your cheek, deciding to omit the part where you thought of Hobie. “But they took my bag. And everything in it.”

The man who’d plagued your thoughts then, now maskless and kneeling in front of you, sifts through some bandages in the white box he holds. He looks troubled, though you know he tries to hide it, judging by his half-cinched brows and subtle frown.

“It’s okay though,” you reason in an attempt to alleviate the tension. “I still have my phone in my pocket with my ID and license and my laptop’s in my room. Just lost some cards, cash, and a water bottle. I can always get new ones. Not the end of the world.”

Hobie’s fist clenches around a roll of gauze. “You had a gun to your head.” His tone is hardened, though the low volume of the phrase remains consistent to the query posed earlier—he’s holding back. “Don’t… You could’ve been killed.” He doesn’t miss the slight wince that passes by your face at the mention of what happened, and the wrinkles that etch his features only deepen.

“I know,” you murmur as he works to patch the scrapes on your joints. “But I wasn’t. And you’re here with me. And I’m okay.”

Hobie just sighs, moving on to place a cooling patch on the bridge of your nose and left eye to ease the swelling. He’s uncharacteristically quiet. The look of self-blame in contemplation is all too recognizable on him.

You try a smile in return, tilting your head to the side. “It’s okay,” you repeat, weakly reaching to massage his temple. “I got out alright. It’s not gonna happen again.”

His fingers linger on your face even when he finishes bandaging you, his eyes trailing across the same places his digits ghost.

Your hands slowly guide his lips to yours for a soft peck, open arms allowing him to slip around you and hug you close. Hobie’s chest touches yours as he leans forward, the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat beginning to align with the drum of your own the further you connect.

“What kinda chav am I to have you comforting me like I’m the one that needs it?” he mutters, a slight scoff lilting the sentence.

“A cute one,” you hum playfully, twisting a lock of his hair between your fingers. “But bad things happen. I think as a superhero, vigilante, activist, whatever you do call yourself, it’s to be expected. I’m just happy I’m okay, and that you’re here with me.”

You press a kiss to the space between his brows, then two more on both his eyelids. Your smile grows when you feel his shoulders relax, a breath easing out of him.

“Just stay with me for now,” you murmur, nuzzling further into him as he joins you on the couch. You feel his lips on your forehead before being drawn into a cradle of legs and limbs.

The rest of the night is spent in Hobie’s arms, safe and warm, until you feel the tug of slumber pull you under.

When you wake up, you’re in your bed, tucked into layers of cushy blankets with a fresh, frosty ice pack resting on your bedside table.

[tracingpatternswrites]

Have you posted the angsty, toxic jegulus fix on ao3 yet, or is that still a wip on your end? It sounds amazingggg so I wanted to bookmark and subscribe cannot wait to read it 🫶🏼😍

Hello, dear. It's not posted yet, it's very much a WIP, but it is pouring out of me so I do hope I'll get it finished soon. I'll definitely update here when it's done. Meanwhile, have another little snippet:

It takes three more weeks before he sees James, hanging by the stands and watching rather than flying himself. Regulus pretends he doesn’t notice, pushes himself further, forces himself to go through his rigorous session until the very end before he allows himself to land. He doesn’t look at James, can’t look at him, refuses to look at him. No, he thinks, his heart pounding in his chest. No, not again, never again. “Regulus,” James says, and his voice is achingly familiar and also foreign, it chafes against Regulus’ ears. He ignores him, walks away, heading straight for the changing rooms. He doesn’t think James follows him, but when he steps back out after his shower, he’s there. He’s sitting on the bench next to Regulus’ things as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Regulus can tell the second his gaze snags on the mark on Regulus’ left arm, the scarred redness a sharp contrast to Regulus’ otherwise pale and smooth skin. Something that Regulus can’t read flickers across James’ face, and then he’s standing so quickly that Regulus takes a step back before he’s even consciously aware of having moved. Regulus doesn’t object as James grabs his wrist, turning his arm over to inspect the mark. His grip is hard, too hard, and Regulus knows he’ll probably bruise. Neither of them speak, but James’ gaze is piercing and sharp. Regulus raises his chin in a haughty sort of challenge when James looks at his face. James has grown over the summer, but so has he. The height difference between them is roughly the same as before, but James is even broader, his muscles flexing underneath the flimsy fabric of his Muggle shirt. “When?” he asks, his voice rough. “Summer solstice,” replies Regulus, his voice tight. James doesn’t speak, not for a long time. He doesn’t move either, doesn’t release Regulus, and Regulus doesn’t try to pull away. The silence is mounting, building, settling across Regulus’ chest until he struggles to draw a breath. “Don’t tell Sirius,” he says, which isn’t at all what he wanted or planned to say. James’ eyes remind him of the hot chocolate Kreacher used to make him as a child as he studies Regulus before shifting his gaze back to the mark. “I don’t keep secrets from Sirius,” he replies after what feels like hours but is probably no more than seconds, and he runs the tip of a finger down Regulus’ arm, watching as goosebumps break out in its wake. “You don’t?” Regulus asks, the question heavy, dropping between them like led. James doesn’t reply.

[kharonion]

When I snagged this shot, it immediately made me Feel Things... and then, brain decided to write a small drabble about it.

Another man stares at him. Dressed in a tailored suit, glaring at him with piercing optics that paralyze him. Streaks of blood blend into the red gradient of polished hair; the smell of copper overwhelms him to the point of sick. It’s a visage that is familiar… yet not.

He knows him.

He is him.

Vikt hunches over the sink. Breathing turns almost laborious; he gasps, he heaves, and it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

All the while he locks eyes with the man in the mirror.

V1KTOR. 770416. VIPER. A pet of Arasaka’s creation.

And he remembers him. Remembers what he did. How many lives he ruined, how many people he left without hope. All in the name and honor of a corrupt goddamn corporation because that’s what he was made for.

“Babe?” 

He didn’t even hear the bathroom door open, but the new presence is more than welcome. Vikt doesn’t budge, not even as gentle arms wrap around his torso. Lithe fingers toy with the trail of curls, nails raking his skin softly with the ministrations. Warm breath cascades his neck, and a sigh escapes him.

“Been in here for a while,” Kerry states quietly, each word a pleasant puff against Vikt’s back. No doubt he had grown worried—a wonderful habit instilled thanks to countless moments finding Vikt curled up in agony on the shower floor.

But Vikt can’t even bring himself to respond. He’s still spellbound, still lost.

A light press of lips sits between the blades of his shoulders for a long time, the tickle of a light beard causing prickles.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Ker.” An inquisitive noise muffles into his muscle. “I’m a monster…”

“No. No, you’re not. Not anymore.” Kerry kisses there again, firmer and longer. His voice remains subtle, tender, intimate. “They made you that way. The Vikt I know is strong, trustworthy, loving unlike anyone I know. That’s who you are, not what those corpo fucks turned you into.”

Finally, Vikt’s eyes shift away. Because now, the man haunting him has disappeared from his reflection. Though still, his grip is achingly tight around the sink’s edge, so much so that every muscle twitches. And finally, it feels like he can breathe again; each intake of air grounds him more, helped by the reassuring murmurs behind him.

“I love you, Vikt. Always will. The things you’ve done in that past life don’t change that one bit.”

He wants to respond… but he can’t. Kerry expects that, though; so, all he does is ease Vikt to turn around, a doting smile beaming on his face so bright his eyes sparkle. Leads them both up to the loft, to bed, all while holding Vikt’s hand in his own. Lays him down, wipes away the makeup with ginger motions to reveal his raw, haggard features.

“See, there he is. Vikt. The light in the shadow, the bridge before the chorus. The man who’s been through a shit-ton, but he’s still the only one crazy enough to date a rockstar.” Kerry’s chuckle is contagious.

“Vikt. The love of my life. Just as you are.”

[copias-girl]

I think Copia is the type who likes to spank you when you've been naughty (and maybe uses his cane too). It's ostensibly a punishment, but he wants you to enjoy it as much as he does.

He also probably likes being spanked, himself. Yank his pants down, pull him over your lap, and smack that pert ass of his. Tell him he's been a bad boy. He'll whine so beautifully.

Sorry this took a hot minute to answer, my ask box was pretty full and I just got around to answering everything now! ♥︎

Anon I LOVE this I’m- SCREAMING

You know you’ve fucked up when Copia gives you The Look™️. That piercing, disappointed look that Copia has mastered, the one that gets you oh so shamefully wet. It’s usually because you teased him too much in public, or if you were being a cheeky little brat.

Before you can even think to run, he’s snagging you around the waist or by your wrist and dragging you to his room where he sits himself down in a chair and bends you over his knee. He’s such a pervert, pulling your skirt up and tugging your panties down so he can feel just how wet you get from being spanked. He loves watching your slick splatter with each smack. Copia makes you count the spanks, relishing in the way you whine and twitch under his cruel ministrations. You beg for mercy, but Copia suspects that you’re secretly hoping he doesn’t give you any. (He’s right.)

Other times, when he’s wearing his slick white suit and has his cane handy, he’ll order you to bend over the bed so he can discipline you by giving you a few cracks on the ass with his cane. You love the way it makes tears sting at your eyes, your voice breaking as you incoherently cry out for him. You both know it’ll leave bruises, ones that Copia will tenderly kiss later when he’s pampering you and praising you for being good for him.

And honestly yes, sometimes when he’s standing at the fridge you’ll just walk up and smack his ass! And although he yelps and calls you a naughty little thing, Copia liked it way more than he was willing to admit 😈😈

[untitled12345678910111213141516]

Avengers x Reader

Relationships: Avengers x platonic!fem!reader, Soft!Natasha x Wanda x fem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of Self harm, Panic Attack (PLEASE DON'T READ IF THESE TRIGGER YOU)

Authors Note: This is my first published fanfic, I don't know why but I've had this idea for a while and finally decided to write it. I hope you like it, please don't hesitate to post constructive criticism. Thanks!

P.S. - Merry Christmas! :)

Word Count: 1123 

My eyes fly open as I jerk awake a cold sweat soaking my entire body, my eyes begin to burn and I desperately reach across to the other sides of the bed only to grasp cold sheets and the tears in my eyes threaten to spill over, Nat and Wanda have been gone for over a month now on an undercover mission somewhere in Europe, I miss them terribly. They don’t know about my issues, about how messed up I am, they don’t know that when they first came into my life they were the only things I had to live for.

I’ve been cooped up in our room for the last month, ever since they left on that godforsaken mission. I know their work is important but I just wish they could be home more often, that way I don’t have to keep lying to Nora that someone is with me practically all the time, she doesn’t even know that Nat and Wanda don’t know about my issues. I twist in bed staring at the wall, if they knew would they even still want me, or would they hate me just as much as I hate myself.

I finally tear my gaze away from the wall and begin hauling myself out of bed, the normally warm and light comforter feels like a block of ice. I slowly trudge over to the bathroom, my hand reaching out and snagging onto my phone, grabbing it using my left hand. I don't use my right hand unless it's strictly necessary. One other thing Wanda and Nat don't know about me, I don't have a right hand. Only Fury and Maria know, it's not even in shield records. I had to make it myself, that's probably why it hurts like hell whenever I wear it. 

I shuffle into the bathroom and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I look like trash. God how am I gonna be able to get ready it time for Wanda and Nat to get home this afternoon? The tears that I've been holding back since I managed to drag myself out of bed come flowing quickly now as I drag my fingernails along the many, now bloody cuts on my upper arms, I crumple to the ground sobbing. I can feel the final shoe dropping as the black pit begins to swallow me whole, there will be no coming back this time.

I don't know how long I sit there on the freezing bathroom tile, my body shaking uncontrollably. My sobs stopped long ago and now I only feel numb, I look down at my hand as I feel warm blood trickle down my shoulders. My fingernails are covered in dried blood but I can't bring myself to care. I am startled out of thoughts as I hear Wanda's voice pierce the sharp silence of our apartment, "We're home моя любовь!"

No, no, no, no, no! My breathing picks up as I scramble back from the locked bathroom door, my hand slipping as I try to use it and my stump to push myself through the bloody floor into the corner of the room. I can't let them see me like this.

"любовь?" Natasha's voice seems to echo through my entire head as I begin to hyperventilate. "Are you in there?" 

I remain silent as tears begin to pour steadily down my cheeks. She walks closer to the door and knocks three times, I remain silent even as I hear Wanda gasp from the other side of the door.

"She-she's in there. God, Nat she's in a lot of pain I-I can feel it." It breaks my heart to hear Wanda's voice tremble like that and even through the door I can hear her holding back tears. 

"I'm coming in Y/n!" A soft click fills the room as Natasha picks the lock and I bury my face Into the wall refusing to look at them as I quickly hide my stump of a hand behind my back. 

A choked gasp fills the room as they take in the scene in front of them, me huddled against the wall, blood trickling from the exposed cuts on my shoulders, my fake skin colored hand, the bones jutting from my entire body, they can count every single one of ribs even as I am curled up on the ground. 

Their shoes click on the hard marble floor and all of a sudden I am scooped into Wanda's warm arms and Natasha is twisting my face, gently getting me to look her in the eye. As soon as I look into her tear filled eyes I crumble, collapsing forward into her chest sobbing as I clench her shirt in my hand as I hear her gasp once more as they finally get a glimpse of my stump.

"Oh малыш." Their hold on me tightens as I continue grasping onto Natasha for dear life sobbing into the crook of her neck. Soon their own tears begin to mix with mine as we huddle together sobbing on the bathroom floor. How are they still here? God, I thought they would have left by now, most people do. My parents did

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

I jerk awake in bed- wait bed? How the hell did I get here? I rack my brain for what happened, the last thing I remember is Nat and Wanda- No, no, no, no, no. My vision begins to blur with tears as my breathing picks up in speed, my hold body shaking with barely contained sobs. They probably left me already. My hand darts up to my uncovered shoulder as I feel the bloody bandages covering them and I push myself over the edge. Soon I am curled up under the covers shaking horribly as my vision begins to cloud over, I can't breathe! I can't breathe. I don't realize I'm screaming it out loud until the covers are brushed back from my face and a blurry shape slowly comes closer. 

"Hey, hey, sweetheart, just follow my breathing. Okay love?" The woman's voice is soft and strangely familiar. I gasp, "N-Nat?" I practically throw myself into her embrace, shaking and sobbing as I struggle to breathe. 

"Yes, малыш it's me. I need you to listen to me okay love? Just try and match my breathing." After a few minutes my breathing finally calms down and I feel Wanda join us on the other side of the bed.

"I missed you." My voice is hoarse from all the sobbing. 

"Oh малыш, we missed you too." Wanda's sweet voice whispers into my ear as they wrap me in a warm embrace and I know that with them here, maybe just maybe things might get better?

[frostcorpsclub]

Are you taking Suzy x reader reqs?

If so, Suzy x fem reader?

I’m assuming by fem you mean like a femme lesbian? Anyway, this would fit best with a human Suzy. Hope you understood who she was before you asked for this lmao

The two of you would most likely meet at a party, whether you were a member of high society yourself or snagged an invite through a friend of yours. 

As you rubbed elbows and networked around the party you might notice her watching you from afar. Her eyes would slowly trace you up and down, taking in your behaviors and mannerisms, but most importantly your stunning gown and painted face.

If you approached her you’d find her very probing albeit withholding if you were to ask any questions in return. 

Having another rich friend would be fun and easy but she’d be even more excited to find you have no connections to the world you found yourself in that night.

She’d invite you up to her bedroom and if you accepted you’d be greeted by your femme dream. It would seemingly not have been changed since she was a little girl, elegant but pink and princess-like. 

Suzy would stay quiet for a moment, observing you again and waiting to hear what you think of it. 

Happy with your reaction you’d be dragged over to a walk-in-closet, Suzy turning to you with a beaming smile but piercing and stiff eyes.

“Would you like to try something on?” 

Your response to the question wouldn’t exactly matter, you’d end up in something either way. If you were fat like Suzette you might find yourself feeling incredibly comfortable, she’d find as much joy in your newfound options as you, a little like finding the perfect outfit for your doll. 

A skinnier person wouldn’t be as comfortable in her clothes but this is only an opportunity to get close to you. 

Holding up fabric, pinching, pinning, etc. 

On top of all this if she found you to be especially grateful she’d let you take whatever you want home with you.

It would more likely than not cut largely into the party, Suzy subtly having some of the hor d’oeuvres sent up the dumbwaiter so you have no reason to stop the fun early. Eventually though the time would come, you couldn’t stay there all night.

Her tone would change rapidly. At first it’d just be a nudge, you didn’t even get to the shoes or hair and makeup! 

Then outright frustration, you may even hear her whine. She’s not very used to being told no and like any normal person you’d be smart to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Enough time would pass that you may even forget the incident, but not completely, especially if you kept the dress. You may feel so inclined to go on a shopping trip. 

It would be nice to get some makeup to match it!

Once you browsed for a few moments you’d feel a tap on your shoulder, shocked to see Suzy there with that same expression. 

She’d notice your unease and swiftly turn on the charm. Taking one of your hands between hers she’d softly explain how she had only “noticed” you here and wanted to come over to apologize. 

Her birdsong voice makes her explanation very convincing, she doesn’t meet someone like yourself very often, someone she wanted to get to know so well. 

Against your better judgment, the way Suzy bats her thick doll lashes is just so alluring. Her chubby hands are soft and warm around your own. You’d be perfectly primed when she asked if you wanted to hang out, to give her a second chance. 

“I wouldn’t want to cut your trip short.”

She’d move on from the subject quickly, putting stuff in your basket you might not be able to afford and chuckling at you if you ever brought it up. 

Besides her practically buying out the store for you and drowning you in compliments on the way, you might become even further endeared to her after taking up her offer to spend time together. 

She knows how to charm someone but in more genuine terms Suzy truly didn’t have the opportunity to speak to someone who wanted to hear what she had to say. 

Willingly, not because they were paid, not because it was what the social hierarchy demanded. 

She would be genuinely interested in hearing about your favorite music, when she explained what she thought of it, it'd be the largest vocabulary you’d hear from her. That being said, her cluelessness is always good for a chuckle.

One moment she’s a few steps ahead of you at every turn and others she bumps into head first when you both reach for the same donut. 

Despite her instability she did pick out a very flattering dress for you, it makes sense to trust her when you finally get around to the makeover she wanted to give you! Her touch communicates a closeness that her words and expressions do not.

The way she rests her palm against your cheek to do your eyeliner, her plump lips only inches from yours, sends a chill up your spine. A single twitch and you’d end up accidentally touching lips.

She’d smirk like it was a completely normal accident and go back to what she was doing, emphasizing how each color and stroke of glitter brought out your natural beauty.

If you ended up going back home with Suzy consuming your thoughts then her goal is achieved. She had you right where she wanted you.

When you arrived home you’d see a large box wrapped with ribbon, ornate and embroidered like it was part of the gift itself. The tag is small but the cursive handwriting makes it clear who left it.

The thoughts of how she found out where you lived would be almost as worrisome as the thoughts of when you’d get to see her next. 

[eupheme]

Penny For Your Thoughts | Part 7.5 - Revelation

masterlist

Alfred Pennyworth x F!Reader

Rated E - 4.8k

Tags - insecurity, jealousy/envy, multiple pov, oral (m receiving, f implied), piv, feelings

Summary: an evening of confessions

A/N - another heartfelt thank you to @slavicwitchling for some amazing inspo (for this chapter & last). 💖 brief references to this drabble (but you don’t need it to enjoy this one). I really loved this one and I hope you do too - I’d love to hear what you all thought!

The glare of the screen hurts his eyes. It’s too late in the evening for the bright light that illuminates his face. He's been staring at it for far too long - absorbing every last detail of the photos that are pulled up.

He had been working, trying to kill time. Blinking with a startled fascination when the news alert he had set up for "Bruce Wayne" chimed. Expecting the usual - a crass article recapping the anniversary, a touching article about the memorial.

Bruce’s name dropped for clout.

Not anticipating him to be merely a mention in the tagline, a caption paired with a set of photos. Photos that featured her - looking so utterly bewitching that it made his heart lurch.

But that had been before he noticed the curl of her fingers around the hand of another man. His head tilting down as his lips pressed against her knuckles. Bruce standing behind her, looking serious as ever.

Alfred recognizes the look on his face. Calculating.

The second has the man’s arm wrapped around her, tucking her into his side - hand extended as Bruce takes it. Small print underneath, a speculative, “DENT FOR DA? POLITICIAN SPOTTED SWEEPING GOTHAM’S ELITE OFF THEIR FEET.”

Even without the caption, he knows who the other man is. Most of Gotham does.

Harvey Dent.

He also knows that at one time, they were together.

Alfred is intelligent enough to realize that you can't trust media like this, one just trying to break news, to sell a story. Knowing somewhere deep down, that he doesn't have anything to worry about.

It’s just an out-of-context image, a brief snippet of time.

But something still flickers in his chest, his gaze narrowing in on his lips, her hand.

It's not jealousy.

Well, maybe a touch - because the only lips that should be brushing against her skin are his. If he had been there, his own would have passed over her knuckles after, erasing the memory.

No…

It's envy.

A poison that seeps into his thoughts, as he waits alone. Unable to help the sharp bite of insecurity that pierces deep, snagging onto the tissue in his brain.

Alfred knows his life is messy. They had begun in the middle, too much to be forgotten. Too late to start over.

Maybe not broken, but certainly fractured.

Unable to help it, his eyes make another slow pass.

The photos are handsome. She fits in seamlessly alongside Bruce and Harvey. Men in their prime, who are ready to forge ahead and make a change.

They make him think that maybe... maybe she could have had more. If she had stayed with someone like him.

Because in comparison, he was… a mountain. Unmovable. Chained both heart and soul to this Tower, would be it and Bruce’s caretaker until his dying day.

It’s what he wants. It’s his duty. He had decided that long ago.

But is that hers? Is it fair to ask that?

He doesn’t know, not wanting to ask - having pushed similar thoughts out of his mind before.

Still so selfish, after all.

His eyes ache, and he tiredly lifts the frames of his reading glasses. Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, before rubbing his eyelids.

Opening them to see her standing in the doorway - looking like a vision. He had been hoping to see her before she had to go tonight. One last kiss for good luck.

The photo hadn’t done her beauty justice at all.

But she doesn’t have the expression he was expecting, one of welcome. Her eyes are worried - flickering from the screen to his - lips pressed together and downturned.

Swallowing before she speaks, anxiety tingeing her words, "It's not what it… when was that posted?"

How long have you been looking at them? He wonders if that's her real question.

What she makes of him - sitting alone in the dark, staring at a screen.

"Not too long." He answers vaguely, his attempt at a smile half-hearted at best. He is happy to see her. Of course he is, she didn't do anything wrong.

"We ran into him. At the party. We only talked for a couple minutes, and then I left." She explains in a rush, stepping towards him. Halting just shy of his chair.

"I know, darling. I'm not upset at you."

Only upset at himself, at his very human reaction.

"I haven’t told you, but we, uh-" She breathes, looking regretful to say it. "We dated. Harvey and I. A long time ago. I didn't want to - I didn't know he was back."

"I know, sweetheart." He's answering both at once, and surprise flickers in her expression, before it turns into worry. “It is really okay. I was just caught off guard, for a moment.”

He doesn’t do off guard, and she knows it - the spot between her eyebrows creasing. Hand reaching out to touch his shoulder, sliding down his arm. Fitting her fingers between his.

Moving until she’s between the screen and him, until she’s the only thing he can see, “You know you don’t have to worry about that, right?”

He recognizes his own words, spoken back to him. It makes him smile fondly, head finally lifting to meet her gaze. Shaking his head, these emotions foreign to him. It’s been years since he’s felt this way.

Not since he was a much younger man - and much more hot-headed.

“It’s not jealousy, dove. Not really.” He explains slowly, “Seeing the two of you together… it just makes me wish I could give you more.”

Her face crumples, shifting and turning between his knees until she’s perching in his lap. Arms wrapping around his shoulder, her head tucked against his neck.

“You’ve given me so much. Can’t you see that?”

His arms wrap around her, while she holds him - her face lifting to press a kiss to his cheek. Her hand coming to follow, fingers tracing where her lips had been.

"Come back to me." Her palm is soft, comforting against his cheek, and he leans into it eyes closing, "Please.”

So he tries, for her. His hand comes up to cover hers, the words soft as she breathes them out, "All I could think about tonight was coming back home to you."

His eyes open, thoughts still far away - but the words tug at him. He had wanted the very same - just for her to come back. The grip on her tightens, and she leans into him, kissing his jaw, the spot under his ear. Making goosebumps rise on his skin, as a rough sigh leaves his lips.

“Let me show you.” Her voice is low, coaxing, “Come to bed with me.”

It’s a request that he has no desire to refuse - and so he relents. Waiting for her to ease off his lap, following her willingly as her fingers entwine with his - pulling him through the threshold and into his bedroom. Trying to push away the disquieting thoughts with each step, to bring himself back to the present.

Back to her.

Hand still in his, she guides him to his side of the bed. Until she’s standing in front of him, head tilted so she can meet his eyes. Her own are unworried and soft now - bouncing back and forth between his, a palm coming to slide along his neck, finger tracing his jaw.

“You always take such good care of me.” The words slide softly between parted lips, fingers moving to touch his beard. Cheek. Then the scar that splits his eyebrow.

His chest expands at her praise, the earnestness of them. Tethering him back down. She was never one to exaggerate, to ingratiate.

He had always adored that about her.

Her next words are an offer and a promise, “Will you let me take care of you?”

The question is complex, though she doesn’t know it.

Alfred has spent his life serving - his country, his people. This family. Has done so with his whole heart, to the best he could do. Even when it wasn’t enough.

Even when he failed.

It makes him feel vulnerable - his desire, his duty, already established and rooted solidly in place.

But she makes him want to say yes.

So he does.

Her smile is soft, one he knows well, one that he treasures. She fits between his spread knees, fingers finding and twisting in the fabric of his shirt. Her forehead pressing against his - lips parted. Nose brushing along his as his head tilts. Waiting to see if this is okay. If it’s what he wants.

He doesn’t know if she wants words - she’s always been better at that than he is. He shows rather than speaks, his face moving upwards, slotting his lips against his. Soft, twin sighs as they finally touch, the fingers at his waist tugging as she pushes herself against him.

Molding herself to him, a perfect fit.

She tastes of forgiveness, of something deep that tugs at his chest, something that he feels too. A desperation, like neither are quite sure this is real - still stuck in that moment of uncertainty.

But it was, and she was here.

And he’d never leave her again.

Fingers bunch in her dress, one of her hands coming to cup the back of his neck. The kiss breaks so she can turn around and offer him her back, his fingers finding the hidden zipper. Working it down carefully so it doesn’t snag, her hands reaching for the straps, sliding them from her shoulders.

His fingers reach to the clasp of the base of her neck, but she stops him, her hand covering his.

“Leave it.” Her command is low, soft, “I want to wear it, tonight. For you.”

He’s trying to form a response - something about the recording, but his brain is lagging a second behind. Eyes snagging on her form as the dress slips to the floor, as she steps out of her shoes.

Revealing the sheer gray lingerie beneath - curving lines of soft satin and lace. Shimmering undertones of blue and pink as she shifts, stocking covering her thighs, leading to thin ribbons that attach with tiny bows to the matching garter belt.

He hasn’t seen her like this before. He had certainly thought about it before - but had not asked, had not implied.

He liked her best bare, just as she is.

Tangled in his sheets, all soft curves and smiles.

But there’s something about this - her intent, her forethought. The thought of her in her room, picking this out for him, wearing it all night. The anticipation of waiting for the reveal, a hopefulness for his appreciation.

That she had worn it for him this whole time; even before his thoughts led him astray.

Her head dips, the rising and falling of her chest as she waits for his approval. Baring herself for him in another kind of way, the gentle vulnerability written all over her form.

He’s always been a stubborn old fool. More so lately than even before.

But, he can fix that. He knows he can.

“Christ, sweetheart.” Alfred’s throat feels thick, his voice a low rasp, “You look beautiful.”

Her smile is shy, pleased, “Just beautiful?”

“Mm.” He leans back, “Let me see.”

Eyes raking down her again, the soft swells of her breasts, the necklace nestled between them. Thinking perhaps she’ll listen to this later, replaying his words, all the sounds he will pull from her.

“Absolutely stunning.” His palm curves against her hip, thumb brushing the lace of the belt, “This was made for you to wear.”

She preens as his eyes draw back up to the peaked bud of her breast, the flush of her nipple beneath the sheer fabric. His mouth coming to cover it, the scrape of teeth pulling a soft moan from her throat, her hands wrapping around his shoulder.

He groans against her skin, wanting to roll her beneath him, tug the lace to the side. Make her feel good - fucking her into the mattress, covering her body with his own until she’s trembling against him.

The thought has his hand wandering - moving to cup her ass, squeezing flesh before curving around her hip to brush his knuckle against the seam of her sex.

“Get on the bed, darling.” His voice sounds like gravel to his own ears, strained and low as he pulls back. The fabric beneath dampened from the swirl of his tongue.

She jerks against his hand from his touch, his words. Fingers digging into his skin through his shirt, struggling between listening, and following her own plan.

“You’re trying to distract me,” She sighs, as his touch flips from knuckle to the pads of his fingers. Stroking against the fabric that already dampens for him, “You first. I’m still taking care of you.”

Alfred hesitates, torn in his own way - but he’s never been one to disobey a direct order. Slowly, he eases further onto the bed, pushing himself back towards the headboard.

She’s close behind, fingers hooking in the straps of her panties as she shimmies out of them, pushing them past her stocking-covered thighs. Kneeling on the bed as his legs shift, parting for her. Watching as her fingers start at his ankles, sliding slowly up his thighs, his hips.

Pausing with a curving smile, to tell him, “I had been hoping you were going to pick me up tonight. I was planning on giving you a sneak peek.”

Her eyes drop, and so do his - his exhale of breath rough as he thinks about it, how she might have shown him. Tugging down the neckline of her dress for him. Or parting her thighs, letting his fingers slip up her skirt.

“There was something else I wanted to do, too.” Her fingers drift, sliding closer to where his pants have grown tight, “Since this afternoon. Can I show you?”

“Yes.” It comes out like a groan, pushed from his chest.

Smiling as her touch skips his cock as she leans over him, finding the buttons on his vest. Bending down to kiss him again - parting the fabric over this chest, moving to the tie underneath.

Then his shirt - leaving him open and half-dressed as her knee presses gently against a place where blood is rushing, his cock straining against his trousers with every pass of her fingers, each stroke of her tongue against his.

Eyes half-lidded and glassy when she pulls back, his own mouth and hands chasing after her as she moves - her kisses dropping to his chin, the hollow of his throat. His breath hitches with the attention from her lips, fingers brushing against her neck, sliding over the thin straps on her shoulder.

Down the open expanse of skin, peppering kisses across his torso - fingers reaching for his belt, tugging at the buckle. His heartbeat thudding in his chest when her eyes flick up at his, the deep desire that seems to shine in them.

His hips are lifting for her, so she can tug trousers and boxers down together. Freeing his cock to curve against his stomach, her mouth dipping to follow it. Starting at the base, pressing open-mouthed kisses up the shaft that have him groaning.

“Wanted to suck your cock at my apartment. Or in the car, if you had picked me up.”

He throbs at her words, her tongue peeking out to slide over the ridge, the tip. Flicking at the slit, tasting the drop of precum threatening to spill down his shaft.

“That’s filthy, darling.” Alfred swallows, but the thoughts are pushed into his head - the feeling of her mouth on him delaying his response, “And… and illegal, not to mention dangerous-”

His weak protests make her smile, eyes lifting from his cock to his own, “You would’ve kept me safe. I trust you.”

And it’s the way she says it so simply, so easily, that has him suddenly ensnared - bringing him fully into the moment. The other thoughts left behind, because she was here, with him now. Why would he spend time thinking about anything else?

A groan rattles in his chest, trying to keep his hips from bucking into her mouth when it finally wraps around him.

“Christ, sweetheart.” It’s a plea, but whether it’s to speed up or slow down, he’s not sure.

Her head bobs in response, taking him further, until he’s gasping. The soft, wet suction of her mouth as she swallows him down. It’s gentle, her fingers tracing over his thighs, the curve of her back as she settles between his thighs.

Putting on a show for him, eyes trained on his face, her tongue lapping at his shaft, one hand wrapping around his base. Stroking him with each bob of her head, before taking him deep, until tears spring to her eyes.

“Easy, dove.” The words are groaned out, his thumb sweeping across her cheek, her eyes closing as she gasps, “God, just look at you.”

It’s tempting to keep going, the soft heat of her mouth, her lips wrapped around his cock such a pretty sight. He knows she wouldn’t stop unless he asked, stroking him with her fist until he spills down her throat. Licking him clean, it makes him throb to think about it.

“Earlier,” The question is half-formed in his mind, filthy thoughts swirling, sucking him into her fantasy, “Would you have let me come in your mouth? Send you off to the party with my cum on your tongue?”

Her eyes grow wide, easing off him with a moan. He can see the heave of her chest, the way her fingers tighten unconsciously as she shifts.

“‘Let you’?” She groans the words out, “Oh honey, I would have begged. Is that where you want to come now?”

His own answer comes immediately, his voice rough, “Not in your mouth. In you.”

Her fist slows, but stays wrapped around him - her body unfolding, shifting until her legs lift to either side of his thighs. Moving upward, raising her hips until she’s kneeling over him.

Her smile shy, her lip caught between her teeth as she looks down. The string of arousal that drips down between her legs, clinging to her inner thigh. His fingers reach to catch it, sliding up until they press against her, sliding against her soaked slit.

Her words, spoken like a confession, eyes meeting his as she groans, “Oh, you make me so wet. You know that?”

“Yeah?” His answer is a low rasp, his hips bucking up, until the tip of his cock rubs against her.

“Yeah.” She sighs, letting it nudge against her. Slowly lowering herself, head tilting back in a long moan as she takes him.

The soft pressure as the tip presses into her, and then the blissful, tight heat as he sinks inside. Her hands turning into fists on her thighs, nails biting into her palms as the words slide from her throat, “Oh my god-”

His hips jerk upward, his own rough curse as he bottoms out - her hips finally flush with his. Her palms falling from her legs to his chest, bracing herself on him as she takes a moment to adjust, her knees pressing into the mattress.

Alfred’s eyes follow the path of the stockings, the ribbons that lead up to the belt. The lace and lines perfectly framing her soft, slick cunt - his cock pushed deep inside. If he were one to take pictures, this sight would be one he’d want to capture.

The hands resting on his chest press down, her hips rising, lifting off him before dropping down again.

“Fuck. Look at you, taking me so well.” He growls, hands gripping her thighs, fingers pinching as she does it again.

Her eyes heavy-lidded and pleased as she pulls another moan from him, slowly starting to find a rhythm. Until she’s bouncing on his cock, back curving as she arches over him.

Mouth dropping until she can kiss him, the rhythm slowly turning into a grind. Gasping against his lips, his hands rising to her hips, her waist. Encouraging her to move - to use him, with a, “Come on, dove. Ride me.”

Rocking back to take him with each thrust, until each one is punching him deep into her. The tight channel of her cunt bringing him closer to the edge as his cock drags along her walls, his heart thudding beneath her splayed palms.

“Fuck, baby.” She leans back, drawing his eyes to her breasts - almost close enough to taste, “No one makes me feel like you do.”

Her words are soft, but pointed. Stroking his ego and cock with a roll of her hips, a soft sigh.

Fingers dragging against his skin, gentle and petal-soft as her pace slows. Sliding across his chest, through the smattering of hair. Gazing down at him as if she wants to remember this forever.

He doesn’t know if he’s ever been touched like this, like he’s the one that might break. Acting as if she’s the lucky one, her kiss reverent as she leans down to claim another. Taking his hand in hers, drawing them up. Encouraging them to explore.

As if he hadn’t committed her to memory, long ago.

They move over the soft fabric covering her breasts, his groan low when his thumbs brush over her nipples, when he can feel her clench down around him.

Tugging the cups down as he shifts - her sweet little squeal as he suddenly pushes himself up. Taking her with him until he’s sitting up - back pressed against the headboard, mouth level with her exposed skin.

Her fingers sink into his shoulders, gripping on as his tongue presses against her, flicking over one of the tight buds. The circle of her hips stuttering, a soft, high whine when his hand slips between them, pressing at her clit.

“I’m-” She pants, her lips parted - leaning into his mouth, “I’m supposed to-”

Unable to finish the words as his fingers circle, the edge of his mouth curving up in a smile, “You are. You are doing so good for me.”

Her moans turning more rhythmic, the sharp breaths lining up with the slap of her hips against his. He knows her, can feel that she’s close - his feet going flat on the bed so he can thrust up into her.

She moans, pulling his mouth up to hers. Pinning him against the headboard as she leans into him, hands bracing on his shoulders for balance. His arm curls around her, hand splaying flat against her lower back, sliding down to the curve where her ass meets her thigh.

Encouraging her, the fingers of his other hand slipping against her clit, her skin soaked and slick. The sweep of her tongue in his mouth has him groaning, a building pressure in his belly signaling that he’s not far behind.

She gasps against his lips, tightening up in his arms, around his cock. The feeling of her in his arms is almost overwhelming, the heat of her soft skin under his hands, the sharp prick of her nails as they bite into the meat of his shoulder.

“Oh, Alfred-” The moan she makes is low, needy. Her words closer to a babble, punctuated with gasps, “I’m so close-”

His name on her lips does something to him, an urge to bury himself deep into her, until he’s not sure where he ends and she begins.

“Come for me.” The words are gritted out, almost a growl. Jaw clenching as he tries to hold himself back for just a little longer, “Now, dove.”

Eyes locked on hers, watching the way his words affect her, the repeating whimpers of “yes” that turn into a long groan as her hips jerk against his hand. Head pitching forward to rest against his shoulder, arms grabbing on tightly as she falls apart.

“Fuck that’s it,” The praise falls easily, effortlessly from his lips, “My good girl.”

Her legs clench, knees trembling as he continues to rock into her, feeling the wet, hot pulse of her orgasm around his cock. His own right behind, the sharp ache of pleasure - the primal urge to mark her, make her his.

His own rough growl as he loses himself, as the feeling tightens, then peaks. Finding his release as she still flutters around him, listening to her murmurs, the soft “pleases” as she tells him how she wants to feel him, too.

As if he wasn’t already there, right with her.

The muscles in his back, shoulders going stiff as he throbs, the complete bliss as he spills into her. Short waves of pleasure shooting from his hips to the tip of his cock with each pulse.

Until he’s spent, until he’s sure she must have taken all of him. Her body slumping tiredly against his, a low, happy hum as she presses a kiss to his neck.

He carefully eases out of her as he shifts - bringing them down until his shoulders hit the pillow, her head cradled against his chest.

Sated, his palm smoothing down her spine, fingers tracing patterns against her skin. Nose buried in her hair as he inhales her sweet scent, listening to the soft noise of contentment she makes.

“Was that okay? Was it too much?” Her breath is warm against his chest, fingers drifting down his sides. Pressing into the muscle and flesh at his waist, his hips - the places that tend to ache the most.

Always looking out for him.

It makes his heart feel like it’s fluttering in his chest.

It makes him want to taste her, the mess he’s made. To make her feel the bliss that he’s still basking in, again.

To drown in her.

His voice a low rasp as he tugs at her hips, coaxing her forward, “Come here.”

The shift of her knees on either side of his waist as she rocks forward, brow pinching in confusion.

“I said I wanted you to ride me. You’re not finished yet, dove.” He clarifies, for her, and her look darkens with understanding.

He has long forgotten about the photos. About the worries, the insecurity - everything fading out as she moves; until she’s hovering over him, letting his hands guide her into place.

His chin tipping up to kiss her before she’s fully seated - the sound of her moans as his tongue licks up her cunt drowning out any last of the whispers in his mind.

The soft silk of her stockings against his shoulders, the tug of her fingers as they slide into his hair, tangling in the strands as her lips part with a moan.

Losing himself in her - in each and every sweet little sound.

———

Later, you lean against the bathroom door as it shuts, unable to help glancing at yourself in the large mirror over the vanity.

Incandescently happy, unable to hold back the smile. Looking more than a little mussed, your lingerie wrinkled from fingers fisting in the soft, delicate fabric.

Remembering the feel of him beneath you - first his cock, and then his mouth. The way he had held onto you, the heat in his eyes as you rode him. The wet suck of his lips, his own groan when you gushed against them. As if your pleasure was his own.

But never forgetting the way you found him.

Knowing all too well the ache of envy, having fallen victim yourself before. Wishing you knew the words to convince him, instead of falling back to your touches or words spoken in the heat of the moment.

But maybe…

Maybe you do.

Slow steps towards the mirror, until your hands rest on the marble counter. The lights above winking off the gem between your breasts. Inhaling a breath for courage before you pluck at the chain, lifting it over your head.

Holding it in your hand like it’s something precious. Lacking the eloquence of a man like Alfred, but knowing that you’ll get there in the end. And that he’ll still treasure it.

You exhale the breath you’d been holding, and then you begin.

“I never wanted to see Harvey again, but after tonight I am kind of…. glad I did. I know that’s a funny thing to say, especially how tonight ended up going.”

You shift, glancing at yourself again for resolve.

“Because it made me realize how lucky I am to have found you. And, it made me really want to tell you, just how much-”

The words burst from your chest, ready to be confessed.

“-how much I love you.”

Relief hits you, making your voice tremble, torn between tears and laughter, “Because I do, Alfred. God, I love you so much.”

A pause as you sniff, catching your breath. Your smile soft as you add, “And I hope you’ll be able to listen to this, any time you need a reminder.”

The gem is pressed to your lips, a kiss of good luck, before you switch the device off. Leaving the necklace coiled on the low dish on the vanity top - the space where he leaves his cufflinks in the evening for safe keeping.

A thudding, racing joy in your heart, having spoken the words out loud.

He still deserves to hear them himself. You know that.

You’ll tell him tomorrow. There’s plenty of time.

Tonight, you just want to be with him.

(taglist - @rescuethewretched, @stalinsthirsttrap, @slavicwitchling, @zinzinina, @bacarasbabe, @kakashibabe02, @princessxkenobi, @maskhoper, @thelastemzy, @stargirlfics, @squidlywiddly87, @queensgirl718)

[pixelated-pogues]

Undesired Vacancy (Fezco)

Summary: There's a vacancy in his life where you'd typically sit after an argument over beating Nate Jacobs at the New Years Eve party. Pairing: Fezco x reader Inspired by: Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High by Arctic Monkeys Warnings: mentions of weed and alcohol, cursing, argument, mentions of Rue's overdose. Gif Creds: @euphoriabrasil

The mirror's image, it tells me it's home time But I'm not finished, 'cause you're not by my side And as I arrived I thought I saw you leavin', carryin' your shoes Decided that once again I was just dreamin' of bumpin' into you

Wiping his hands on the towel hanging from the wall, Fez meets his own gaze in the pristine mirror in front of him. His palms meet the cool granite of the counter, alleviating some of the pressure weighing on his shoulders with an exhausted sigh. He studies himself silently for a few moments, his cerulean eyes taking in all of the evident signs that he's worn out from the shitty week that had ensued, with a heavy mind. He's ready to tap out and ignore his responsibilities for the next three months to give himself time to recover.

"Shit man," he whispers to himself, dragging his phone out of his pocket long enough to shoot Ash a text.

To: Lil Tray Finish up whatever business you got goin on right now and let's get the hell outta here. Ima head to the car in a few.

With that, his phone is shoved back into his pocket and he's staring at the mirror again. It had been an off night, business was good as per usual, but the night felt like a dud without you lurking around, randomly popping in to keep him company. It's been days since he's seen you, yet the sting from the argument that lead to your vacancy still feels as strong as it did when your furied words pierced his heart a little too deeply just before you stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door. An exasperated sigh leave's Fez's lips as the moment of you shouting at him with tears rolling down your cheeks replays in his mind and he flinches as he remembers the sound of you slamming the door.

He'd gone into the party tonight worried and hoping that he'd see you, and he could've sworn he caught a glimpse of you sauntering out of the house with your shoes clutched tightly in your hands when he pulled up with Ashtray. Yet, just as quickly as he'd seen you, you were gone by the time he gave the front door a second glance, leaving him to believe that all the weed was finally getting to his head.

Now it's three in the mornin' and I'm tryin' to change your mind Left you multiple missed calls and to my message, you reply "Why'd you only call me when you're high?"

From: Lil Tray I’ve been in the car for 10 minutes, u good?

“Shit,” Fez mumbles again, shoving his phone in his back pocket, sparing one last glance at himself before pulling open the door, quickly making his way out of the house. Bidding people goodbye in passing, several familiar faces asking if he’s got anything they could snag before he heads out. They’re all waved off without a second glance as he beelines towards the door, ready to bask in the silence of the apartment, or numb himself with weed while Ash puts on his favorite show.

Fez doesn’t say anything in response to Ashtray’s questioning look when he climbs in the car. Instead, he greets him by dabbing him up before putting the car in drive and speeding down the road.

“Business was good. Pretty sure McKay’s friend group came to see me four times before the night was over,” Ash fills him in after several moments of silence, his eyes scanning over his brothers features to try to pinpoint the unspoken emotions that have Fezco white-knuckling the steering wheel in silence.

“That’s good Ash,” Fez shoots the younger boy a proud smile, sliding a leftover joint out from behind his ear, gladly accepting Ash’s offer to light it up. “You’re always kickin ass with the sales at these parties. You know ma would be proud.” Ash nods, clearly glad to accept the words Fez shared with him before shifting to look out the window to observe the familiar streets of their town.

Fezco’s thoughts inevitably trail back to you as the car whips past spots that hold memories with you, which is damn near every spot in town. It’s a rarity that you’re not curled up in the backseat tonight. You’ve spent more time with the boys than you have with your own family for as long as he remembers, which is why everywhere Fez looks poses as a reminder of you and makes him more aware that you aren’t around.

As tired as he is, he tosses and turns in his bed for hours after the party. The house felt too quiet and his bed felt too cold without you tucked into his side. With a disheartened sigh, he blindly reaches for his phone, squinting to make at the time while his eyes adjust to the brightness of the screen. 3 am, it read, adding the the annoyance eating at his chest.

To: My Girl Y/n, I know we’re both stubborn and are letting our pride get in the way of putting this shit behind us. We both said shit we didn’t mean, and I’m ready to let it go if you are. I miss you baby, please just…talk to me.

Fez huffs, letting his phone fall on the mattress next to him, silently praying that you’re awake and ready to talk. It doubtful, seeing as it’s a Friday night and you’re probably drunk with the girls, but he’s hopeful that he’ll be able to hear your voice before he falls asleep. He’s never left so many voicemails on someone’s phone, that’s the number one indicator that he’s down bad, but he chooses not to think about that too hard. The warning from his grandma about love wafts through his mind momentarily before wasting away, allowing room for other thoughts to take their place.

And I can't see you here, wonderin' where am I It sort of feels like I'm runnin' out of time I haven't found all I was hopin' to find

Fez isn't the type to spend his time hoping and waiting that things will look up in his favor, nor is he the typical type to spend his nights wondering if someone else is thinking about him too, but over the past few days, as soon as the lights are off and he's all alone, it's all he seems to be able to do.

As soon as the stars take over the sky, and his head hits the pillow, his mind starts wandering through endless fake scenarios and in which things are okay, in which the argument never happened, or he's dreaming about you knocking on his door crying and spilling a string of apologies into his chest.

He hates to admit it, but he's not even that upset about the way you're constantly running through his mind. It helps alleviate some of the hurt that he hasn't physically seen you because he's constantly meeting you in his thoughts, both of you saying all of the words needing to be said and everything in between.

Yet, the longer you remain silent, the more his hope depletes and the more your responses in his scenarios sound like his own voice trying to convince him that things are going to be oaky. Part of him thinks that you hit your breaking point with him and are refusing to reach out because you're finally done. Another part of him believes that the longer you stay silent, the more time is running out for the two of you to fix things. Yet, his typical thought process is consumed with believing that things are going to be okay, though his thoughts don't exactly do the best at convincing him that that's the truth.

You guys have fought plenty of times, but never like you did the other night. Neither of you are the type to lose control, but you both completely lost your cool and seemed to tear the other to shreds in the process.

"The problem is that you didn't think Fez, God I swear sometimes you just forget to think before you make rash decisions," you'd shouted trailing into the house behind him, haphazardly slamming the door behind you. Ashtray, who'd been tired of the tension and bantering on the way home from McKay's party, silently retreated to his room knowing Fez would appreciate the privacy.

"The hell is that supposed to mean," he'd grumbled, dumping the car keys on the kitchen table before facing you, eyebrows pulled together in a tight glare. "I didn't make any rash decisions, I did what I needed to do to take care of my family. I thought you, of all people, would understand that."

"How in the hell is beating Nate Jacobs to a pulp taking care of your family, Fez," you laughed in disbelief, "His dad owns half of the fucking town. What are we going to do when he comes after you? There's no way in hell Cal Jacobs is going to be sweet-talked out of trying to throw your ass in jail after this."

"Thank you so much for the vote of confidence, Y/n," Fez rolled his eyes, taking a swig from a beer you hadn't even realized he'd picked up. "I'm so glad to have your support."

"Don't you dare," you growled, eyes wide with a single finger pointed in his direction. "You know damn well I support you, you don't get to mock that now that you made a shitty choice. Not after all of the times I've went to bat for you."

"You make it sound like such a chore," he noted, putting his beer down on the counter. "If my lifestyle is such a burden to you, then why don't you just leave?" Fez silently cursed himself when his words registered in his head. Someone in their right mind doesn't just offer their girlfriend a ticket to walk out of their life. He's angry at her for not just being able to trust that what he'd done to Nate was for good reason, but he doesn't want her to leave.

"That isn't fair," you sighed, displaying a slightly betrayed expression. "You don't get to project how you think I feel onto me. I feel like I'm trying to be understanding here Fez, I'm just worried that you haven't thought about the repercussions this time." You'd silently tried de-escalating the conversation, wanting nothing more than to just climb to bed, but the dull ache in your chest told you that the conversation isn't close to being over.

"So what, I'm just supposed to watch Nate fuck with Rue and her friends without doin anything about it? Just because you're worried that his dad is going to talk?" Fez knew he was being unreasonable, but that didn't stop him from pushing the argument further. Maybe it was extra pent-up frustration that he'd walked out of the party while Jacobs still had a pulse or maybe it was the inkling in his mind telling him that you were right, but his pride wasn't willing to let you be right this time.

"Oh my god, why am I even trying," you laughed incredulously, pulling your hands through your hair in frustration. "It's always the same argument. It feels like we're just talking in circles here. Why is it that Rue is always the one you're willing to ruin your own safety and security for? Why does it always have to be your fight when it comes to her?"

"She's my family, Y/n. You know better than anyone else how I feel about taking care of my family," Fez tried reasoning, trying to get you to remember that he doesn't just beat people in cold blood without reason. "And I'm real tired of Jacobs feelin like he can stir shit up without any consequences."

"Okay but if you're all about taking care of your family, then why'd you keep feeding her addiction knowing fully well that she was barely treading water and losing control. You deal with enough addicts to know all of the warning signs, so if you're so concerned about her well-being, why do you keep fulfilling her need for drugs? Even after she nearly killed herself with the ones you sold her at the beginning of the summer," the rebuttal slipped out of your mouth before you could register what you were saying. The heat of the moment, the worry of impending repercussions of Fezco's actions, killing your ability to fully filter what was going to come out of your mouth. You faltered then, knowing you went too far, your entire demeanor shifting at the realization that you'd let the words you knew would hurt him slip.

Fez's jaw clenched, his beer discarded on the counter with a loud smack before his battered hands clenched into a fist. Rue's addiction was a touchy subject to Fez. A subject that you knew not to discuss unless it came up, fully aware of the weight Fez has carried ever since she overdosed at the beginning of the summer.

"I fucking knew you were holdin that over my head," he hissed, visibly growing more angry as the words fell off his tongue. "You really have the whole, sweet supportive girlfriend bullshit down to a T, ma. You've had us both so convinced that you're this sweet person that can never do anything wrong but it's bullshit. You're bullshit ma."

"Fez," you murmured, stepping towards him in hopes to fix the damage you'd done. You were just worried about him, you never intended for things to come here. "I don't hold it over your head. I swear I don't. It just slipped and-"

"You got to go, Y/n," he interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest without looking at you.

"What?" You breathed, tears welling up in your eyes at the clear hurt displayed on his face. "Fez please just-"

"Get the fuck out of my face and go," he shouted, sending you flinching into the counter behind you. The hurt transitioned into a furious glare, his cheeks tinted and angry pink as he pointed towards the door. "I don't want to look at you right now, ma. And I sure as hell don't want your lame ass excuses now that you know that you fucked up and aren't the perfectly pleasant little queen you crack yourself out to be. You clearly can't go a day without holding my lifestyle over my head, so go, cause things aren't changing any time soon."

You let those words sink in for a few moments before you said anything else, your heart heavy due to the weight and stresses the night had presented. "Okay," you sighed, wiping a single tear off of your flushed cheek. "But for the record, I don't hold anything over your head, I was just trying to understand because I'm worried about all of these seemingly rash decisions that don't seem like you. That don't seem like the guy I've grown to love." With that, you left without sparing him a second glance, slipping off the green sweater he'd let you borrow and dropping it by the door.

Fez remembers how that sweater had stayed where you left it since it had been carelessly dropped on the floor that day. He likes to keep the apartment tidy, but couldn't bare to move it, so it stayed there as a reminder of the words both of you dropped on each other that night. He inevitably cringes as he recounts the things he'd laid on you in anger, and he wishes you were there so he could flip them around. You are many things, but bullshit sure isn't one of them, lil ma.

He sinks further into the comfort of his bed, fully expecting for the rabbit trail of thoughts to continue unfolding, but his head shoots over in surprise at the sound of his text tone pinging through the silence.

Somewhere darker, talkin' the same shite I need a partner, well, are you out tonight? It's harder and harder to get you to listen More I get through the gears Incapable of makin' alright decisions, and havin' bad ideas

From: my girl My fingers have been itching to call you all night. Now it’s 3 am and I’m well past the point of making decisions I’m going to like in the morning. Seems like a good opportunity to talk while my heart is talking louder than my head. Wanna go for a drive?

A sigh of relief escapes his chest, his shoulders feeling three times lighter at the words displayed in the screen. His fingers immediately ghost over the keys as he drags himself out of bed, not bothering to change before he’s quietly exiting the house, shooting Ash a text in case he wakes up before he gets back. Fez drives down the open road with the windows down, holding his breath when your silhouette comes into view. You’re waiting for him at the stop sign down the road from your house like you always do. The car is in park long enough for you to climb in, neither of you bothering to say anything as he continues down the road in the direction of your usual late night spot.

He doesn’t have to look at you to know that you’re staring at him, fingers playing with the hem of the hoodie hanging off of your frame. Your eyes shoot to the window when he glances your way as if you’re embarrassed he caught you. The tension in the car is new for both of you, arguments being a rare occurrence in your dynamic. You open your mouth to speak, but close it when he puts the car in park, shifting so that you know you have his full attention.

“I meant what I said on the phone,” he begins, turning the radio down so he can hear you. The dim lamps in the abandoned parking lot cast a soft glow on your features, if things didn’t feel so awkward he would’ve pulled you into his chest and told you that you look beautiful. But he doesn’t. While you’re still his, your harsh words replay like symphonies in his head acting as a reminder that you guys have shit to work out.

“I know,” you hum, tugging your knees up to your chest with a sigh. “I’m sorry it took me so long to respond. It’s just, I know that what I said the other day was shitty and I’ve felt like I lost the right to apologize.”

“You haven’t lost your right to nothin, ma,” he replies sincerely, picking at a loose thread on his sweats. “Feelin like that ain’t no reason to lose us over. Least in my opinion. We both said things we knew would hurt in the heat of the moment, but I’m not gonna let that keep me from havin you.” Your lips curve into a sad smile at his words, reminding you of the hurtful things he’d said to you. You’ve spent the last several days ignoring his messages because you’d taken all of the blame for the argument on yourself. Opting to punish yourself by getting in the way of making things better in hopes that it’d keep you from hurting him again.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re not good for each other? Or maybe that I’m not good for you?” You’re surprised as the words slip off of your tongue, the alcohol in your system cancelling out your usual filter. A labored breath gets caught in your throat as you fear his answer to the question. Of course Fez hadn’t ever thought that exactly. His lifestyle made him question why you chose to associate with him, and he often reminded himself that he wasn’t good for you, but he never questioned if you were good for him. He knows damn well that you’re too good for him and that he’s lucky you give him the time of day.

“Nah,” he shakes his head, leaning forward just to be closer to you. “You must be on somethin if you’re thinkin like that. That’s crazy talk, Y/n.” You blink at him when he pauses again, the statement lightening the heaviness in your heart a little. “We may not be perfect, but we fit too well into each other’s lives for me to believe we’re bad for each other. A fight doesn’t just change that.” You nod in understanding, trying to find the right words to communicate how sorry you feel for saying what you did, but you keep drawing a blank. Fez studies you for a few seconds, watching a silent battle go on in your mind before he reaches out to touch you, feeling accomplished when his touch rips you away from your thoughts as his fingers graze the soft skin on your cheek.

“Are you going to keep acting like you’re afraid to look at me, or are you gonna let me kiss you so we can put all that behind us and move on,” he’s so close now that you can feel his breath faintly fan across your face. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, meeting his eyes once more, before you break the space between you and let your kiss say everything your words are failing to.

He hums at the feeling, gripping your jaw as everything else melts away.

“I really am sorry,” you tell him after pulling away, your foreheads resting against each other. “What I said was out of line. I hope you know I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” he promises, lips grazing the curve of your lips. “I’m sorry for what I said too. Didn't mean any of it, just let the moment get in the way." You fingers dance over the soft skin on his chest, his cerulean eyes meeting yours in the dimly lit car as he leans further into your gentle touch. "I know there's more we gotta talk through, but what do you say we put a pin in it and go home?"

You nod in agreement, leaning in to kiss him once more before getting comfortable in your seat as he puts the car in drive and heads down the familiar streets to the apartment. His hand finds its home on your thigh, the simple gesture warming your heart in knowing that it's his simple way of promising you that he's there.

Things are far from perfect, but they'll be okay.

A/N: This one ran away from me a little, but I kinda like it...so I hope you guys do too <3 feedback is always welcome and appreciated. If you guys have any Fez concepts you'd like to see me write, feel free to shoot me a message. Also, if you want to be added to my Euphoria taglist, let me know <3 All the love.

Taglist: @milkiane @glodessa @goldenroutledge @curlyolly @styxiasstuff @soccerximagines

[chil2de]

hi yes the benimaru fic i mentioned earlier— fire force fandom will you let me in please??🥺🥺 i don’t know what i’m dealing with fanbase wise mmfldjfj sometimes it feels like i’m head over heels for bens by myself so... i’ll drop this here for now.. see how it goes and i’ll continue w/ a second part if ff isn’t dead

nsfw themes throughout, so please read my disclaimer if you’re new. enjoy :)

w.c: 1.7k, characters: 9.6k (incl spaces)

-

there’s a certain sluggish quality that plagues your movements. it’s not fatigue or incompetence. or so benimaru would hope.

his mix matched gaze glosses over your unnecessary movements. that extra exhale you hiss, the additional bat of your eyelashes and the excessive perspiration that drips onto the earth below.

“stop.” he commands, tone low and stern as it pierces through the open air.

“huh? captain shinmon, i’m fine. we can keep going.” you huff through laboured breaths, pausing to gasp and drink in the plentiful oxygen around you.

“it’s one thing if you’re overworking your muscles. it’s another if you’re running a fever. go inside.”

“b-but captain-“

benimaru shoots you a dead stare, keeping his statement rooted deep where he stands.

judging by the bruises that adorn your knees, you know better than to disobey the captain.

“waka! have you seen (l/n)?” konro lingers in the doorframe of the main communal area, gaze scanning for one of his colleagues.

“she’s in her room. why?”

“her room? she has a few errands to run. is she feeling okay?”

“she’s running a fever.” benimaru exhales, shifting to get up from the table. he lightly scratches the back of his neck, adorning that usual aloof facial expression.

“in the middle of summer? how’d that happen?” konro chuckles through a small glimpse of bewilderment. of course he’d be concerned for one of his best recruits.

“hell if i know. what do we need? i’ll head out.”

if anything, benimaru is probably the sole reason why you’re running a fever. why he subjected to railing you underneath water that felt like it was nearing sub-zero was beyond you. it’s not like he’s about to admit he enjoys fucking his special little fire soldier. how he relishes and engrains the sight of your fucked out facial expression deep into his head, burning the image into his retinas. shit, you wouldn’t be surprised if the reason why he sometimes spaces out is because of you.

it’s always been blatantly obvious that you’re the captain’s favourite, no matter how much he denies it and how many glares he shoots at the people from other companies. you’re always left apologising for his behaviour, attempting to keep a straight face.

for the one time you dragged him out to patrol with you, and the amount of incessant whining, complaints and bribes you offered your captain, after a full month of lovely slow burn he decided to come along with you. he just up and left, had the audacity to turn around and ask you why you’re still standing there. benimaru always kept his distance to yours close, in fact the separation was almost minimal. you could feel his shoulders ghost over you.

every time he noticed someone staring at your figure for a little bit too long to be deemed appropriate, he hissed a scoff of distaste. at around the third or fourth person, you were already forced to deal with his short temper.

“what the hell are you gawking at? mind your damn business.”

but sure. apparently you’re not his favourite.

he can scoff and complain all he wants, but that won’t stop him even now from lazily snaking his hand around to his favourite baby girl’s waist. to him, this seems like the most normal thing.

“how else is she going to stand upright? she’s all stick and bones, the wind will knock her right over.”

okay, benimaru. you keep telling yourself that. even when his fingers feel an itch every time they’re not touching a part of your skin. he tends to get a whole lot more mouthy and irritable every time you’re not around, too.

hell, even his own townsfolk pick up on the fact that he’s out and about more. rounds that he always left to the lesser important underlings became more commonplace, especially with you by his side.

but the things that go on behind closed doors?

his peppermint red eyes that haunt your mind, infiltrating your very thoughts. you could be minding your business, going on about your day until you get an abrupt flicker of his mundane tic-tac-toe gaze staring up at you from in between your thighs.

you could be taking care of hinata and hikage, entertaining their antics when you feel the weight of benimaru’s stare burn holes into your uniform.

you could be doing your daily sparring with the captain. in the zone, breath held and blood stream steady until you remember the feel of his hot tongue trailing along the side of your neck. for someone who seems to be stuck in a perpetual state of sadness, you always catch the arrogant smirk that pulls at his lips.

“thinking of something?” he’ll cock his eyebrows, using the distraction to take a jab to your gut.

you groan, stirring around in your bed. you hate him, hate that stupid half lidded gaze of his. you hate how soft his wavy jet black locks are. the way the strands tug and bend whenever you try to yank his face away from your cunt. you run your fingers through your hair in a valiant yet futile attempt to free your thoughts from your captain. it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon, and you haven’t done anything but reminisce about your lover for the past hour and a half.

a meek and uneven sigh hisses from your lips. your eyes screw open and you flinch at the hard sunlight that pours in from the window. as you use the inner portion of your elbow to shield your gaze, you catch glimpse of a very familiar figure in the doorway.

“captain shinmon?” you inquire, propping yourself up onto your elbows. he closes the door behind him. you’re certain that you looked like a loyal dog sat panting and wagging its tail upon discovering the return of their owner.

“excited to see me?” he remarks in a flat tone, opening the grocery bag he’s carrying before setting a few things down onto your nightstand. it’s mostly medicine, though he snags a few of your favourite snacks and drinks. there’s also one of those fascinating green tea bottles that you buy at the vending machines, except they’re served piping hot.

“how’re you feeling?”

“i told you i was going to get sick if we had the water that cold.” you huff, averting your gaze in a fit.

“not my problem you can’t take a little temperature difference”

“a little? that shit was freezing! how the hell can you take water that cold?”

“how can you not?”

you chuckle a little, shifting to stare up at the ceiling.

“don’t you have paperwork to do?”

“you know i don’t do paperwork. sure as hell not gonna start doing it now.” benimaru huffs, kicking his boots off by the door. you can hear his clothes rustling and your head snaps to face him. he shoots you a glare, as though to scold you. it’s dripping on his face. ‘really? you’re so eager.’

“move up.” he cocks his head to the side, motioning for you to move over. you shift up, room spinning a little too much for your tastes. the mattress dips with his weight and his right arm (our left) reflexively hangs in the air for you to dip your head into the crook of where his shoulder and collarbone meet. he discards his navy kimono, the article of clothing hangs on one of the hooks at the back of your door. it’s probably not much comfort for him to be relaxing in a bed with half of his uniform still on.

you squish your face against his hard chest, head rising and falling in time with his breathing. the said arm relaxes and his hand rests against your shoulder. subsequently, you realise this is the first time you’ve seen him fully without his kimono on. at the very least, he’d still have the other sleeve on.

benimaru notices your blatant staring at his other arm. he can’t comprehend why you’d gawk at it now, since he’s used it plenty of times to choke you.

he hums a small ‘hm’ in question, asking you what you’re so fascinated about. you can feel his voice thrum and rock against his chest, it sends small shivers licking your body that he doesn’t miss.

“you look so funny without your kimono on. why don’t you wear it like this more often?” you drag your nails softly against his biceps. there’s a small groan that hisses from him. as you await his response, you outline a large vein that runs from his upper arm and trails down all the way to his wrist.

“i get cold easily.”

“then why did you take a shower with me?”

“are you hearing yourself?”

surely a little bit of his body temperature was enough to sacrifice. even if it meant he was sneezing a little bit and shivering afterwards.

“seriously? you can take a tranquiliser but you can’t stand a little cold?”

“you’ll make a shitty wife if you can’t even keep me warm.”

“beni!” you hiss at benimaru in appaul, craning your face up to guffaw at him. the manners on him sometimes are despicable.

you pout, shifting your upper weight to flick benimaru in between his eyebrows. he screws his face in mutiny, lips curled into a scowl.

you and him both know that if it were anyone else flicking him like that, they’d be sent crashing through six different blocks of houses down the street.

“oi.” he warns you, tutting.

“konro come by and work some voodoo magic bullshit on you? ‘cause you’re testing your luck by pissing me off. you’re such a menace when you’re sick, it’s unbelievable.”

you hum in awe, inching your face closer towards his. there’s a wave of mockery that paints your face green and you can only laugh at the unrest that swirls in benimaru’s eyes.

he won’t have his pet talking down to him like that. no, no. that just won’t do.

“oh? really? you want me to do it again?” you flash him a cocky smirk, digits curled into a flicking position. you rest the bridge of your middle finger against benimaru’s forehead, slicking some of his charcoal stained locks out the way.

his left hand flies to catch your hand in an instant. with just two of his fingers, he can wrap himself around your wrist. his touch is assertive, firm. he can drag you the fuck away from him as he pleases, but there’s no real malice or force behind him just yet.

“yeah? try me.” he barks, peering down at you through his lashes.

you just might.

[vodkassassin]

Still laughing about “cannibalism?!???” in Attempt #2. Thanks very much Vod, love you and all your fics! <3

I was scratching my head, thinking “if I were Cale, what would I mistake this as?” And since me and Cale are very similar, it absolutely didn’t take me too long. In fact, my brain immediately went “he’s trying to eat him.” And I was like “yeah, you’re right” and wrote it down 🤣

Also, from the comments on that fic, I’m happy to see quite a number of people have identified my boy Jasim Veltouré as the red herring character I conceived him as~ that makes me so happy~

Attempt # 2 from The Cale Henituse Protection Squad

Extra - Veltouré and Eruhaben

Jasim nods politely toward the various guests that turn their glittering and fake smiles his direction, but he keeps his footsteps slightly hurried so that no one approaches him.

Not too hurried, of course, as that would only bring undue attention. But, not too slow, else everyone and their mother would snag him for a lovely conversation. And then, he won’t be getting anywhere quick.

And he needs to be quick, in this case. He feels it in his gut.

Jasim Veltouré is one to trust his gut instinct. It’s gotten him out of many a situation before.

This time, he’s hoping to use it for someone else.

He approaches the golden figure, bathed elegantly in the warm yet bright lights of the palace ballroom, and immediately sketches a bow of greeting. Nothing too deep, but he dipped his head maybe a smidge lower than he really should have toward someone of this man’s station.

Jasim trusts his instincts, and they say this man in front of him deserves even more respect that Jasim could ever possibly give.

For… some reason. Even though this guy is only a knight. Still.

Keeping his confusion off his face isn’t much of a chore, as he’s always been adept at concealing his thoughts from the outside perspective. Jasim straightens out and spreads out his hands in a further greeting, calm smile on place as those golden eyes turn to take him in.

Instead of taking him in, Jasim feels like those eyes are piercing him, inspecting him for any flaws.

Luckily for Jasim, he had beaten his flaws out of the naked eye’s view himself from a young age. He would challenge any noble to point a single one out for him now.

“Guardian Knight Haben?” He asks rhetorically.

A single golden eyebrows lifts upward. “Speaking.”

Jasim nods, expression relaxed. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot! All good things, though, I assure you.”

“As if they would be anything else.”

Smoothing away the arrogance with a motion of ease, Jasim takes a step closer to the knight. He keeps his eyes off the very distracting way that the ballroom lights dance along the fall of the man’s hair — why is everything about him gold — and leans in further to whisper.

All the while, the knight has Jasim pinned down with an flat, if slightly bemused and annoyed about it, stare.

“I wouldn’t look around, but have you seen a particular shade of red recently?”

There’s a slow blink, and Jasim swears for a second those are slots like a snake instead of a pupil, before the eyes narrow on him dangerously.

“… Not at all.” The knight admits. Both brows are turned downward in an expression that isn’t quite a frown, but equally displeased. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I was only wondering.” Jasim shrugs lightly, glancing away at the various guests milling about, pretending they’re not trying to eavesdrop. Hopefully, they’re speaking too quietly. “It happens, I just recently saw that color myself, and I think something might be wrong, is all.”

“Hmm.” The knight says noncommittally. After a brief moment where Jasim feels seven times heavier, all of his skeleton aching in a starkly alarming matter, the knight straightens up and steps away from the wall. “Lead away then, little Marquis.”

For some reason, Jasim’s mouth is incredibly dry. He swallows as subtly as he can and turns on his heel.

He exit the ballroom proper out into the vast corridors of the palace beyond. He doesn’t spare a glance back to make sure whether the golden knight has indeed chosen to follow him or not.

He doesn’t need to. Jasim can feel those eyes burning holes into his back the entire way.

[widowsofchaos]

Could you do the prompt #60?

❝ mine

summary: Wanda isn’t too fond with how close a certain Captain is to you. pairing: Wanda Maximoff x black!reader warnings: fluff, jealous Wanda, a smidge of jealousy, and smut. Filthy use of the Slovakian language. Palm kissing aka my weakness. ao3 // requested from this prompt list a/n: Wanda is my wife, your honor. Hope I did my lover justice. Carol Danvers cameo. requested prompt 60: “Pay attention to me.” 2k words. Sorry for this late request, writer’s block is a menace. No beta, all mistakes are my own. do not repost my works

It was late into the night, and Wanda’s spirits were more alive --- and enraged.

Anxiety and adrenaline bleeds through her witchy fingers, sparks zap dully at the tips, clutching her cup of liquor tightly.

Downs a hefty sip, a hiss, her lips snarling as the firewater trickles and burns down her throat --- Samogon, or how you cheekily teased, “Mother Russia’s own moonshine. Ruthless just like her children --- I mean look at Natalia, she puts vodka in her cereal.” A tiny smirk curls at her lips, your faint laugh lulls her in the memory.

A familiar giggle catches her ears once more --- melodic, soothes her ears, but Wanda scowls, knowing exactly what’s making you laugh. Her knuckles strain white, gawking over her shoulder, peeking eyes glow dangerously crimson red.

The party is amidst bustling with drunk melding bodies, great food, endless playlist of music --- ever so luxurious --- as every party Stark throws; regardless it being a private party among friends.

Across from the bar, near the lounge couches, you seated with your silhouette legs crossed, your head tilted back, tipsy giggles slipping from your lips; seated next to you was a certain Captain.

Oh no --- not Captain America, he was busy cuddling with his lovers, how he slurs lovingly ‘my Bucky, my Sammy.’ Steve and Bucky two fingers deep in Asgardian Ale, with Sam edging deep in whiskey. All three sharing kisses in the far corner, ready to sneak back to their room for late night loving.

Shamelessly undressing you with her eyes was Captain Danvers herself, her arm slung over your shoulders, deep in casual conversation with you. Simple maxi dress, adorning your hips, softly encasing your figure, low cut that amples your breasts --- and Carol was eating it up.

To the outsider’s eye, it would be seen as friendly banter, tipsy chuckles -- but Wanda knew better. Her eyes flicker to her wedding ring --- sparkling red --- the same one that twinkles on your marital finger.

She clicks her tongue --- Wanda indeed knows better. The friendship between Carol and yourself is fairly a new one, naturally gravitating towards Carol, how curious and intrigued you get to meet another inhuman besides Wanda and yourself.

No surprise how natural conversation flows between the Captain and yourself --- everyone you meet gravitates to you like a magnet, treating one as if they were an old friend.

You look delicious --- as always. Beauty that makes anyone double-glance, delicate yet intimidating. That glow, you carry a shine, an essence, a force of nature, but it’s so much more. Beneath the surface, radiates comfort, you can break any stoic façade with that wattage smile. Wanda and yourself match, a perfect yin-yang, one and the same, and Wanda loves it.

Both of you can feel it, see it, taste it.

Clever fingers, clever lips, clever tongue. Clever small hands carving Wanda’s hardened façade, in the quiet, warm and intense moments in time, where Wanda can be vulnerable, finally shed waterfalls over her losses, let her rant and rage without judging eyes --- where she can lay her heart in your hands, and she knew, you handle with care.

Because you know her, understand her. Able to simmer her down, know where her emotions stem from the deepest crevices of her spirit.

The endless drinks were nice, but Wanda rather be with you, somewhere else. She rather prefers to be in your shared quarters, with the babies, eating sugar snaps, and watching tv. A cozy night-in, and finally would tuck Billy and Tommy in their cribs; sneak away to bed, caress and cradle each other till succumbing in deep slumber.

But --- you convinced Wanda, thinking tonight’s party was a good reprieve, to relax with friends, and drink till merry, without the stresses of motherhood. Now, she battles another stress, another grievance.

Green-eyed monster rearing its head --- jealousy.

‘She’s full of shit.’ A sultry Slovakian spite lingers in your mind --- only in your mind, a sharp side-eye, you glance to see Wanda, nursing her drink --- halting your pinched fingers from twirling your flute.

Slightly puckering your lips, restraining a grin splitting from ear to ear, you coyly titled your head at Carol, who was complimenting the tattoo that adorns your shoulder-blade. How slyly Carol’s fingertips trace the tatted lines, feigning curiosity.

‘Her hands all over you, fucking kurva.’

‘Pay attention to me.’

A dull clank of a glass against the counter could be heard. A breathy chuckles escapes from your nose, as you can feel Wanda’s eyes burning holes in the back of your skull, and no doubt, dying to literally burn holes in Carol’s blonde dome. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay, my head feels light.” A polite excuse without offending Carol from your erupt leave.

“Awh, already? It’s not even late, grandma.” Carol teases, as she presses the rim of her beer against her lips --- her fifth one tonight --- tangy flavor of Budweiser weighing on her tongue, fueling her mischief. “Who are you calling grandma, I wasn’t the one born in the sixties.” A few strings of chuckles, you graciously depart from Carol, as she wiggles her slender fingers goodbye.

Waltzing to the bar, your hips swaying, placing the flute on the counter; sitting next to a stewing witch. Elegantly perching your elbows on the marbled bar, your nails flicker delicately as your wrists bent against your chest, coyly swinging gently on the bar stool. Slyly peeking from the corner of your eye, you catch Wanda staring at you.

Tenderly covering her glass with your palm, tugging it out of Wanda’s palm, and gliding it away. “Let’s go to bed.” You slither, eyes glassy --- the champagne bubbling light in your head, skin tingling and aching for Wanda’s touch; your eyes rover over her figure, curves snug in a velvet maxi dress.

Auburn hair coils in slick waves, draped over her smooth shoulders. Leaning in, you can smell the liquor wafting from her slick lips, Wanda tsks, cheekily leaning towards you; her fingers sought out to your thigh, gripping the flesh.

Lips now hairs away, “Oh --- now I exist?” Wanda sneers, sultry, her accent weaving out in a hiss. “Don’t be like that.” You tsk, smoothly gliding off the stool, your fingers sliding against Wanda’s open palm, interlocking softly. Wanda murmurs, be like what? As she pouts, gazing at your heart-shaped lips.

“Now, is my wife going to bed with me or is she going to hex the Captain?” The pad of your thumb caressing Wanda’s finger, trying to tame the witch. “I prefer hexing her, and then ravishing you on the glass table for her to see --- želá si, aby ochutnala vašu kundu, vašu šťavnatú ako sladkú broskyňu.”

Filthily whispering in her native tongue, her fingers curving, and bending graciously as carmine magic emits. The warmth of her breath beats against your cupid-bow, ever so close to your lips; tantalizing, more intoxicating than any ale in all the realms.

Wanda pulls away, earning a whine from you, she hushes your lips by the tip of her oval nail, “Behave till we get back to our room.” With no other word, Wanda snags your wrist in her grip, dragging you out of the party into the dark hallway.

Scattering feet wander through the compound halls, only clicks of heels echo and pierce through the silence. Dancing shadows linger on the walls, breathy moans, wet lips. Wanda’s palm glides and grips the curve of your neck, pinning you against the wall --- just a mere inches away from your apartment door. “I can’t wait any longer.” Wanda growls low in her throat, her antsy hands.

Slithering fingers slip under the hem of your bunched up dress, feathery fingers chilled at the tips from the glassed liquor caress the skin of your inner thigh. Earning a silky hiss through your teeth, as Wanda’s lips parts open upon yours as if breathing in your essence; as her fingers dove beneath the fabric of your thong. Soaking her left handed fingers between your velvety lips, your fingers cling onto Wanda’s hips, sneakily massaging her soft ass through the smooth fabric, bundling up her cheeks. Groping, and squishing.

“Do you feel it?” Wanda asks, dripping with lust, a dull spark zaps at your clit, jolting you with a whimper, teasingly Wanda left your throbbing clit to toy with your clenching hole, but she doesn’t slip inside you. Yearning for her to touch you more, plunge and curl to the point of delirious pleasure. Delightful swell swirls in your heart, a flicker in Wanda’s eyes --- something you couldn’t quite pin.

All she can see is Carol’s hands touching you, touching what is hers, Carol’s slithering eyes roaming your breasts, and curves. It wasn’t your fault, no --- you were just being a good friend, engaging in conversation --- but she felt abandoned. As if Carol swooped you away, like a thief in the night. Stealing a treasure that didn’t belong to her nor deserve it.

You’re her wife --- you are hers, just as she is yours.

“I need to feel all of you.” A mess of words, gasping breaths, as Wanda happily snuck her two fingers inside your spongy walls, fluttering, and quivering thighs. Thrusting with no hesitation, your hips crash against the palm of her hand, tangling tight as a tether, curling fingers beckoning in a salacious curve. Pulling you close, her fingers digging in your hip-bone, breasts to breasts, melting against the wall, kissing you, your mouth, your cheeks, the slope of your nose --- delicately pecking your shut lids.

The palm that cradled your hip, traveled the terrain of your waist, and glided upon the arch of your spine, traveled between the shoulder blades, her touch eliciting sensitivity on her bare flesh, and cupping the nape of your neck. Fondling your neck, as her lips never wavered from your face, remaining as she continued her shower of kisses, as she fucked your cunt with vigor --- unrelenting, your wetness echoing with unabashed squelching.

A wet spot formed the dead center of Wanda’s panties --- just the sounds of you can make her cum on the spot. Sticky against her peach-fuzz, your legs sliding against hers, as her fingers continue with no interruption. Wanda’s wet panties stick to the skin of your thigh, humping with desperation, the sensation of syrupy cotton and heated bare skin nearly drove Wanda to the brink of endless bliss.

“She can’t have you ---” Wanda groans, her pupils almost rolling to the back of her skull, as the lips of her cunt split and ride even harder against your knee. Nearly gliding down the wall pavement, clinging onto each other in a loving embrace, “---she can never have you.” Wanda whispers in the shell of your ear, her teeth graces sharply the line of your jaw, her tongue licks a wet glide, sucking and nibbling on your pulse-point, marking her territory.

As one palm cups Wanda’s ass, guiding her as she unravels on your thigh, a hand leaves to her shoulder blade, your fingers flicker with her straps, pulling it over Wanda’s shoulders, and with a frenzied impulse, tug the fabric down --- Wanda’s milky breast spills out, still swollen with breast milk.

Pink areolas hardened by the cool air, your moist tongue peaks from your lips, and the tip flickers against the dripping nipple. Leaning your head down on Wanda’s chest, suckling greedily --- nearly her whole tit was engulfed in your mouth, sloppily slurping.

A shriek nearly bubbles at Wanda’s throat, cradling your head in her arm tenderly, kissing your temple, her nose inhaling your scent --- always emanate a tender scent of crushed roses; as your chin drips with milk. “Mine, you’re mine.” Wanda wispily moans, as you drank from her tit, saliva coating the corners of your mouth. Moaning at the taste on your tongue, satisfying your carnal palate --- the vibration sending a shimmer up the crevices of Wanda’s spine.

Sweat beads at your brow, as sweat drenches Wanda’s baby hairs clinging onto her temple, mouthing ‘love me, love me’, her fingers pulling the threads of silk from the jewel between your legs, now drenched. Two gardens watering, the petals of tulips bloom. Your thigh now slippery, grinding her clit hard, slow thrusts --- riding out, edging herself; refusing to cum without you.

As if you were a fragile china doll, shakily Wanda’s spidery fingers brush against heated skin, sweeping the arch of your neck, dancing down on smooth brown shoulders, downward to the line of your fore-arm.

Leisurely slowing down her fingers that rested inside your moist caravan, sinuous fingers kiss the skin and daintily hold your wrist, pulling away from her bum. Lifting, and lightly twisting upward to bare your exposed wrist; you halt, hesitantly your eyes peer up at Wanda. Cheeks dewey, and dusted pink.

Lips part from Wanda’s sodden breast, a string of saliva connects from your bottom lip; as if time ceased still, bringing your wrist to her lips, her eyes never leaving yours. A breath hitches in your throat, open mouthed kisses trail up, lovingly your fingers cup her soft cheek, her lips plush at the cusp of your palm. Wanda’s eyes are two moons, hauntingly beautiful, makes your spirit want to create a temple in blind faith in the name of love, yearning to worship; the waves of love coils off of each other.

Hot breath is a hymn, cascades against your hand, slow and soft kisses --- a tingle at your fingers. A simple gesture yet holds no bounds of adoration, deeply into each other eyes. Wanda’s fingers lock with yours, her wet lips part against the pad of your thumb, her teeth nip, her tongue lick ever so faintly; sucking the finger between her lips.

Erotically Wanda’s hips began its tirade once more, her soaked fingers flourish inside you with no mercy --- she knows, oh she knows. You’re close, oh so close, close, close to the edge --- you know Wanda’s close too, by the way her breath pitches ever so higher; just dying to fall over in Wanda’s arms, fevered. Bury inside each other, this unspoken waltz, not needing to verbalize --- it’s there, not always having to be feverish hot fucking, but it can be passionate, desperate, and warm.

To dive deep inside each other, crawl under the skin, and rest there as a love nest.

Foreheads touch, nose to nose, eyes fall into the depths of each other, a mess of entangled limbs --- a splash of kaleidoscope bursts before your eyes, mouths smashing to dull the shrills; cumming hard on Wanda’s fingers dragging it out, as her fingers dragged out, agonizingly so.

A sheen of wetness crashes and coats your thigh as a balm --- witnessing the motion embody each of your faces with each ripple of your orgasms. Memorizing every expression, any twitch, lips shaped in Os, never tearing your eyes away from each other, because you both wanted to --- such beauty.

The smell of Wanda is intoxicating, makes you dizzy, love-drunk, and adored. Resting your bodies on each other, raspy giggles flow, face leaning on face, caressing cheek to cheek, as Wanda nestles her hands on your face. A daze of happiness, the stresses of a green-foaming monster now a faded memory, cuddling each other in a tight hug, just airy laughs muffled in your chests. Just leaning against the wall, full length of your bodies pressed, braced as if being one.

A faint cry of the twins breaks the haze, ever so sync the boys wail for their mothers --- just like clockwork, it must be 2 am; time to feed the hungry bellies of your babies, just like their mama feasted on their mother. Slipping back into reality, fixing each other’s disheveled clothes back to somewhat back to being decent. Frizzy hairs springs in all directions, sheens of sweat now coat your skins, but a sense of relief drapes upon you two.

As Wanda leans her hand on the wall, resting your head on her stretched arm, head tilted as you soothe Wanda’s cheek, watching her, the greenery of her irises shine bright at your glassy brown orbs, as if a fire that can’t be smothered.

Making the butterflies erupt in her chest, making Wanda feel seen in so many ways that she never had before. En pointe, standing tall to kiss Wanda’s lips, light and sweet, resting your head in the crock of her shoulder. Lashes flutter as Wanda holds you to her bodice, with your heart swelling, you whisper to her.

“I will never leave you. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

[bakatenshii]

Blitz

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

word count: 2.5k

TW: 18+, smut, exhibitionism, a spritz of omorashi

A/N: this is completely diff from what I’m used to and comfy with; it’s truly the softest thing I’ll ever write— for the real angel, Weese, who welcomed me into my first ever fandom with open arms. I wouldn’t be here without you, wouldn’t have met any of my best friends were it not for you. From the bottom of boku no kokoro, Happy Birthday <33

Weese’s Birthday Bash masterlist

blitz

/blits/

a sudden, energetic, and concerted effort, typically on a specific task.

(slang) heavily intoxicated

He gives credit where credit’s due, and in all fairness, you have been well-behaved, glued to his side til 2am that night. Might even be a new record; usually you’d have gone off and disappeared at the strike of midnight like you’ve got a pumpkin carriage awaiting, only it brings you to a different destination each time.

Whiskey mixers generally mean you end up at some twenty-four seven conbini chatting up the cashier to give you the karaage for a discounted price because you’ve ‘lost your wallet’. It’s never lost; Ushijima knows this because he’s chained it to your belt, lil lobster claw too rickety for your drunk fingers to maneuver.

Tequila shots are the killer; the ones that get his protective mode on overdrive, eyes scanning the streets littered with stumbling drunks until he finds his stumbling drunk. 

It’s currently quarter to three, which means it’s been a solid twenty minutes since you’ve wandered off. If he calculates the rate of distance in your drunken state, you couldn’t have traveled that far— two streets down, at most. He hopes, anyways.

Ushijima doesn’t like going out, doesn’t quite get the appeal of being shoved into crowds of people in a cramped room with perspiration mixing with other spilled fluids coating sticky skin. ‘It’s just ‘cause you’re too la-’ a hiccup, a giggle, ‘large, ushi.’ is your usual response. ‘Take up too much space.’

Ushijima goes out because you go out, and when you go out, your Find My Friends icon seems to like playing Pac-Man, navigating through the map like you’ve got dots to clear past every street and building. It worries him. So he goes out.

Tequila shots usually bring you to another club, whichever looks the most bustling, because you flock to crowds, like moth to flame. It’s your first character flaw.

“I’m not that drunk,” he whips his head to see your frame swaying outside the queue of a club entrance, bouncer leaning in close, too close.

Your second character flaw is that you’re too friendly. You tell him he’s too cold, too curt, but he thinks you’re just too outgoing. This is what happens when you’re so sociable.

It only takes him two long strides to cross over the street, extend out one long arm over to your shoulder, and pull you into his chest. The bouncer looks up at him, neck craning probably more than he’s used to, before spitting on the floor and turning back.

“Toooooshi,” he doesn’t think his name has that many vowels, but you’re pawing at his shirt, trying and failing to slither an arm around his waist. “‘m hungry.”

This is standard, this is the usual routine. He’s used to this now, “let’s go home, we have food at home.” After the third night out, he’s made a habit out of cooking before you leave. Because you’re always hungry, you always— “want Maccas,” you’re giggling.

“McDonald’s is going to be closed.” It’s a fact, there’s a slim chance you’ll make it before three, no point in wasting time. Besides, there’s food at home.

But you’re tugging at his arm and dragging him down the street, and he’s letting you, because the best way to appease you is to let you see for yourself. You’re bouncing with excited chirps, skipping down the road with grace that will always impress him given the stilts attached to your feet.

McDonald’s is closed.

It’s like he said, so he allows you to pout and sulk for a minute, run a hand down your back in comfort, before taking out his phone to call a cab. He can feel your shoulder bump into his chest, hands fidgeting with the hem of your short dress, “what’s wrong?”

You’re blushing, cheeks tinting over with a light shade of pink illuminated by the bright yellow lights, and it’d be cute if he wasn’t worried. “What’s wrong?”

Another tug at the black fabric, eyelashes fluttering to point towards the wall, the sign; anywhere except him. “I need to pee.”

It comes out so quietly, so docile, a contrast to your otherwise boisterous drunken state. He leans down, face brushing past your hair until it’s only a mere inch away.

“What’s that?”

He watches as your glossed lips push out into a pout, huffing out a, “I need to pee, Toshi, I need the toilet.” Your heels clack on the gravel a few times as if to prove a point.

“I’m calling a cab right now,” he reassures you, “we’ll be home soon.”

You don’t seem reassured. You seem more anxious, if anything. “No, Toshi, I need to pee now,” he can feel your fingers fidgeting with his shirt, yanking the fabric in nervous twitches.

He watches you chew on your lip, willing a solution out from the pink gloss staining your teeth, any solution—

“Alley.”

It’s barely left his mouth before your head’s whipping to glance at the dark narrow street hidden behind the fast food joint. It’s tight, or maybe you’re right, he’s just too broad, but he barely fits down the cramped road.

You’re not moving, though, just staring up at him expectantly as if sending him a message, a signal. He doesn’t really get it. “It’s fine, there’s no one on the streets right now.”

Your bottom lip snags under your teeth, doe eyes looking up through fluttering lashes as you shake your head. The tint on your cheeks grow darker, and he takes a few steps forward, shadowing your smaller frame in his large silhouette. “I’ll block you, you can go now.”

Ushijima’s not the best with people, he’s always been told this. He knows it himself, but he thinks he knows you pretty well, at least.

He’s lost.

He’s waiting for you to say something, anything, an explanation for your odd behaviour, but instead he feels dainty fingers tug on his shirt again before shoving him lightly.

“Turn around,” you won’t look at him, eyes fixed on the broken bottle on the dingy alleyway floor, “Don’t look.”

People are a mystery to Ushijima, but at this moment, you are an enigma.

All 200 pounds of pure muscle on him is stagnant. He’s confused; he’s seen you naked, seen you from all angles in all sorts of positions, he’s brushed his teeth while you were using the toilet before— he doesn’t get it. So he tells you.

Your fists meekly punch at his arm, at his chest, wherever they can reach, “It’s embarrassing,” you’re pouting now, and he thinks it’s cute. Under any other circumstances he’d lean over and kiss you, but not right now. Right now he wants understand what’s going on up in your mind.

“Why?”

It sets you into a frustrated huff, cheeks puffing out before a dejected sigh, “fine, whatever,” and then you’re squatting down, finally, to his relief. Your dress is hitched up only a fraction before he hears the trickling, but you don’t stand up when it stops.

His whole body freezes at the feeling of a warm hand pawing at his crotch. “What are you doing?” He snatches your hand off by the wrist, pulling it into him to stand you up; you don’t stand up— you fall, on your knees in front of him.

He’s used to you being a handful when you’re drunk, used to you falling all over the place, but the alleyway is soiled, filthy, not entirely appropriate for the thoughts he’s having with you on your knees. So he’s trying again, reaching down to grab hold of both your hands this time, and lugging you up.

You don’t budge, don’t even glance up at him, and he has half the heart to reach down and carry you out, but another hand lands on his crotch again and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the strain in his trousers.

“Toooooooshi,” you’re still not looking up at him, eyes fixated on the growing tent he’s presenting in front of your face. Another soft touch, another purr, and Ushijima knows he’s a lost cause.

He lets go of your wrists, bending down to wrap an arm around your knees and picks you up before standing you back up against the wall.

“Spread your legs.” It’s not really a suggestion.

He watches as you comply, thighs parting as far as the black lace still bound around them will allow, so he rips it down before pocketing it.

He can hear your whines of complaint, it’s your favourite pair, but it’s all drowned out with a gasp as he buries his face into your wet cunt. His hands wrap behind your thighs, large palms pushing them apart until they rest over his shoulders.

His tongue flicks up your drooling slit, lapping at the juices dribbling out your needy hole and down his chin. You’re whimpering now, hands shoving at his face, “stop, Toshi, I—” he looks up at you, gaze piercing through your flushed expression, “I just peed, ‘ts gross.”

“I know.”

“Toshi we’re—” a moan, nails digging into his scalp when he dips his tongue into your clenching hole, “in public, please,” your face whips to the side, anxiously scanning for passerby’s.

“I know,” he echos with a harsh squeeze of your thighs, fucking you down onto his tongue. He can feel a hand threading through his hair, gripping and pulling while the other is obediently clamped over your mouth in an attempt to muffle wanton moans.

“Toshi, stop,” you’re crying now, legs around his head trembling with every lap and lick into your dripping cunt, nose grazing that sensitive bud as he presses your body into the wall. The fingers meekly pushing at his face are chased by your hips bucking against it, and he can feel your hole clench around his muscle.

He doesn’t stop. 

He doesn’t stop because he can feel you coming undone, feel your tight cunny quiver with every thrust— and you do, with a loud sob of his name, before he removes his hand from under to clamp over your mouth.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” he doesn’t think you can hear him, your eyes rolling back and tongue pressing into the pads of his fingers.

He can still see your hole quivering when he stands back up and unbuckles his trousers. His aching erection springs free with a tug of his waistband, snapping up and wetting his shirt with pre.

Normally he would’ve prepared you better, laid you on your back and fucked you on his tongue and thick fingers until you’re wailing his name, legs shaking with the overstimulation. But he doesn’t have that luxury now, doesn’t have the soft mattress, the plush bedding to sink you into; he only has the brick wall digging into your back in a dingy alleyway.

So he sinks his cock into your drooling cunt, pushing his cockhead through the first ring of muscle. There’s nails clawing at his shoulders, back of his neck, anywhere they can reach, anywhere they can grasp.

It’s tight, so tight he doesn’t think he can fit, thinks he should’ve prepared you after all, but one look down at your tear-stricken face crumbles any inhibitions. His hips snap forward in the same breath his large palms find themselves back under your thighs, lifting you up against the wall.

The jagged wall is probably digging into your back, and normally he would’ve tried to appease the pain, shift the angle so you’re more comfortable, but right now all he can think about are your doughy walls sucking his cock in, one slow inch at a time.

It’s excruciating how tight you are; by the third inch you’re throwing your head into the crook of his neck, nails digging into his back trying to ease the stretch— Ushijima’s trying, too; trying to make sure he doesn’t drown in the feel of your fluttering walls and snap his hips forward until he can feel the kiss of your cervix on his cockhead.

It doesn’t work, not when you’re chanting his name like a mantra, crying about how full you feel, how much he’s stretching you out— you can feel him in your stomach.

He drops your body down into the thrust of his hips and buries his cock to hilt. Five seconds, then ten, then thirty; he lets you catch your breath, catch his breath, before you’re whimpering in his ear begging him to move.

There’s no time for modesty, an alleyway is hardly the setting for soft gentle sex. With a vice grip in the flesh of your ass, he hugs you into his chest and steadies a hand on the wall behind you.

He can feel your legs attempt to wrap around the width of his hips, his waist, can feel you cooing soft moans into his ears, can hear you sobbing his name like it’s the only word you know. Every piston of his hip echoes in the cramped alleyway, heavy balls papping against your mound.

He’s breathing in your moans, letting himself drown in you desperate whines of his name, “cum in me, Toshi, fill me up”— he’s shoving your pliant body into the harsh wall, arm moving down from the jagged surface to grip the soft flesh under your thigh.

In one swift movement he’s pinned your knees to your ears, limp calves bouncing off his sturdy shoulders as he pounds into you at an unrelenting pace.

Your moans turn to sobs, wails of Toshi, Toshi, Toshi; his breaths turn to grunts into promises to breed you so good, fill you up with his cum until it’s dripping out of your sweet lil cunny. There’s mini crescents marking up the back of his neck, dark purples and yellows running up along yours as he suctions onto new blank patches of skin.

Loud, unrhythmic squelching echos in the alleyway, his arms bouncing you onto his length until you twitch, spasm around his cock, and you’re coming undone for the second time that night with his name spilling out in broken sobs.

Ushijima doesn’t stop, fucks you through your squeals and shoves until he feels your greedy cunt milking his cock again, then he’s spilling into you with hot ropes of cum.

He doesn’t stop until your body’s gone pliant caged inside his, knees still pushed against the wall and saliva dribbling past your lolling tongue down to your messy pussy, mixing with creams of cum and slick and drool.

One limb at a time, he unfolds you and carries you in his arms, cradling your limp body into his chest. He looks down, admires your hazy gaze, pupils blown, and presses a gentle kiss onto your forehead.

A soft hum leaves your lips, or maybe a giggle, but you’re squirming in his arms, body leaning up until he can feel your soft lips grazing his ear.

“Toooshi,” you drawl, and he almost chokes at how fucked out you sound, the rasp in your voice sending dangerous jolts down to his no longer softening cock.

“Hm?” He’s debating on flagging a cab instead of calling one; can’t really reach into his pocket when you’re in his arms.

“Want Maccas.”

[garoujo]

Hey so sorry this is out out of no where, saw you were talking about pierces on your page. And if you ever want to deal with someone getting close to your belly, I understand if not. As someone who has their nips and belly done, among several other facial piercings I can say you’ve already done one of the more painful piercings. My belly didn’t hurt as much as getting my nips did.

After healing it’s rare that something snags my belly ring hard enough for it to hurt. With my belly ring having been in almost 10 years once I hit my 24th soon, I can say that it’s only painfully gotten snagged about twice.

I can tug on it with my fingers and it just feels like someone pulling me, no discomfort. And to also stay on the safer side , if you want you can get belly rings that don’t have any dangling bits. These are harder to snag on something.

Feel free to ignore me and delays this. I hope this doesn’t come across as me saying go get a belly ring. But I understand being scared but wanted the body art done anyway, so I hope this reassures you a little bit if you decide that body modification is for you :3

hewo ! omgooosh it’s fine don’t worry i love talking bout piercings n stuff >_< ajhajakaka fank yew sm for dis ! honestly i think if i were 2 get another piercing it wud definitely be my belly so it’s nice knowing it wouldn’t hurt as much as getting my nips did . how was the healing process 4 u? was it uncomfy? i’m such a restless sleeper 2 like i move around so much so that’s wat scared me b4 my nips but my body just kinda knew not to move suddenly wen they were healing ^o^ it def does . fank yew soooo much ah <3 !

[bangtan-sinnamons]

On Cloud Mine (M)

⤞ Paring: Alpha werewolf!Taehyung x Omega werewolf!reader

⤞ Summary: Your fuck buddy, Taehyung, heat was coming to an end and you decide to leave him to eat. But trouble awaits for you when you come home smelling like another alpha.

⤞ Genre: Fuck buddies to lovers, Werewolf Smut, Angst, Fluff

⤞Warning: Possessive acts, LOTS of misunderstanding, slightly toxic relationship, fingering, cum play, degradation, werewolf sex/heat, creampie, unprotected sex, Swear words, Taehyung dom, reader submissive, hickeys

⤞ Word count:  3586

（*/∇＼*）ᴴᵉʰᵉ

“Omega, don’t pull away...not yet,” Taehyung groans at the lost of your body’s warmth pressed up against him. “I’m still in my rut,” His hand grips tighter on your waist, hard enough to leave crescent nail marks.

“Well I want to eat....the food stash in your room is gone,” you clasp your hand over his, in attempt to yank his strong arms that were now firmly wrapped around your waist. “I‘ll be back soon,” you tried again, but this time with a softer tone.

Taehyung was nearing the end of his heat, so it shouldn’t be a problem leaving him alone for a bit. It’s not like you were his mate or anything. Just sex buddies, nothing more, just like how he wants.

But sometimes in moments like these, where he looks as if he had never experienced being alone before, it made you feel special. Almost as if he WAS your mate.

“Omega. Wait,” he commands.

You freeze, your inner she-wolf unconsciously warns you to obey him. You tried to search for what he wants behind the strands of hair blocking his eyes.

“If you are hungry. Come suck me off,” he abruptly says. A smirk forming, when he notice your doe eyes looking down at him. Looking at him like a deer in headlights. Alert, and cute.

You glared at him.

“Taehyung. I’m leaving your ass to go get some food,” you flicked his forehead. You hated when you were swayed into submission, yet he finds it hilarious.

You can’t believe you let your thoughts linger for more than a second about him being your mate. He was definitely in the stay away category, just another horny alpha, that you perhaps have feelings for.

He finally lets you go, rolling over to your side of the bed. “Fine, but don’t leave the house,”

You hummed in response. Heading to the pile of discarded clothes.

“Do you know where my bra went?” You asked as you shuffle around the room naked, your ass on full display for the horny man in the bed. If he stared hard enough, he could see the glistening cum that dared dripped onto your thigh. The sight brought encouragement, making him wish, he hastily slammed himself into you to keep the threatening cum from leaving you.

He wets his lips at the sight, but an offending sigh penetrates his ears. He looks at you, ears perking up in your direction. “What did you say?” He growls, not liking how you disrupted his thoughts.

“My bra. Where. Is. It,”

“Oh, it’s over here,” he sits up from the bed as he holds up your garment. A playful smile plastered on his face.

Ugh, what is he up to now. You rolled your eyes when he doesn’t throw it over to you, forcing you to come to him instead.

“I swear, you want me to starve to death,” you mumble, approaching him. You try to snag it away, but he holds it out of reach. “Give. Me. The damm thing,” you grunt.

He closed the remaining space between you. “Are you sure you wanna leave?” Taehyung whispers in your ear giving it a playful nip, “Just stay for a while longer,”

You had enough of this man and with a hard push, the both of you topple onto the bed with a plop. Giving you easier access to snatch your garment as fast as you can.

His eyes follows your remaining steps as you grumpily exited the room. With the final click of the door shutting, he buries his nose into your silky pillow. Snuggling against it, trying to get a whiff of your alluring scent from before. Once your aroma was mixed with his, he was influenced into a lustful frenzy.

He buckles into the bed imagining you on top of him, just like moments ago. Your appearance, your everything makes him go crazy. Your hair was slightly damp as if you came out of the shower, but he knows that it was really from your last heated session with him. And the fact that you were so aggressive, he loved it. He loved it more than he should have, cause he was the alpha not you.

“For fucks sake,” he groans, watching his once limp dick raging red again.

He looks at the door and was very tempted to go find you. He is sure you wouldn’t mind if he was fucking you as you eat. Actually, he finds that kinda hot. He looks pleased at himself for the great idea and he heads to the door.

—————-

On the other hand, you were face to face with an empty fridge, empty cabinets, literally empty everything. You sighed as you closed the last cabinet shut. Did he expect you to eat the crumbs? Even a mouse would be hungry living here.

For whatever reason, your heart and your growling stomach decided to leave the house without telling him. Too tired to hear the man nag at you, you head to the nearest convenient store.

The park you’re currently walking by serves as a great change of scenery and soon enough, you began to feel like yourself again. Your cheeks stuffed with food, and your demon stomach finally no longer growled. The calming night breeze drags your hair along and carries your mind along with it because you no longer kept track of the time.

You were just about to sit on a nearby bench before a pair of hands rested on your shoulder. With a flinch and a twist of your neck in search of the intruder of your so called personal bubble, you were pleasantly relieved to see it was just Hoseok.

“HOSEOK! YOU LITTLE...” One hand covered your stuffed mouth from spewing your food at him and the other hand smacking his shoulder. You swallow the remaining food left in your mouth before continuing to yell at him. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“My bad. My bad. Stop hitting me,” he laughs, his big fluffy ears twitching. “How come you’re here so late? Do you want me to take you home?”

“Oh, shit...” you cursed out loud. Taehyung! How could you forget about him. “Hoseok DON’T come near me anymore,” you backed away. Taehyung is overly sensitive with other people’s scent, especially during his ruts.

Last time during his rut, the scent of your older brother threw him off so badly, he made you shower until you were back to smelling like peaches and cream. And not only one shower, but three showers, despite being so uncontrollably horny. He was literally dripping in sweat, slipping swear words from his lips, and holding back every urge to fuck you senseless just because you smelled QOUTE on QOUTE Nasty.

Hoseok’s ears lay flat against the crown of his head at your abrupt action. “Sorry. Was I being too straightforward?” He questions.

Seeing those gravity drawn shoulder from the upbeat wolf, was a difficult sight to see. Almost as if you were betraying your friendship with a mere fuck buddy.

“No! No. It’s just that I’m helping Taehyung’s rut and I don’t want to trigger him with your scent!” You explained.

His eyes widen at the mention of Taehyung. Hoseok, also being a close friend of Taehyung, has witnessed his possessiveness of you. The wolf was always triggered when another scent was on you, even if it wasn’t during his rut. The growls, the glares, he sent, Hoseok was honestly surprised how you didn’t seem to notice the signs. The man was in love with you. Infatuated with your every being and simply using this fuck buddy thing as an excuse to get closer with you.

“Y/n, you should head back and take a quick shower too. Text me later, okay?” He suggested, the worry was evident on his face. And with a wave of your hand, you hurriedly jogged towards Taehyung’s apartment.

You fumbled with the spare key that Taehyung had lended you. Not out of nervousness, but from the sweat in your palms that you wiped off from jogging so fast.

You can’t believe you were out for about an hour. Either Taehyung was going to be fuming or sleeping, and you hope it’s the later option.

Okay. You breathed. Just go in and shower. Everything should be fine.

You creaked the door open, just small enough for you to peak inside, but instead you made straight eye contact with Taehyung’s glare.

Fine you were not.

You bit your lips, as you parted the door wider. The air filled with pheromones that screamed dominance and you can’t help, but stand still, waiting for his next command. While your eyes wandered about, avoiding his piercing looks. You closed the door, figuring out the words you should careful say to the wolf before you.

Taehyung leans back in his spot on the sofa. You can hear him crack his knuckles. A habit you noticed when he tries to calm himself down, but this time each crack felt vexing.

“Did you have a good time?" He probed bitterly, his lips pursed. Your sudden scent change only confirms his inner thoughts.

“What?”

How dare you act confused, when it was obvious of how guilty you looked. You can’t even look him in the eye for goodness sake. “Omega. Don’t make me repeat. I said, did you have a good time?”

“Look,” you rushed out. “I don’t know what you are trying to get at, but I went to eat and I met Hoseok on the way,” you admitted, not wanting to lie to the already raging wolf. “Nothing biggie. So let me shower real quick,”

You tried to dismiss yourself, but the words that flowed from your lips angered him even more. Without a moment of hesitation, a sickening smack rattled through the apartment. Of course he didn’t hit you, he could never hit you, but he did strike his hand on the sofa arm. The sound loud enough for you to stop in your tracks.

”Shower my ass,” he scoffed. “Omega did you really think you can fool me. You leave me ALONE during my rut to go fuck another ALPHA!”

“I-“

“Is Hoseok your mate or something? Why else would you have the need to leave me. You could have told me you were busy or some shit,” He interrupts, not wanting to hear your lame excuses. “Then I would have asked for another Omega!” He yells, currently blinded with rage.

Although most of his accusations were very off the charts, wrong. He was right about one thing. He could alway get another Omega that was better suited and that fact hurt you. You lowered your eyes to the floor again.

Your unresponsive reaction only makes him fume. Was what he was saying true?!No. It can’t be. He hasn’t even confessed yet. Every being of him is saying that you were his mate. How could it be.

He struts towards you. Instinctively your eyes shot up to meet his. Seeing his hand raised up, made you flinch. Instead of what you thought would be the worse pain inflicted on you, it was just a caress of your hair.

He raised a brow when he came into contact with the unexpected sweat he felt from your hair. He sniffs his hand and emits a low menacing growl. Almost as if he was warning you for what was about to come. “Look at you! You are fucking wet. Is your cunt filled with his cum too? Are you just as wet down here?” He pressed his hand on your clothed pussy, trying to feel your lies out, and you let out a soft whimper.

Despite Taehyung believing he had some claim over you, he was painfully reminded that he didn't. He was probably a nobody compared to Hoseok. You never spared a glance at him, so why would you now. That’s why he decided to claim you, the only way he knew how to.

He roughly manhandles your shirt to the side and hurriedly press his lips onto your collarbone. Almost desperately to feel your warmth mingled with his once more. You render speechless as you feel his teeth brush over your collarbone. His other hand is on your back, pulling you closer to him. And he laps at your neck until he felt satisfied at how it glistened in the dimly lit room before he sucks on your soft skin. He does that for a few seconds before his lips reached your shoulder.

He gagged at the smell. It reeked of a scent that wasn’t him or you. It was like someone had stolen his territory, and now he had to claim it back. You gasp at the sudden bite he left on you shoulder.

“TAEHYUNG!” You yelped when he doesn’t just stop there. He continues to leave more bites along your shoulder and neck until you could feel each spot pulsing.

“Now you speak?” He mumbles between each bite and peck he leaves on you. If he can’t have your heart he will at least have your body marked for others to see. And if he was lucky enough, they would think you were already taken. He smiles at the thought.

“Tae-“ you groaned. “I didn’t do anything... I swear!” He had asked you to be exclusive fuck buddies, so maybe that’s why he is so upset with the thought of someone else having you.

He stops biting you to take a good look at your expression. “Omega. Why do you need to take a shower then?” His face was now only inches away. “What are you hiding in that pussy of yours?” He seethes.

“Please...” you uttered, feeling his breath warm your skin. You honestly don’t know what you were begging for. Were you trying to get him to believe you or were you getting horny with how possessive he looked. Not to miss the fact that he was all so attractive already.

“Fuck it,” he snarls, growing highly impatient. If you couldn’t answer him properly, he was going to check it himself.

He gets hold of your body and carries you back to his room. Throwing you on top of the bed. Taehyung wastes no time as he aggressively pulls you forward to the edge of the bed, spreading your legs open as wide as they can go. “Shit you’re wet.”

He pulls the offending skirt and panties away from you. With his fingers, he spread your pussy lips open, showing yourself all to him. Pulsing and soaked. The smell hitting him straight in the face.

You press your elbows against the bed to leverage yourself up. “Alpha. I didn’t do it with Hoseok,”

“Explain why you are so fucking wet then! You slut!” He pinches your nub and you wither below him once more.

“You!” Your words barely audible as you cried from pleasure. “Taehyung you are the only one that can make me wet like this!”

With a glance he knows no one had fucked you yet, but your words felt so reassuring to hear. He smirks and continues on, but this time with confidence. Taehyung had erase all niggling doubts in his mind about Hoseok and your relationship.

You practically purr when Taehyung runs his index finger down your wet slit, feeling how wet you were because of him before he sinks it into your pussy. He takes his time, letting you feel him run his finger against your walls as you twitch trying to suck his fingers in. He caves in when he see your hungry pussy asking for it. He slowly pumps it in and out of you.

“Yes!” You mewled under his touch . You harshly bit your lip as you felt him slip another finger into you. “Don’t stop!”

Immediately you feel him withdraw his fingers. His hand slick with your wetness as he hovers it in front of your face. You could taste it on your lips from simply smelling it. And you couldn't help but open your mouth obediently, expecting him to shove his fingers in.

“Aren’t you greedy?” He taps your nose, smearing your juices. Your confused face makes him chuckle as he places his lips on your nose kissing and licking it up.

Your checks flamed “I-I...”

“This,” he holds up the finger that was still wet with your juices. “Is mine. You can get what’s yours in a bit. Be patient,” he placed his finger on his lower lip, swiping the pad of his finger onto his tongue before closing his mouth to suck on your juices.

You let out a groan watching the erotic sight right before your eyes.

His hand slowly draws away from his mouth, a string of saliva still coating his index finger. He sighed softly, the bulge in his pants visibly twitching as it slowly grew more needy. He had truly tasted heaven.

You were so eager for his cock. That you begin to slip your hand to your clit, hoping to get some relief and of course Taehyung caught you seconds before you reached your burning core. “Taehyung put it in already,” you begged. “Please,”

Fuck, he had no patience left to think, and instead decided to spur into action especially when he wanted to tease you a bit more. He placed his hands at the back of your knees to push your legs up, his ears peeking up, focusing on how pathetic you sound at your new angle.

’My precious little cunt, made to take my cock,’’ He beams, tugging his boxer down to position himself in his favorite little hole. His cock stayed still, with the occasional rubbing against you. The cock that you know so well, somehow still made you breathless.

You squirmed around him for more friction. “Alpha. I beg. I beg,” you whimper when he doesn’t immediately fills you up with his girth.

He bares his teeth and grips onto your hips. You were ready and he knows it.

In a second, he was half way in, and the next, he had buried himself inside of you to the hilt. It was a swift snap of his hips, that ended with you howling, but becomes muffles when he placed his lips over yours.

He continues to buckle into you. Feeling you stretch out and tighten at the same time. “Ughh you’re so hot,” he groans. “Your pussy was made for me, just for me,”

The rigor force and accuracy of his cock pushing into you and abusing your sweet spot while he begins to slip a hand under your shirt, sent you delirious. You grip the bedsheets tighter with every motion and touch. “More! Taehyung more,”

The way your breast bounced with every thrust made him lifts your shirt up to get a better view of your perky red nubs, before attaching his lips. God, he really loved how you tastes. How hot your skin becomes at the simple touch, and how you made him into the horny mess he is now.

You moaned, desperately wanting to feel him even more. He was so damm perfect. The way he was fucking and biting you, made you only love him more. You try to wrap your legs around his torso, no longer caring that you were so in love with your fuck buddy. That your inner she wolf was begging you to get marked by this man.

“Shit, I need to hear you make that sound again,” Taehyung growls in your ear, thrusting in you even harder. One of his hand going back to tug at your nub.

His dick runs at his own pace, a pace that you loved, yet you couldn’t catch up with and you curse, moaning his name as he continues to push in and out of you. Your vision is taken, when you feel the knot in your stomach.

“Tae-ah, so close. Cum with me,”

“Gonna come on my cock, hmm?” He pistons into you.

“Yes...” you whimper, wrapping your arm around his neck.

His words are a jumbled mess as you clench down around him, feeling your own orgasm reach its highest point.

You jut your hips as you come undone around him. Your legs losing your grip around his waist. And he slams harder into you, causing him to plunge deeper inside your already sensitive pussy. That does it for Taehyung.

He lets out a cry before he lets his cum shoot thick ropes into you. “Fuck. I love you, Y/n, my mate,” You freeze at hearing such word. You never heard such intimate words comming from him. Never. Ever.

Your heart hammered in your chest at Taehyung's sudden confession. A weight was suddenly lifted off your shoulders. "You , you love m-me?" You croaked out.

“More than anything,” he groans. Nestling his cock inside you. Making sure he doesn’t let any of your mixed juices out of your core. Making sure you are bred well. Making sure you won’t ever run away again.

“I love you too,” you say at the heat of the moment and his cock still buried deep within you. Wait. Isn’t this too weird? “This is some heat talk, isn’t it?” You questioned even though you really hope he denied it, and you sighed in relief when he did.

“No! I really love you!” You let out a giggle at his sudden seriousness.

“Don’t give me false hope. If you don’t really like me then say it now” he whines.

“I love you too. So stay”

[sasuhinasno1fan]

A wish for a different life - Adrien AUGreste Day 8

Yes I’m late, but I kept nearly falling asleep. This meant to have more fairy tale annologies and such, but it kinda didn’t work, but I think we can imagine a fairy tail setting for a few of these scenes. Anyway, enjoy

Fairy Tale

“So, I was wondering if maybe, you wanted to come with us?” Adrien asked, ignoring the whispered encouragements his friends gave him. He had to focus or he’d explode. It wasn’t a date, it wasn’t. it wasn’t an excuse to spend more time with Luka, with his kind and calm demeanour, who didn’t give him odd looks when he went off on odd tangents like exs did, who always had a smile for him, who had recently gotten snake bites and damn if Adrien didn’t want to nibble at them.

God help him if Luka ever got the tongue piercing he’d been talking about before. he’d only ever made out with one person who had one, but it was an experience he wouldn’t forget.

But still, this was just him inviting a friend to hang out with them. that he hoped like hell would say yes.

“I have a shift during then. I’m really sorry Adrien.”

Adrien felt his whole body drop. “Oh, it’s ok.”

“It’s bound to be busy that night and I was put on the schedule. I can see if I can meet you guys after between deliveries.”

“No, no, really, it’s fine. Don’t overstretch yourself. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble just to meet up with us for a little while.”

“Are you sure?” Luka asked, sounding apologetic.

“Its fine, really. I’ll send you lots of pictures ok. Bye.” He hung up, a pout firmly on his lips. It felt stupid to be more upset about this than his mother’s growing schedule.

“I’m sorry buddy.” Nino said, patting his shoulder. “you’re still totally good to hang with us.”

“Yeah. I’m still going, don’t worry, I just kinda wanted him to come with us. He’s been busy since we took Kagami to the ice rink.”

Kagami, the newest member of the school’s fencing team had sort of become friends with the group. She had allowed Adrien to practise his Japanese on her when he recognised her family name and when she’d taken on Marinette – who Adrien dared to try joining when she teased, she could probably beat him if he –, who held up pretty long against her, she’d been insistent that she train Marinette up. In hopes to get Kagami to loosen up, she invited her ice skating with Adrien and Luka, who she claimed could help open her up. It had, and they ended up helping Phillippe keep the rink open when Kagami decided the lessons would help improve her balance. He could have done without akuma attack, as cool as it was to see Scarlet Bug and Catseye with power ups.

“Well, it’s like your mom. Busier but that doesn’t mean you still can’t see them.”

“Except I have permission to go see my mom at lunch if her schedule allows it. I can’t exactly go see Luka at his school and I’m not gonna hound poor Juleka for information on her brother.”

“What’s the matter? Adrien can’t get a date?” Lila asked, passing by.

“At least I’m not spending my free time eavesdropping on conversations. Latest headline, Lila Agreste starts bullying students.” Adrien mocked.

“Not much of a headline when everyone knows. I hear someone’s campaign to fix her image isn’t going well. Though I guess publicly refusing to participate in a music video for the city’s heroes involving a singer your father styles doesn’t help.” Alya joked, the group giggling as Lila turned red and stormed off. “I don’t think Juleka will mind you asking after him. Did he sound really sorry he couldn’t go?”

“Yeah.”

“Adrien, I don’t know why your so worried. I feel like you can ask him anything and he’d say yes.”

“I don’t want him to just do things because he feels like he has to.”

“And that is why I’m sure he likes you. you still going to the Embassy during lunch? They have eclairs for dessert today. We can gorge a little.”

“Yeah. Mama managed to snag reservations at this place that has Taiwanese soup dumplings. Don’t kill yourselves on the desserts. We still have to see the fireworks tonight.”

He tried to push away how sad he still was when he met his mother outside of school. Even while busy on the phone, he knew his mother could tell something was wrong. Not that it was, really. He just, really liked Luka. he barely knew Adrien and he’d been offering advice to him in hopes to help him with his mom. He was open and kind and fun to be around. That gentle smile did things to his stomach and he always had words of encouragement no matter what. Adrien wanted to do the same for him and give him the same joy he felt around him. He couldn’t remember the last time he fell for someone that quickly, but not in a scary way, but in a way that gave him butterflies at the idea it could be more.

“What’s wrong?” his mom asked after Adrien took a picture of her mixing their tofu and 100-year-old egg appetizer.

“It’s kinda stupid. I’m not mad or anything, just kinda upset about the situation. I asked Luka if he wanted to join us to go see the World Cup Fireworks but he’s working tonight. He offered to try and meet up after they’re over but it’s supposed to be busy. We just haven’t been able to talk for a while, he’s been pretty busy. He did sound really bad but I still feel upset.”

“Oh caro. That’s perfectly ok. If you were angry at him, I’d be a little concerned. It’s ok that you miss him. It’s a bit similar to me being busy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. All the initiatives for Akumas and the World Cup? I guess it’s just that I can come visit you during lunch. Luka is home schooled so his schedule is different. He starts later so by the time he’s out for lunch, we’re back in class. Plus, he’s been working extra hours.” Adrien said, poking the see-through egg.

“You know, I was about to do study abroad when I first met your dad. I was going to America for the first time for a whole semester but I’d just met the most amazing person. It was harder then, not having cell and email or even Skype. We sent a lot of letters to each other, but it still hurt to not see him as often. But being with someone isn’t always as fairy tale perfect. Only those few special moments. I know it sucks to not talk to him as often as before right now, but focus on when you can have. Things will lighten up soon.”

                                               ____________

“Ugg, she can be so infuriating!” Alya complained, still mad at how her older sister Nora or Anansi as she’d asked to be called, had been behaving before. she was protective, which was fine, but she seemed to have little trust in Scarlet Bug and Catseye and wanted to protect her family by taking on the Akuma herself. She challenged them to an arm-wrestling match for Alya’s freedom, which Marinette helped cheat on, but it had been the lecture Alya gave her sister that sealed the deal. Adrien hoped that with how she tried defending her family, Anansi would be safe against akumatization.

The blonde noticed his best friend still pouting, no doubt from Anansi’s words and having to need in trying to show he could rescue Alya.

“Hey, don’t listen to her.” Nino looked confused and glanced at Alya. “No, Anansi. you can protect Alya. You’re the knight to her, princess? That doesn’t fully suit her. Hmm, maybe, you’re the Kunzite to her Venus? No, I never understood that couple.”

“I’m her support pillar?”

“That works. Her support pillar. She’s capable of saving herself but you won’t let her when it comes down to it and I think that matters most. And Alya knows that. You guys are more in sync with more than just your dance moves.”

“Thanks dude. I’m just worried that when she needs it, I won’t be able to protect her.”

“You will. You’d be surprised at what you can accomplish.” Adrien said putting an arm around Nino.

Nino finally started to smile. “Thanks dude.”

They arrived at the front of the line for the Ferris wheel and were stop by the attendant.

“Sorry, only 3 to a carriage.”

“What? The max is 8 people.” Marinette stated.

“With the fireworks, people have been rejoining different groups in line, not allowing others to get a chance. It’s easier to keep track of groups of 3.”

“But we have 4. We all came together. isn’t there anyway you can let all of us on?” Alya asked.

“Sorry. On or not?”

“You guys go ahead.” Adrien offered. “I’ll just watch them from down here.”

“No, Adrien.”

“Guys, it’s fine.”

“Excuse me.” An older woman behind them spoke up. “Just my son and I were going up. If you’re ok with it, you’re more than welcome to go up with us.”

“Is it ok?” At her nod, Adrien smiled at her. “Thank you so much. I’ll wave to you guys from my carriage.”

Soon enough it was their turn. As he helped the kind lady and her child into the carriage, Adrien’s phone started to ring. Thinking it was the others, he answered as he sat down on the free seat.

“I just got on, calm down.”

“Adrien?”

“Luka?” sure enough it was Luka’s picture on his screen. “Aren’t you working?”

“Look out of your carriage.”

Adrien looked out on the entrance side as they started to move and caught a very familiar sight of blue waving at him while on the phone.

“Luka! I thought you were working?” he asked watching Luka get smaller and smaller.

“I was, but my boss called and said 2 others had come in begging for shifts. A lot of the others are usually working paycheck to paycheck so I offered my shifts. If I got here sooner, we could have gone up together.”

“But I thought you were trying to save up for the new amp?”

“it can wait. I haven’t seen you in ages and I missing seeing you.”

Adrien couldn’t help the giddy smile growing on his face. He still stared down at where he’d seen Luka, despite him being nothing more than a speck but got distracted by something out of the corner of his eye. he turned to look and let out a yelp as the whole wheel shook.

“Adrien!” Luka yelled from the other line. “It’s an akuma!”  

He properly looked and saw the spider creature spit out webs, keeping the wheel from moving.

“I-I think that’s Anansi. Alya’s sister, she didn’t want her coming out and they got into a fight before she left. And, oh god, Luka! she’s going right for their carriage!” He watched as Anansi as yellow as the gear she was in before, rip the carriage off its bolts and jumped down. “Guys!”

His phone beeped as his call was disconnected and he watched as the specks below moved away from the Ferris wheel. He didn’t know what to feel more worried about, Luka in the way of an Akuma or his friends who were the targets of one.

“Are we going to die?” the little kid asked, shakily. His mother shushed him as she held on tight to him.

“Hey, it’s going to be ok. Scarlet Bug and Catseye will be here as soon as they can. You trust them, right?” the little boy nodded. “Good. They need you to believe in them so they can do their best.”

“Like Tinker Bell?”

Adrien let out a small laugh, amazed as the child’s imagination, even in a scary situation. “I don’t know, maybe. They can’t tell us how their powers work so it can be completely up to us.”

Just as the kid seemed to be calming down, they felt the wheel shake again, moving this time. Moving as in the started to roll off the stand and onto the street. the mother pulled her child closer and ducked down and Adrien stood to stand over them. he felt his heart race as he got a full view of the wheel heading toward the Seine river. However, he suddenly saw a very familiar red dot wrap its way around the wheel and a staff land into the mouths of two lion statues that conveniently framed where the wheel would go if it went into the Seine. The wheel slowly started to stop until it hit something that stopped them from moving completely. He let out a sigh of relief. He thought New York was bad. France was nice, but he could so do without the attacks.

“Hey look.” He called to the little boy, pointing at the yoyo as it detangled from the wheel. “they’re here.”

It felt like forever but he watched Catseye and Scarlet Bug go to each carriage and safely take the people to the ground. He worried if they’d be able to get Anansi, who no doubt took the runaway Ferris wheel as an opportunity to get away, with god knew who in hand.

“CatBug express rescue.” Catseye announced as she opened the door and lightly stepped inside. “woman and children first.”

“What about the akuma?” Adrien asked, watching Scarlet Bug take the kid and hold him tightly, his mother not letting him out of her sight as she held onto Catseye.

“She has Alya, but don’t worry. It looks like she wants Nino to go after her and she’s not exactly easy to miss. Sooner we get everyone out and with Fire and Rescue and the EMTs, the sooner we can go after them.” Scarlet Bug explained, his yoyo at the ready. Adrien nodded and watched as the heroes used their tools to get safely to the ground. He looked at his phone, looking at the last call. He hoped Luka was alright. He’d have to call him once he got onto solid ground. He also had to trust they could get to Alya in time. “Hey, ready?”

Like he’d been held when he flew off the ship, Adrien held tight as they repelled down.

“We’ll save your friends, don’t worry. It looked like Nino was really giving it his all to get to Alya.”

“Anansi, she’s Alya’s sister. They got into a fight earlier about if he could protect her. I told him he could, but…”

“Then I’m sure he will. But we’ll get to him before he goes head-to-head with her.” They set down on the ground and he was guided to EMTs. He took in the spotted hero as he ran to where Catseye was waiting as they took off.

It was strange, Scarlet Bug had snake bites now. They were red, almost glowing under the dimness his hood gave his face. They looked good on him.

                                                 _____________

“Alya!” Adrien shot up from the bench seeing Alya, Anansi and Marinette walking back towards him. Oddly, Nino came from a different direction but that didn’t matter. “Are you ok? What happened?”

“A new hero happened! Scarlet Bug and Catseye have a new ally, just like Rena Rouge!” Alya gushed. “How cool is that? Also, you should have seen Nino, he worked so hard to save me. You were like a brave knight.”

“Until I got thrown like the off-shoot character.” Nino said, but still accepted the hug Alya gave him.

“Adrien!” Adrien turned to see Luka squeezing past the remaining cops. They were mostly concerned with keeping the crowd of reporters back, all still looking for a glimpse of their city’s heroes. He was swiftly swept up into a tight hug. “Are you ok? I got pushed back by police when the Fire and Rescue got here. I couldn’t get your phone connected again.”

Adrien hugged back, the last of his fears and worries untwisting from his chest as he pressed his cheek onto Luka’s shoulder. “I’m ok. Scarlet Bug got me out. They took care of us before taking care of the akuma. We’re all ok.”

“Don’t mind me, was held captive by my own sister.” Alya called, causing the two to pull apart. “But, gosh. I’m exhausted. Hey Luka, why don’t you take Adrien home? Marinette is staying with me tonight and Nino still has to finish his knightly duties and walk me home.”

Adrien couldn’t believe it. Actually, lies, he totally could. Even after the evening she had, Alya was still pulling matchmaking tricks.

“Is that ok?” Luka asked, gently taking his hand. All Adrien could do was nod.

With teasing smiles and promises to call the minute they got home, they split up, Luka and Adrien heading to the metro.

“Are you sure you’re ok? Should we call your mom?”

“Most of the Italian diplomates and such are at this party for the World Cup, at least the ones not accompanying the team. Mama already warned me she wouldn’t be able to look at her phone. Though I guess news of the attack had to of gone out by now.” And Adrien would be able to answer that, if he realised his phone had died. He also remembered that he left his bag at Alya’s, since the plan was to go back to her place and metro home with Marinette. “Whoops.”

“I’ll walk you back to your place and make sure you can get inside. My heart still feels like it hasn’t stopped since I saw the akuma attack.” Luka confessed.

“Hey,” Adrien put his hand on Luka’s arm, “I’m ok. If you tried to do something, you’d be like Nino. Whatever happened to him. But I’m fine, promise.”

The train arrived and they boarded, noticing how it was slightly packed. No seats were available together so the made for a corner they could stand near in. Adrien had just turned, mouth open to ask something when the train jolted as it left, causing Luka to stumble. He caught himself on the wall, boxing Adrien in.

His eyes darted to Luka’s lips, the silver snake bites begging him to do something irresponsible, but he resisted.

“Sorry. Are you ok?”

“Your starting to sound like a prince who’s seen a princess in her underthings.” Adrien joked, his voice soft as Luka hadn’t moved yet.

“More into princes anyway.”

“Oh look,” Adrien said, trying hard and surly failing to not turn red. “another thing we have in common.”

Luka’s quirked lips and small bite to his lip played with Adrien’s heart. Maybe it had been Alya’s knight comments, but he was starting to feel like a prince from a fairy tail who was trying not to show how in love with the bard he was. Not that he was at the love stages, he’d barely gotten to ask Luka out.

They arrived at Adrien’s apartment just as an Embassy car pulled up and deposited his worried mother, who scooped him up in a tight hug, words of worry and thanking gods in Italian rushing from her. Once again, the image of his mother, a queen, thanking the brave bard for rescuing her son the prince.

Adrien had a feeling he was really tired.

“You’re taking the embassy car home. I won’t hear of anything else. Wait here.” His mother ordered, leaving them alone again as she went to go talk to the driver.

“Thanks for walking me home. And giving up your shifts, though you so didn’t have to.”

“I don’t mind. If I heard about this after I think I would have hated myself. I’m just glad you’re ok.” He took Adrien’s hand again.

“I’m really ok, I promise.” Adrien said, squeezing.

“Caro.” His mother called.

“I think they’re ready for you.”

Then, Luka lifted his hand and pressed a gentle kiss onto his knuckles. “I’ll call when I get home ok?”

“Ok.” Adrien breathed. He watched Luka thank his mother and wave at him before climbing into the car. He watched it pull away as his mother approached and put an arm around him. “Whoa.”

“I take it that was Luka?” he mindlessly nodded. “He’s very cute. You seem to of gotten much closer all of a sudden.”

“Something like that. I know this might sound weird, but today was something out of a fairy tale.” It felt like the only way he could describe it. A fairy tale. Though the ‘dragon’ he could have done without.